This morning’s post delivered my final payslip. My last fifteen years of service to the NHS has come to an end and I am now redundant.
Whilst this has been a long time to come, it is still a bitter pill to swallow.
I can still remember sitting in the day room of my hospital ward as the news broke that we were going out to public consultation. The possibility of closure had been mentioned before but we were always so confident that our ward would survive. We were needed by the local community, we were loved by the local community, we were a family unit and stronger together.
As the first weeks passed by the belief that we would be saved soon faded. The powers that be had already started the wheels in motion for a replacement service. Hope for the future turned into a ticking time bomb and we just wanted the decision to be made public.
As expected the decision to close was made and within weeks we were closed. As I returned home from the hospital after giving birth to Piglet I was unable to be there for my colleagues as they closed the doors and shut off the lights for the final time.
The decision on what to do with staff left behind has taken them eight months to agree. With a final letter, a cold impersonal letter that stated I was on notice of redundancy and my official leaving date.
So here I am today, my payslip in my hand, my redundancy in the bank and for the first time since I left school, I am no longer in paid employment. I am fortunate that my blog has enabled me to make a part-time wage and I have hopes for the future.
But today, I am redundant and that’s pretty hard to deal with.