My alarm goes off. Bleary eyed and disorientated, I fumble around til
I find it. 0540. Thursday. Light is flooding the room. I literally just
went to sleep; how can it be that time already? But it is. And the race
is on. Shower dress tea run for the bus. Wait for the train. Change
onto Victoria Line. Then Northern. It's 7am and I've been on public
transport for 40 minutes. Less than half way through the journey. Deep
breath. Damn. Forgot my breakfast. And exhale..
Get off near the
end of the line after much squishing and sweating and very careful
avoidance of making eye contact with ANYONE in case they think I'm a
total weirdo, or half human, heaven forbid, only to be welcomed to the
outside world by torrential rain for the 30th day in a row followed by
the inevitable fight with my eternally reversible umbrella. Arrive at
work and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. When did those bags
get there? No, I know those ones have always been there. I mean those
ones. Maybe I should wear make up tomorrow..
The ward is just
waking up. Straight into it. Mr. Bond is choking on his tea is he. Yes
I'll re-assess him. No it won't be right now. And Mrs. Middleton doesn't
like her minced moist diet, right. I don't blame the girl. And yes
thank you I know I look tired. I AM tired. And Mr. Pitt has been
coughing through the night but has been eating and drinking lying down.
Nice. Yes I'll do some education. And document it in the notes. And no i
won't forget to update Mr. Smith's daughter on his change in status.
And yes I'll reassess Mrs. Brown's language, I did try to see her
yesterday but.. Well that's wonderful thank you for that. Can I get
through the door now?
A haze of chasing notes and talking to sons
and calling daughters and discussing with staff and writing therapy
plans and rewriting discharge summaries and sending onward referrals and
why haven't I seen an actual patient yet? And how is it 1130 already?
Ahh ha. Mr. Smith. I need to get to him today. Nil by mouth, high risk
of aspiration into the lungs. No entry in the notes from the night shift
Nurse. Hmm. Okay. Not good. Come to think of it, no sign of a Nurse.
Check the charts. No oral cares in over 16 hours. Really not good. Mr.
Smith is not good either. After I use 18 swabs to clean the secretions
away from his gums and the roof of his mouth, he says he doesn't want to
be here anymore. In this hospital? Oh. I see. This world. He's crying. I
look at this intelligent, eloquent man, undoubtedly a shadow of his
former self, and I feel like crying myself. I feel helpless. What can I
say? I wipe his face and hold his hand. I've got to look after him and
do my job, I tell him. Is this my job? Maybe it is now.
Mrs.
Brown has finally got rid of her entourage of Physios and OTs and Rehab
Support Workers and nephews and neighbours and I can get to her. Severe
dyspraxia of speech, talking muscles just not playing ball on command,
but understanding of language fully intact. Today is particularly bad;
she's tired out. Those bloody Physios! One whole session later and
despite some minor progress at a phoneme level, the only compete word
she can get out, which she does at least two dozen times, is "f*ck". My
thoughts exactly, Mrs. Brown ! She collapses in a fit of giggles and I'm
not far behind. Persevere, I tell her, we will get there. She
nods. I hope I am right.
It's half 2 already and maybe I should
eat some lunch now and LOOK there's a Nurse! Hurrah! I'm not sure if you
noticed in the notes or on the handover or from the timetable I made
for his wall or the huge red sign above his bed but Mr. Smith needs oral
cares every 2 hours and I wonder if you could please- I'm sorry?
What's oral care? I bang my head repeatedly against the metaphorical
brick wall that is already deeply indented with the imprint of my face.
Where is the team in this MDT? Is this the NHS I left behind 3 years ago
or has something changed? Again? I breath deeply once more and wonder
if I'm in some kind of parallel universe to real life. Nope. I'm not.
I catch Mrs. Middleton who is no longer bothered about her swallow and
is more interested in telling me that she is a Professor at a top
university and an economics magazine Editor on the side. At least, she
was before this. To be honest, I'd rather talk about that too. That
sounds amazing!! So this swallow then..? A yoghurt, banana, biscuit and
glass of water later and Mrs. Middleton has progressed and is back on
normal fluids normal diet and I am HER FAVOURITE PERSON EVER. I have a
little glow of happiness that I changed someone's life for the better.
Food is my all time favourite thing and I can't even imagine what it
must be like to be deprived of it. It feels good to remember so acutely
why I love this job, despite the challenges it brings. The patients are
just amazing.
The receptionist comes over to give me a hug. Why?
Just because. Just because. That's a lovely reason. It's Friday
tomorrow, she tells me. I know, it's lasted forever but gone in a flash,
this week, I tell her. That is hospital life for you, she says. Is it?
Intense and fast and furious. A flurry of notes and phone calls and
handovers follow before I look up and realise I should have left
already. A while ago. But I need to do MORE. That old chestnut. Yes yes,
but I can only do what I can do Zzz Zzz.. I slink out the ward, head
spinning, mental to-do lists being written frantically. I should really
jot this down but OH RAIN. WHAT A SURPRISE.
If people are keen to
get to work in London in the morning, they are DESPERATE to get home in
the evening.. Much jostling and jabbing and squidging and running and
seriously, what's the rush, people? And why can't we talk to each
other??! It would make the journey so much nicer and I promise I won't
be weird. Kind of promise.. And the heat on this train. How can you be
wearing that jacket in this heat ?! Do Londoners ever feel the heat or
are they born with a natural ability to store heat and use it at a later
date? Someone should look into that. News to keep the fatigue at bay.
Something about Boris Johnson, the market plummeting, more on Istanbul
and is the world ending?? The long white clouds, black beaches and lush,
green hills of New Zealand seem like more than half a hemisphere away
right now. A whole world away. Beautiful Aotearoa. I shake off the pangs
of something I can't quite recognise, or acknowledge, right here and
now, on this crammed, stifling carriage, with rain lashing the windows
and travellers crushed together. This city wants Thursday to finish and
Friday to start.
I get home 1 hour and 58 minutes after leaving
work. I have a 60 second turnaround and head straight to the gym because
I know if I sit down there is not a chance in hell I'll get up again.
One meal, season finale and brew later, it's time for sleep again. Where
did the evening go? I need more evening. More time. As I fade in and out of
consciousness, I think about Mr. Smith. I think about his daughters and
his wife. I think about Mrs. Middleton and her previous life, and wonder
if she'll ever return to her editorial post. Or the teaching post.
I smile at the small successes, happy to have helped, and mull over the rest. My brain swirling in the darkness. Where is the off switch?
My alarm goes off. Bleary eyed and
disorientated, I fumbled around til I find it. 0540. But, to borrow the simple word of Mrs. Brown, THANKF*CKITSFRIDAY.
