Of the many, many insane, ideologically driven policies I have heard come from government departments over the years, this has got to be one of the most bonkers. 

There have been times over the years, when I'm feeling a little overwhelmed, when I've fantasised about ending up in hospital. Nothing life-changing or dramatic, just a nice routine operation, five days in a lovely quiet ward. Crisp white sheets, view out to Cornwall Park, the scent of lush green grass carried by the gentle zephyrs of spring through the open window. Matron running the ward with a firm, but benevolent gloved hand. I can sleep and rest and be protected from the rigours of reality in a nurturing, safe environment.

Oh, how those days have gone. If they ever existed, I think they may well be some kind of Enid Blyton-esque type fantasy I got through reading old-fashioned books.

I am really, really struggling to see how 24/7 visitors' access to hospitals is going to benefit anyone. Anyone. Not the patients, not the security staff, certainly not the nursing staff.

On the face of it, it looks like a desperate attempt to shore up staff deficiencies in the wards. They say it's not. Health New Zealand says the implementation of the new patient and whānau family support policy is not driven by staffing levels, but is about giving patients the choice of having whānau support when they needed it.

National Chief Nurse Nadine Gray says the policy is patient-centred and driven by whānau voice. That's what the official party line is.  

New Zealand Nurses Organisation says the union supports full access for families to be involved in patients' care, which can be very important in some cultures, but they reckon the current push is more a response to the increasing need for patient watches and the lack of staff to do them, and I think they're probably on the money.

Patient watches are needed if a vulnerable patient needs monitoring to ensure they don't hurt themselves or interfere with treatment, and are usually carried out by trained healthcare assistants.

But because there's a chronic shortage of healthcare assistants, family members, say the Nurses Organisation, are being expected to take up the role.

Now, decision-makers might think that the general public will understand that the 24/7 access is ideally for those with children in hospital or family members with dementia or patients who have specific needs. But that is not what the general public will hear. You'll get 20 people camped around a bed with takeaways for five days, while an adult son waits for an operation for his leg fracture. It'll be hoots-wah-hey and off. Party central.

The Health New Zealand Chief Executive says under the policy, whānau will be supported to be with patients 24/7 (24/7! have we even asked the patients if they want the whānau there for 24/7?) where appropriate, working alongside nursing and maternity teams to make this possible. And here's the absolute banger for me - while respecting the privacy and recovery of others. How? Unless you're in a Portacabin 20 miles away from me on the hospital grounds, how is my privacy going to be respected?

How, when the only thing preventing me from becoming a member of my neighbour's extended family is a flimsy nylon curtain?

The nursing staff and security can't be expected to manage the number of visitors, supposed to be one or two per person. That doesn't work now. How are they going to be expected to manage the behaviour of the visitors, the transgressions of the visitors?

We are living in a culture of self, where individuals prioritise their own needs. Their own wants and desires over the need of the collective good of others.

Bloody hell, if there was ever an incentive to lace up the walking shoes and say no to the doughnut, it's this. The thought of ending up in a hospital ward now, my vision has long been shattered. In an ward with three other people is bad enough. The thought of ending up in a ward with three other people and their partners, and their kids, and their parents, and their siblings' children ... euthanise me now. Don't worry about fixing my broken arm. No, pass. Chop it off. No, I'll have to stay in hospital. I'll just live with it. I'll  have a gimpy arm for the rest of my life.

Of the many, many insane, ideologically driven policies I have heard come from government departments over the years, this has got to be one of the most bonkers. 

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