An Apology
Someone I know, came out to me as gay recently.
She dropped the fact into the conversation as causally as you like, but both of us knew it was done anything but casually.
I picked the information up carefully.
I will say no more about her, it's not my place to
But I was asked ( eventually) how I coped with bigotry or discrimination in the workplace.
I told her this story.
Many years ago now I was the nurse representative in a weekly rehabilitation multidisciplinary meeting. Present was a cross section of the great and the good. 2 medical consultants, a social worker, a consultant psychologist, junior doctors, a physiotherapist, occupational therapist and a student nurse in training . Every professional knew the other very well and the forum was often a lively but honest collection of minds.
As we were wrapping up the meeting one consultant ( a man I admire to this day) made an off the cuff remark about a general discussion of being disappointed as a parent by one of your children. Unthinkingly he shared that the ultimate disappointment would be for him, if one of his children came out gay.
The psychologist sitting opposite to me opened her eyes very wide and gave me a look, as did several of the other staff, but as the consultant went on, I said nothing, got up quietly, with my papers and walked out of the room.
I needed to process what I had just heard.
I wasn't angry but I was disappointed and moments later , as I stood at the nurses station with a good half dozen staff, the consultant appeared in front of us.
" I need to speak to you" He said to me carefully
" Go ahead" I told him as all of the staff pretended to be doing things just within earshot.
He indicated with his head that I follow him towards my office but I didn't move and said
" We can talk here"
I wondered what was going to be said , so I was totally surprised when he unexpectedly gave me the most eloquent and moving apology I have ever received in my life.
Apparently after I had left the room, his fellow consultants and others had rounded on him.
There was a reason that I remembered this event to my friend.
Not only was it the only " discrimination problem" I ever experienced in my entire career,
It was one that I didn't have to battle myself.
I had a whole raft of people behind me.
Learning To Be Kind
I heard an interesting phrase today when a hospital visitor was talking about a poorly patient.
" She taught me how to be kind" the woman said.
I wanted to know what she meant by the statement, so I asked her
" When I was a girl" she explained " she went out of her way to teach me fun things. She taught me to knit and to sew and to cook...her kindness made me want to be kind back"
This got me thinking on my journey home.
Can we taught to be kind.?
I suddenly thought of a time at school when I had just entered sixth form.
The few friends that I possessed had already left school, so as a shy teenager, I was even more isolated in my chosen A level classes of Geography and Biology where numerous classes of sixth formers were lumped together in antisocial gangs and factions .
I spent great chunks of my time alone and even entering a class would fill me with social dread and angst, so it was common for me to pick a desk at the back of the class so I could effectively disappear from view.
In my Geography class, from the second or third day, I was joined at my desk by a cheerful boy called Tim. We didn't know each other, but he sought me out and remained as resolutely good natured and friendly as I remained quiet and rather shy throughout the next two years .
We were not friends, as I never met up with him outside that one class, but he always made a beeline for me keeping me company and entertained during explorations of Brazil and the long days studying cuestas and Ox bow lakes.
Tim wasn't my real friend, he had far too many friends of his own,
But he was kind.
He sat next to me because he was kind.
" She taught me how to be kind" the woman said.
I wanted to know what she meant by the statement, so I asked her
" When I was a girl" she explained " she went out of her way to teach me fun things. She taught me to knit and to sew and to cook...her kindness made me want to be kind back"
This got me thinking on my journey home.
Can we taught to be kind.?
I suddenly thought of a time at school when I had just entered sixth form.
The few friends that I possessed had already left school, so as a shy teenager, I was even more isolated in my chosen A level classes of Geography and Biology where numerous classes of sixth formers were lumped together in antisocial gangs and factions .
I spent great chunks of my time alone and even entering a class would fill me with social dread and angst, so it was common for me to pick a desk at the back of the class so I could effectively disappear from view.
In my Geography class, from the second or third day, I was joined at my desk by a cheerful boy called Tim. We didn't know each other, but he sought me out and remained as resolutely good natured and friendly as I remained quiet and rather shy throughout the next two years .
We were not friends, as I never met up with him outside that one class, but he always made a beeline for me keeping me company and entertained during explorations of Brazil and the long days studying cuestas and Ox bow lakes.
Tim wasn't my real friend, he had far too many friends of his own,
But he was kind.
He sat next to me because he was kind.
Hunt For The Wilderpeople
Set generally in the Maori populated rural bush, the story sees troubled, obese teenager Ricky ( Julian Dennison) literally being palmed off on childless farmers Bella (a delightful Rima the Wiata) and her bad tempered husband Hec (Sam Neill) by burnt out child welfare officer Paula ( Rachel House) .
Ricky is an angry orphan, obsessed with rapping culture and gangsters, but his defences are gradually worn down by Bella's curious warmth and rather black humour even though Hec remains stand offish and cool.
When Bella unexpectedly dies foster dad and teen reluctantly join forces to embark on a strange " True Grit " journey into the bush, pursued by the police, an obsessed and angry Paula and a set of huntsmen.
It is, what it is, namely a rather sweet fairy tale of two lost souls who find each other and credit must be given to a grizzled Sam Neill who is happy to let his rotund co star hog all of the best one liners.
Having said this, as charismatic as Dennison undoubtedly is, with his spirited haiku renditions and gangster jargon, it is important to note that he is not your typical child actor, and does, perhaps lacks, the emotional range needed to portray the more pained aspects of the boy's character.
Having said this, the movie is a comedy, and the cast do deliver a whimsically sweet story which pleases even though occasionally it dives into slapstick now and then.
A Moan
This is a moan.
And not one I will apologise for.
In one hour
I will monitor oxygen saturation levels, take blood to assess arterial blood chemistry and make sure the patient's entrotracheal tube is situated appropriately.
I perform tracheal suction and note all settings on the ventilator are written down carefully..
Measurements of heart rate, rhythm, blood pressure, blood sugar, central venous pressure are monitored and infusions of insulin , noradrenaline, potassium and fluids are titrated accordingly.
There are three infusion pumps and six syringe drivers all working together.
Antibiotics have to be retrieved, checked, made up and given.
All fluids entering the patient via vein and nasogastric tube are measured carefully
Everything leaving the patient is monitored too.
Pupils are checked for a reaction with a pen torch and sedation levels assessed.
Visiting family are supported and a plan of care discussed .
The nurse looking after the man in the next bed is helped to turn her patient.
Another nurse asks me to check their drugs before they can be given.
I have not even started to look if paperwork such as the moving & handling assessments or the nutritional audit has been completed and I need to organise help to turn my patient in the next hour.
I also need to brush my patient's teeth but as yet have not had the time to do so.
All this in one hour, of an eleven and a half hour shift.
The day before Yesterday, a chirpy electrician fixed our water heater. The part he needed cost about 25 quid
His invoice for part and labour was £82. It took him an hour to drive to the wholesalers to retrieve the part, fix it and have an animated chat about his bad back.
Don't get me wrong I was grateful he came so quickly.
Winnie was in the vets literally a couple of minutes. She had a painkiller and an assessment
£40.00 quid! Again I was grateful for the input.
The electrician's labour cost ...fifty pounds for an hour's work?
The vets? .................................Thirty pounds perhaps for five minutes.
A band 5 nurse on intensive care? .........£14 an hour.
14 pounds!
Go figure
Winnie's First Trip To The Vets
On the way to the vets this morning
Winnie fell off the bed this morning and banged her mouth on the ancient floorboards of our bedroom floor. It sounded as though the roof had come in but she did nothing more than half knocking out one of her stubby canines. Winnie seemed unconcerned with the whole thing even though the tooth hung over at a crazy angle and after a few minutes of trying to free it
I thought it prudent to take her to the vets.
I need not have bothered for as we sat in the crowded waiting room, she nonchalantly spat out the offending tooth in front of an over friendly jack Russell.
It was Winnie's first trip to the vets, and as usual she took the whole thing in her stride.
It was the Spanish vet who was running the clinic and she took one look at Winnie's over serious face and lisped " Is she aggress-ive ?"
Winnie opened up her mouth to show the vet her bleeding gum.
" Help yourself " I told the vet, " she won't bother you "
Bulldogs intrigue people.
With their over serious faces that can effectively mask any emotion , they often wrong foot people that cannot read the more subtle signs that flag up bulldog happiness.
Old Bulldogs don't generally wag their stumpy tails in greeting.
They don't lower their heads, or pull forward in a playful acquiescence when they want to say hello.
They just stand, and they watch, and they snort like bullocks do when they meet you at a farm gate
I love watching the public reaction to Winnie when we go walking along the local public walk and cycle way, for it's very like watching a tense gunman standoff from a very superior Western.
Winnie will amble alone and at her very own pace.
When she spies a stranger off in the distance. She stops for a moment with her head held high and she will stare at the figure carefully.
This can be somewhat disconcerting to those of a more nervous nature.
Then, rather slowly she will line herself up with the stranger, and stop again, her change of position meaning that the stanger's path, if continued, will coincide with exactly with hers.
It's this behaviour that gives her the look of a gunslinger.
Think Yul Brynner from Westword with Buster Keaton's face and you'll get where I'm coming from.
In the past more intimidated walkers have become all a bit of a dither with the thought of a confrontation so now I am in the habit of calling out " the old bulldog is friendly" when people appear. The word " old" seems to placate nerves more than the word "friendly" and the subsequent crossing of paths when seemingly miserable bulldog strains her head up to a stranger to be petted or preferably kissed, always feels rather sweet
The Walking Dead ( spoilers)
For seasons now humanity has taken a true bashing in The Walking Dead.
Even Rick's group, now devoid of the moral compasses of Hershel, Dale, Deanna and Tyreese and with Maggie and Glen incapacitated by pregnancy, is finding it hard to keep a civilized community going in a world filled by fortified townships ruled over by leaders with their own agendas and way of managing a frightened new world.
The new baddie in season 7 is a real psychopath. He is also clever and uses proven psychological and physically terrorizing ways to control his environment.
Negan is modern day ISIS personified, and in that way, his retribution on " Team Rick" with his barbed wire baseball bat is even more sickening than it could have been.
Terror is king, it would seem.....its parallel with the middle east's medieval war all too apparant
And It's all too much.....
Having said this Jeffrey Dean Morgan is quite amazing as chilling and psychologically savvy Negan
The Walking Dead, is essentially an adventure story and adventure stories should be entertaining.
Overkilling two lead characters in such a bleak, violent way is not quite entertainment...but it was bloody powerful television
We shall see where season 7 goes eh?
" suck my nuts"
Monday, Monday
I'm too busy to blog today.
Workmen have to be organised, revalidation paperwork for of my nursing qualification completed ( we nurses have to justify our practice by evidence and pay 120. £ a year to work after we do!)
Albert has the shits after eating a dodgy mouse and the water heater is on the blink again
Hey ho
The Walking Dead is on later...perhaps I can have a big smile then......perhaps not"
In the meantime
Workmen have to be organised, revalidation paperwork for of my nursing qualification completed ( we nurses have to justify our practice by evidence and pay 120. £ a year to work after we do!)
Albert has the shits after eating a dodgy mouse and the water heater is on the blink again
Hey ho
The Walking Dead is on later...perhaps I can have a big smile then......perhaps not"
In the meantime
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