Seeing myself sitting alone in my apartment at 10 in the morning in my pyjamas and with hair in disarray, someone might think I don't have a life. But going through this eccentric work hours and trying to get a decent amount of sleep is often a struggle. So the next spare time I have or the moment my head starts feeling all dopey, I quickly climb into bed, lights off, blinds shut, duvet cover over my head and off I drift to the wonderful land of dreams. But that doesn't always happen. That is why even if I am doing night shift tonight and I
REALLY need to sleep, I couldn't because my circadian rhythm is all a mess and I hardly know if it's night or day. Plus I just started on this new diet partly because I want to lose weight but more importantly because I have come to the realization that my lifestyle needs an overhaul and that being young is not a passport to NOT get sick (Speaking after receiving my deranged LFTs for no obvious reason, damn it!). Hence, I am into this state wherein my body is forced to adjust to a healthier lifestyle, which translates into my own terms as feeling weaker and deprived.
This job I am into, what does it really mean? Yes, My job description says:
Meets the needs of patients and their family/whanau using contemporary nursing care, which is safe, appropriate and effective. Such care is based on comprehensive assessment; ensuring continuity, is patient-consumer centered, culturally sensitive and evidence based. Promotes teamwork through working collaboratively with the health care team. Demonstrates quality improvement in work practices. Demonstrates professional accountability and leadership.
But really,
WHAT does it mean to
"meet the needs",
"to demonstrate accountability" and
to "ensure patient-centred care"?
2 days in a row I had the most bizarrely interesting encounters with people who, because of (probably) their own indulgence and their (now apparently) wrong choices, have slipped away a teeny-tiny bit from sanity. It may be a fact or an excuse they are trying to put forward to justify their current state of mind.
3rd Morning Shift (defined as yes, the 3rd time I am dragging myself to work after 2 previous days of purely exhausting physical and mental work. Also equates to a shorter patience secondary to fatigue.)
Caring for a 67 year old male, who is living in a resthome has 4 daughters and 3 siblings all in the UK; admitted for Dementia secondary to Alcohol withdrawal. Current smoker; smoked for 50 years; Hasn't smoked in the last 7/7. Past medical history of Depression with self harm.
After breakfast, I approached him asking if he wants to be assisted with hygiene/morning cares. He sarcastically obliged.
Me: Do you want to have a wash or a shower now?
A(for asshole): squinting at me as if I'm an alien. Well, yeah, ok.
Me: Everything's ready at the basin. Are you alright to do it yourself or do you want me to help you with anything?
A: If you're not busy.
sarcasm sensed.
M: Here's your toothbrush, please clean your teeth.
He takes out his dentures (top and bottom) and threw it at the basin.
A: You clean it. Do you know how to use this toothbrush?
No answer from me, just deep breaths.
A: Oh no? Here, you turn it on. You don't have that?
Bloody hell! I wanted to yell at him and slap him really hard. But there is no point having that argument with the patient, my manager says.
Bullshit!
Day 4 (Last morning shift. Synonymous to mentally and physically drained but has to go to work just because I'm rostered to do so.)
Caring for a 78 yearold female who came in with a fractured left humerus sustained after a fall. Extensive bruising on left arm, left chest wall and left flank noted. A resthome resident who sneaked out of the resthome to buy herself a bottle of wine because she was unhappy that the resthome staff took away her 2 bottles of vodka. On Alcohol withdrawal scale. Can have Diazepam 5-10 mg and Lorazepam 0.5 mg BD.
Prior to turning her, Oxynorm 5 mg given, Panadol 1 g given. Have explained to her that we (me and HCA) need to turn her and move her up the bed so she can sit upright for breakfast. 1st turn towards me, low and behold! 2 punches came flying to my direction and landed on my chest. I dropped her back on supine and told her off, "You better stop hitting me!"
When do you draw the line? Until when are we paid to understand that they are sick and it's just a part of it? When can you say that this is already a low blow to you, as a person, who despite anything and more than anything for that matter,
needs deserves to be treated with respect? Respect being the most basic human virtue.
But somehow, I have put it all together that yes, they might be sick and yes, it is my job to be patient but the truth of the matter is no matter where you go, no matter what people say, there'll always be an implication because of the colour of your skin.
What a load of crap!
***
And this morning, with all the stressful days of work, the gradual onset of lethargy because of my dieting and the hormonal changes that comes with being a woman, I open up my blog and something like this bumps in to me:
You will never fully experience every fiber of a woman’s being until you blanket her with the security of your love. This is not found by sharing your bills or your bed. You will find it when you commit your life to her in marriage.
Does marriage really matter that much though Dad?
Yes! Marriage eases her mind in a way, living with her never will. Without it, she will always hold something back. She will always doubt. She will always wonder (and may not ask you) why she isn’t good enough…and the longer you wait, the more frustrated you both will be.
But shouldn’t I take my time and make sure she is the right one?
Of course, but not to the detriment of your future with her. No woman wants to feel like no one else better has come along, “ so I guess we should get married”.
If you can’t see yourself with her and your future children eating cotton candy at the beach some day…
If you can’t see yourself waiting on her hand and foot after breast cancer surgery…
If you can’t see yourself wanting to tell her everything first…
If you can’t see your wrinkled hands holding hers…
My thoughts and feelings for the last 3 years suddenly translated into words. Something I wish I could tell him. Or better yet, something I wish he could realize on his own.
What a life.
