By Olly Jennings
3rd April 2020
"I looked round the lecture hall and saw just two more males in the room I remember feeling so very much like an imposter"
I remember my first day at uni. The awkward smiles, forgotten names of people from freshers, the not knowing where to sit, the “do I talk first or should you”? I remember it, clear as day. I remember my lovely tutor getting us to introduce ourselves to each other with an icebreaker. I hope, somewhat in vain, to never endure another icebreaker in my life. And I remember on that day, the start of my journey with so-called imposter syndrome (the feeling of not belonging in a place or feeling unworthy of being there), and as I looked round the lecture hall and saw just two more males in the room I remember feeling so very much like an imposter.
I came into nursing somewhat unconventionally. I was an aircraft technician working on military helicopters in my hometown deep in the Somerset heartland. A town rural enough to have unaffordable housing for under 50’s and urban enough to not be desirable. Jobs were at a premium, and so when I decided I’d had enough of attending school at a naïve 16 years old I struggled, like many, to know what to do with myself. My dad shaped my decisions a lot, we shared a love of F1 and he pushed me to get a trade behind me (something I strongly advocate). I shared my want to study Health and Social Care (too “effeminate”, apparently) and ultimately it was decided that a career in engineering was far more appropriate.
Five years in aviation engineering, of the most male dominated careers imaginable changes you, especially at such a young age. Living on my own, playing football, going to the pub, constantly being around men you become engrained in it. The Women in Engineering Society (WES) estimate that females make up around 13% of the number of engineers in the UK (WES, 2018). The number of females joining the industry via undergraduate study has however been rising by around 1-2% a year since 2012 (STEM Women, 2019). Although male attitude in this industry has come on leaps and bounds since the dark times of industrialised sexism prevalent in the 1970’s we do have a way to go and sadly human nature does leave certain layovers from past times. I’ve lived in this industry and had the option of a long career there, so I feel like I am quite aware of the issues women face there. More on that later.
Continuing my journey to this point; several things happened in my life in quick succession. I was involved in a car accident and had to spend several months in a specialist hospital, I struggled with depression and I lost a very close friend to suicide in the space of two years. I turned 21 and I realised life was far too short to have regrets. If you’re unhappy where you are, finish what it is that you’re doing (in my case a foundation degree in aviation electrical engineering) and leave. Don’t look back with regrets later in life.
"I’m still not sure what’s more temperamental, an aircraft or a child"
I researched health and social care careers. At school I always wanted to be a paramedic, however for medical reasons, that was out of bounds. I couldn’t be a doctor, I liked being around people and hated classrooms. Nursing seemed the best option, and more specifically, nursing children (I’m still not sure what’s more temperamental, an aircraft or a child). I applied on an off chance, and low and behold, I was given a subjective offer on the basis that I passed with a distinction on my aviation course. Fast forward and I sit here two years later rambling about my life.
I carry my previous experiences with me; I feel like I’ve lived several lifetimes more than my 23 years, but here I am. I have no regrets. I love my job, although I very much miss the male energy. It’s lonely, very lonely at times. I seek out men in the profession just to have that shared factor that is so rare. In 2008, stats emerged that showed less than 1-in-10 nurses were male (Vere-Jones, 2008) and this number has shown little improvement in the last 12 years with just under 11% as of last year (Ford, 2019), worse than that, the figures have shown stagnation even since 1972 (Hull and Jones, 2012) which explains how hard it is to find others in practice. Interestingly however, the number of males within the profession who go onto achieve promotions is proportionally higher than their female colleagues. 14.9% of acute foundation trust nurse directors are male (Ford, et al., 2010) and on average men do achieve promotion before their female colleagues (Ford, 2019). Sources have attempted to quantify the difference in proportion, with such factors as direct and assertive communication traits more prominently found in men, the absence of maternity, a perceived higher confidence level or even patriarchal management structures favouring men via a “glass elevator” (Pushon, et al., 2019). These arguments all have merits, and I certainly don’t intend to imply an over arching conspiracy to keep males out the profession, I only seek to shine a light on the barriers to men in this profession as well as highlight some disparities between standards we set for behaviours as a society.
"I want to dispel a commonly held belief in our society; males can and frequently do experience sexism"
I want to dispel a commonly held belief in our society; males can and frequently do experience sexism. In my first week one of my colleagues made a habit of referring to me as “the equality and diversity hire”(ignoring my vast life experience). I have been pulled onto the lap of a mother to sit on as there were no chairs (that one was uncomfortable). On one of my previous placements the nursing staff said that: “male nurses should be eye candy, not like Olly” (That one did hurt, the twin-pronged attack suggesting that my value is based on my appearance to my colleagues and that I somehow didn’t fit the criteria). Nurses have commented about their intention to touch the male footballers to try and get a husband (still not sure if professional footballers notice us mere nurses). More subtly we are often the ones asked to help move a patient, to lift a heavy box, to deal with angry or aggressive patients or parents (like being at school asked to move tables). I ask you, If this was men doing this to women, would we accept it? In the modern day, these behaviours would be dealt with swiftly and firmly. Instead it’s tolerated, and I like many others in the profession feel embarrassed to talk about it. Speaking to other male nurses, I certainly am not alone in these experiences and sexism against males is far more common than you would think, it just seemingly isn’t spoken about.
"The children don’t see gender. They see a person wanting to help"
It’s not all doom and gloom though. The children don’t see gender. They see a person wanting to help. They see a nurse. They see a shoulder to climb on. They see a hand to hold. They see the silly person distracting them by marking farting noises as they have a cannula put in. Children have a wonderful way of looking at the world. Where does it go? If they do see me as a male nurse, it’s a positive thing. Everyone knows my name for one. Everyone asks for the funny man, which I will happily accept. We could learn so much from our children, if only we would listen. As a male in this industry, you do have to get through the rubbish to an extent. You work through the Initial “its interesting to see a male nurse…” conversations. The semi-awkward not knowing how to respond, the explanation for the hundredth time that I am not a doctor. And once people get used to you, they see you as what you are: a student nurse just like any other. It’s not just patients and families, the same goes for other nursing staff. We have Men in Nursing Together (MINT) who are an excellent group for men in nursing and is open for anyone, male or female, to join. One of my best mates was one of the other males who was in my cohort (although he eventually dropped out to become a biomed student). When I go home, I still play football and being in that environment is such a welcome feeling. It’s worth noting as well that a recent resurgence in increasing male nurse visibility in the media has been very welcome, and a break from the status quo (even though some people criticized this as an attempt to make it overly masculine, oh the irony). I have mates in Bristol who I see as much as possible, and that helps. Getting that male camaraderie, the dark humour and the light-hearted banter that is commonly a male staple (although I do have to explain often that being around 76 female nurses constantly isn’t quite what some aspects of the male fantasy leads them to believe). I feel like in the last two years I have become more confident in my practice and more comfortable in my own skin, through drawing on these networks around me and building up a resilience to the negative aspects that come with it. I don’t acknowledge the incorrect assumptions about my sexuality just because I’m in a caring profession and in the same breath I don’t acknowledge the “male nurse” tag. My gender has no bearing on my practice, and above all it does not define me. I am still early on in my journey, but I am proud to be a part of this profession. I believe it is one of the most challenging but rewarding professions in the world, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. And so I will continue to grow, learn and care as I take these lessons and views forward to be the best male nurse I can be.
Olly is a Student Children's Nurse at the University of the West of England, Bristol.
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