Squeaks from Plastic

Yesterday's post was somewhat depressing was it not? 

I am sort of sorry for posting it now. Sad stories are not always the best medicine here in blogland.

Unfortunately bad news has a strange way of piling up in front of you, a bit like when someone blocks one of those moving walk ways at the airport and a bottle neck of slightly stressed holiday makers crowd uncomfortably together without looking at each other...

One  bleak snippet after another seem to have an irritating habit of adding to an oppressive heavy feeling of  gloom which is not helped by our season of wet, dark weather which has now set in for the duration.

For the likes of Tom  today's trials will be another bit of shit to be coped with. and let's hope fate's ability to lob shit "overarm" rather than underarm will give things a rest for all of us soon..

Alas life isn't Little House On The Prairie......not everything is resolved by Laura Ingalls after 50 minutes of skipping

I am lucky, very lucky....... for my "black dog" of  last year's winter has lifted now and I am firm in the idea that possessing a sense of humour is one of the most vital things available to  a person when your mental health  status quo needs nurturing.

I will leave you with one of those "little moments" that gives a person a lift when you are not quite expecting it.

Saturday we were mooching along the supermarket shelves doing the week shop ( how Chris managed if after a 24 hour flight bugger only knows).

Anyhow on impulse I had an urge to get one of the squeaky toys for William from the pet section , and started to look through the rather eclectic selection of plastic bones, balls and rubber chickens!

As I did so a middle aged woman joined me and without saying anything both of us started to "check the squeaks" to find out which one was most appropriate for our needs.

It was a brief, slightly surreal interaction which finished only after I overly squashed a rubber chicken which "farted" rather wetly between us and she quipped "ohhh matron!" in way of a response .

A silly little moment to be sure.... but if I was depressed and sad ( which incidentally I was not) it would have been a little tonic that I needed....

So to Tom, to a couple of people I know here in Trelawnyd and to a dear friend

I am squeaking that Rubber Chicken at you!
ps YP before you say anything I was squeaking the chicken NOT choking it!)

Something In The Air

Maes-y-groes Prestatyn

I knew something was wrong in Prestatyn yesterday, even before I saw the official yellow police tape that cordoned off the main bypass road....you could just feel it.

It was an odd sensation and one that I have not really experienced before, but immediately after I parked on the High Street, I  realised something was afoot, something was very different.

Instead of  the usual fluid movement of elderly shoppers and the limping institutional disabled that fill the pavements of the town, people were talking together in quiet huddles.

The town felt quiet and still.

Like I said , it was the oddest of sensations.

I was reminded of times I have waited around for the start of a funeral. 

There was that certain charge in the.air.

For anyone who has read the national newspapers or listened to the radio, they will know that the news was bleak. 

A young woman and two children* had perished in a fire just yards from where I was parked. A fire that was thought to be deliberate.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-north-east-wales-20018867

Bad news changes a community. It unites it with striking speed. People who wouldn't give each other the normal time of day in front of the butchers, now stop to discuss the "awful news" or to shake their heads in disbelief as other snippets of the saga are shared and postulated about.

Even the moderately sized town of Prestatyn turns itself back into a village, when disaster strikes.

It's a interesting phenomenon.

In these days of nuclear families, of selfish living, isolation and where neighbours don't even know each other , even to nod to; I think that deep down there still is the need within people to connect, to feel comfort in sharing. To be a part of a community.

With all the negative things that we are constantly being told about in the modern selfish world....

perhaps that is the one "good" thing to come out of something terrible like this...? even though it lasts for a mere day or so!
Hey ho
* another child has subsequently died today

Back Home

The Cottage has been tidy for a week

It has also been very quiet

It will be nice to have the old duffer back with me today

Zombie Charm?

Carol and Daryl

And so the 1970s disaster film continues

The Walking Dead Survivors take over a prison months after the second series left them farmless and broken, and we are introduced to a very different set of characters than we knew in rural Atlanta.

 Rick ( Andrew Lincoln) is meaner and more focused alpha leader. The women and Carl ( the only child) are toughened up and now are an integral parts of the group and psychologically damaged redneck Daryl (Norman Reedus) and former "useless baggage" Carol (Melissa mcBride) are friends enough to flirt together like normal people which was a nice gentle touch in an episode where we saw some very serious zombie ass kicking!
I don't care if I sound like a geek
It was a Great roller- coaster ride !

Leaps of Faith

Trust is.......

Today's post is "inspired" by memories dug up by yesterday's post and  is centred around the use of basic psychological principles when caring for people and when looking after a troupe of eclectic animals.
This morning the last "first job" of the morning is to move the blind Cogburn from his sleeping quarters into his daytime run.
His two hens can negotiate the steep ladder down to the run, he obviously cannot, and so I have to physically lift him from his sleeping quarters, which is at a height of five feet or so from the ground..
From day one I have always talked to him and stroked him to reduce his anxiety of any new procedure and every time I was about to lift him, I say "come on". It is a key phrase that signals "safety" to his peanut sized brain.
Today  every time  "come on" is uttered Cogburn will launch himself forward into space, confident in the fact that I will "catch him" . His leap of faith is  simply a result of reducing his anxiety with continuity.
It's not rocket science.

Today I am reminded of an ex patient of mine called Raymond who I met him around 22 years ago when I started my staffing on the spinal injury re admission ward. Raymond had sustained a complicated spinal injury after a truly horrific accident when he was crushed between the buffers of two trains at work.
He had been in different hospitals for months, and had been transferred to our hospital for treatment for pain issues, skin problems and for rehabilitation.
Raymond clearly needed consistent nursing care and expert psychological  support. Back in the early 1990s we had not then employed a clinical psychologist and so much of the hands on care (physical and mental) was left to us, the nurses.
I was allocated to Raymond as his "Primary Nurse" and a slightly dim, cheerful nurse called Jane was chosen as his "associate" and I remember getting together with Jane to work out a way of approaching Raymond's pain issues, which were vast.
Every other day Raymond would have to have various dressings renewed and every other day he would scream the ward down in pain and fear when this procedure was carried out. Our job was to gain Raymond's trust by employing a whole range of interventions to reduce his anxiety and his pain.

When he was "well" Raymond was described as being a bit of a comic and a flirt (this information we gained from his wife) and so I had an idea to employ a slightly unconventional method of anxiety reduction when we turned him
The conversation between Jane (remember his other nurse?) and myself went roughly as follows.
Me: " Before we turn him towards you...  you stick your tits out and flirt a bit"
Jane:"huh?"
Me: "stick your tits out and give him an eyeful when he turns towards you.. you have a nice cleavage!"
Jane: "you really think so?"
Me "definitely!"
Jane sounding rather pleased: "ok!!"

I am simplifying the interaction somewhat but you will get the "Carry on film and sexist gist" of where I was coming from....
Politically so incorrect, but do you know what? It bloody well worked.

Jane ( who I thought  was secretly enjoying her role) stuck out her boobs in front of a slightly  impressed Raymond before we started and before he could scream she had rolled his face within a knat's crotchet of her straining and pneumatic bosom..
Of course we employed a huge amount of banter and humour before and after "the deed was done".We also used entinox gas and air and organised a plan with Raymond that we would be performing the dressing turn. all together everytime Jane and I were on duty.
In one fell swoop we ensured consistency, humour, effective pain relief and boobs.
It worked like a charm.

Was it professional? perhaps not.
Was it terribly sexist? --too bloody right it was
Would modern day nursing approve?
Perhaps not
Did it work?
Yes it sure did.......
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Good news today

Chris is just leaving Melbourne this morning

and 

The Walking Dead returns this evening.....

" 'elp!!"

Reading  Tom Stephenson's recent blog entry on Gallows Humour has got me thinking about funerals. I have been reminded in particular, of some of the services I have attended, that have been somewhat "bizarre" due to the simple fact that humour (albeit gallows in nature) has played a large part.

Back in the 1980s, and on the way to my Grandfather's funeral, I was driving up Prestatyn High Street with my sisters and brother in law when we were effectively side swiped by a lorry which had tried to negotiate a difficult turn. We were already late for the service and  so my sisters and I had to abandon the car ( Ann clutching a hip flask full of brandy) to gallop up the length of the High Street in order to "beat" the coffin into the church. Not an auspicious start to a sombre event to be sure.

As a nurse, I have often felt it was right to go to a former patient's funeral.

Mostly the reason for doing so, is a deep seated respect for that particular character and their family, but occasionally the reason for going can be purely one of a sense that either "it was the right thing to do" or in some other cases that there was simply no one else to go.

I recall a patient I shall call Sid from years ago, who was admitted to the spinal Injury ward I was working on as a junior staff nurse. He was what we call now as a bit of challenge. Then we called him quite simply as a bit of a pain in the arse

Before being paralysed from the neck down, I always suspected that Sid was a "difficult character" a Yorkshire Miner all his life, he was a hard drinking hard man, that fixed problems with a sharp tongue, colourful language and his fists.After his injury, all his former coping mechanisms had been removed,as he could no longer move, a muscle, nor could he swear to any effective degree, as he had a tracheostomy in situ

However Sid had a huge amount of spirit. He could drive a chin controlled electric wheelchair with deadly accuracy. He knew what he wanted when it came to personal care and he could communicate those wishes with the assertion  that bordered on aggression.

and begrudgingly the ward staff warmed to him

Looking after him within the rehab environment was a challenge, and it was dreadfully hard work, especially as one of the few words Sid would utter when something needed doing was a slightly breathless "'elp!".

"Elp!" was uttered what seemed like a million times a day,
At times that one small abbreviated word could almost reduce a tired nurse to tears! and I am sure it was the last word he did utter, for one day when all of the younger and fitter patients were being roused in their wheelchairs to attend gym, Sid collapsed and died.

His funeral was held in a rough miner's town, and at the crematorium, I noticed that all of hard drinking and hard talking miners sat on one side of the chapel and all the hard drinking hard talking rehab nurses sat on the other.

The chaplain, did his speech.  A miner friend performed another, and we the nurses that knew Sid only  as  "hard work" heard all about a guy's life that we did not really recognise...We were only brought back to the "reality" of the situation when the Chaplain put his hand on the coffin and in response to something in the eulogy he uttered the words

"what would Sid have said about all this?"

In the silence that followed, and before the giggling started, somewhere amid the nurses' ranks a tiny voice whispered loudly..........

"'elp!"

The Berlingo Of England

Her best side

When I was standing at the Crown Bar the other night. I spied an older chap that I know to say "hello" to.

He nodded a greeting then said without looking over ,

"I see your Berlingo is not looking too grand!"

He was right of course.

The Berlingo is not looking too grand.

But to be honest, it never has .

The car has had somewhat of a checkered life up here in Trelawnyd.

Over a period of several years it has slowly morphed from a pristine wheelchair and old lady transporter into an unofficial animal transporter/ ambulance that has not only housed a pack of dogs, two pigs,a giant peaceful goat, a whole troupe of poultry and even had a tame turkey stag sat forlornly in the passenger seat while on an emergency trip to the vets.

25 kilo bags of layers pellets and corn are always stacked up in the boot and in the back seat where the dogs always can be found a whole shit tip of rubbish has accumulated over the years, giving the car the look of belonging to someone with definite hoarding tendencies

It's not a good look.

I aim to clean the car out today if the weather holds up and if the dyson can stomach the mess, I suspect I am in for somewhat of a battle; but I think it is time to at least make the inside of this skip presentable. Ok on second thoughts strike the word presentable and reinsert the word habitable.

It's about time.

I cannot do anything about the passenger window that does not quite close properly. Nor can I do anything about the scrapes along the side where Chris caught the driveway wall one morning, but at least I can remove three tons of dog snot from the windows and retrieve those last few overlooked goat poos from under the back seat !

I shall miss the old girl when she eventually goes to that big breaker's yard in the sky.

She has been a trusty old friend that has shared a few adventures with me over the years.

The most notable and anxiety provoking being:-

The Exhaust Pipe Blues Incident

The Hell is Being Trapped in a car with an incontinent Dog Incident

and the ever memorable

Loosing Your Entire Week's Shopping out of the back of the berlingo Incident

Perhaps with me giving her a bit of a once over...we may share a few more happy days until she's scrapped? eh?
So if you locals see the old battered gal chugging passed you with an assortment of animals' bums pressed invitingly against a set of filthy windows...spare a thought for her , smile, wave and hoot your horn.... you are saluting a hero of sorts

The normality of a berlingo boot

John The Master-Baker

Well after some master manipulating from BBC producers, who hinted that law degree student John has never really amounted to much in his mother's eyes ( what a pile of shite)... the little chicken of a queen has won The Great British Bake off, from under the noses of the arrogant old poof- who- made- good- in -the final reel- Queen Brendan and the delightful medical student James.

Amid a flurry of texts from Best Friend Nuala ( who also adored the show) we anticipated the winner and bemoaned the end of the series which has entertained us so much for ten week now

I have learnt all about chocolate ganash, how to make the ideal fondue fancy and what to do in the case of a bagel dough disaster!.....

But I am not really a good baker!

Not like Auntie Glad

I am thinking of  entering her in next years competition!

Now how's THAT for an angle eh?