A Strong Cup Of Tea

 

The one thing about working night shift as a nurse, is that on one deep dark moment in the wee small hours, you and your colleagues WILL succumb to what is colloquial known as NNH ( Night Nurse Hysterics)

Now, obviously this depends on who you are working with, but if you are lucky enough to work alongside like minded characters, all it will take is a look or a word and giggles worthy of a gaggle of oestrogen filled schoolgirls on heat will ensue. 

This morning , all it took was support worker Cat making me the worst cup of tea this side of the Welsh border and me asking “What the fuck is that? for all three night staff to be reduced to childish giggles.

It’s not rocket science that stress and tiredness finds an outlet in silly humour and banter.

I remember one particularly stressful night on intensive care where seven out of a full compliment of eight patients were sedated, ventilated and incredibly poorly. 

I just happened to be looking after the only awake patient who had just been woken up from his induced coma, and throughout the night he had watched, wide eyed as one patient had been resuscitated successfully and another had been given unit after unit of blood to combat a huge bleed. Aware of every noise and activity from behind paper curtains.

Around 5 am, the nurses took their first proper break which was a grabbed cup of tea behind the nurses station and all it took was a very loud and unexpected high pitched fart from my patient to silence the banter of the eight nurses and one doctor on duty.

In the stillness that followed the doctor , who was not known for his humour said wryly 

“ I believe that was an A sharp”

And the hysteria that followed was long and prolonged and much needed.

Even my patient was laughing, albeit weakly

I remember him saying 

“ It’s not like this on effin’ER”

“It takes as much energy to wish as it does to plan”

Who said that? 

I think it was Eleanor Roosevelt ?

It’s my favourite Roosevelt quote 

I like a plan.

Plans are like lists to me, they are vital when things need to be done.

When interacting with any patient or patients ‘ relatives at work over my decades of nursing, I always come back to “ The Plan” 

“ Have you a plan?” , “ Shall we make a Plan?”

Lockdown in finishing and I think we all need a plan of action. Whether that plan is a clear idea of how you are going to approach our brave new world, or what you are not going to do.

For me, after months of isolation and difficulty, it’s a serious decision that I am not going back there…..to those dark months where I didn’t realise just how lonely and low I had become

Roosevelt also supposedly said It’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness but even she was in turn quoting an ancient Chinese saying, I think I like it almost better than her planning quote…it means …quite simple …..don’t moan about things…just get things done.

I am lucky now , for in my friend Ruth I now have a great new friend and wonderful occasional house and dog sitter. For a small treat ( meringue nests, strawberries, marks and Spencer’s special custard and a bottle of wine) she will house sit the cottage on Tuesday so I can drive up to Sheffield so I can have tea with my dear Marlene Dietrich- sequel pal John H ( Bel Ami in the comment section) and evening drinks with stalwart friends Mike And Jane at All Bar One

In July Ruth is Dorothy sitting again, so I can visit Nu again in London, this time for a meeting with thirty mutual friends from all over the country. The same weekend I had planned to meet my nephew Leo at comic con and catch up with another friend,Alex,to see Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cinderella 

After that it’s York ( my old Psychiatric stamping ground) for a catch up with Nigel, Ruth and Dale (Sheffield Spinal Injury friends) ….Vivaldi by candlelight in Liverpool’s Sefton Park Palm House c/o Col, another work base picnic on the beach at West Shore, a village Green Party in Trelawnyd   and a hot air balloon ride outside Chester this time with hospice Ruth, who like me ,was brought up with the 1970’s Nimble Girl.

So what do I mean to say with all this planning? 

Why is it so important?

A bit of social media showing off? 

“Look at me , how happy am I …..?” 

The Facebook 😀 syndrome?

No, not really….though it’s always nice to look interesting I suppose. 

I think Eleanor Roosevelt had it right , although I don’t quite subscribe to her most famous of diktats Do one thing everyday that scares you…..

Post covid, perhaps the saying could be amended to do one thing, everyday that pleases you!….AND more occasionally than not, with someone you care about

I don’t want to revisit those bleak lockdown singleton days when zoom just about kept your head above water, 

……non of us do

Love this, heard it on the way to work

More to go

Weight loss now 8.3kgs

I can bend over without farting

I can fit into my uniform without Matron frowning and pulling down the front

I’m feeling better about myself

No Provenance

Mrs Trellis remarked how well my old fashioned rose in the front garden was doing this morning as I was dead heading it.I told her its name ( Ice Cream) and said it has  a fragrance to it that reminds me of when I was a boy at home and she took the time to sink her nose into the nearest bloom and inhaled deeply

“ lovely !” She said then asked, pointing to an emerging bloom nearby

“What’s the little yellow rose called? “ 

I checked and smiled when I saw it

“ That’s a new rose, a gift from a friend,” I replied, it’s called Winnie” 

And indeed it has a species name of Golden Winnie and was a kind gift from my friend Colin after the old girl had died.

This was its first flowering

“Flowers like this one should have a plaque saying just how important they are” Mrs Trellis mused “ The next tenant of your cottage will look after it accordingly “

She looked thoughtful 

So many things we keep have the  same personal resonance. A drawn postcard of me dog walking from a friend, a hand made hand painted cheese board, a crocheted blanket, a Spanish lamp, a framed piece of an OS map, a rainbow heart….things without formal provenance… 

….just things……

We talked about this for a while,  and Mrs Trellis said and laughed that she was being overly philosophical today.

She pointed to a poppy head, in the flower bed near to my  front door

“What does any of this stuff really matter? Look at the poppy, beautiful and delicate and it will gone tomorrow” 

I looked at the poppy

And realised she was right.

Back To Work

 

This framed print arrived today.I’d bought it when planning my new blue bedroom. It was posted from Florida. I’ve cut the lawn. Phoned a friend. Cleaned the windows. Washed Bluebell and cut flowers from the garden.

Pippa from the Rectory caught me in the lane, worried about the possible closure of the Church.I’ve asked her to get as many people that are interested to email the vicar supporting the possibility of it becoming a pilgrim church. She said she would. 

I go back to work tomorrow 

I really don’t want to go

Memories of Postal Orders

 I’d organised my revalidation paperwork yesterday and will complete my reflective essays when I’m on nights at the weekend, so there was not excuse to sit at my desk today. 

I took the dogs to my favourite bit of promenade where we walked for miles…. an amble broken by a large Americano at the Horizon cafe for me and a shared sausage butty for them.

There was a light rain which was refreshing 

It felt warm.

In the silence of a long walk, I remembered arbitrary memories, like you do when your mind wanders in croc squeaked steps.  

When I was a boy I collected film stills. 8x10 black and white film stills bought for around about a pound each ( without posting) from the British Film Institute . The institute was located at 81 Dean Street in London.

And London felt a million miles away.

As a child, I could only pay for my purchases with a postal order, a green one with extra stamps for postage. I haven’t seen one for years.

Once in every two or three weeks a single photo would arrive in a neat cardboard backed envelope marked with a stamped do not bend instruction on the upper left hand corner.

My name and address would always be formally typed and because of its size the postman would leave the package neatly behind the milk bottles, milk bottles that would be stripped of their red foil tiles by the blue tits in the garden. 

Those envelopes , were exciting and important 

And they put me into the habit of loving post of all kinds,

A love that remains with me to this day.

Funny what you remember when your mind wanders into mindfulness 

In my case today

It was of 1970s postal orders, photographs of disaster movie stars, and a strange and unchanging love of letters through the post

Trying for a beach selfie , I only caught Dorothy’s strange fixation with me  

He’s still pissed off

 

Slugger Albert

 “ He’s not the easiest of patients!” 

So the know-all receptionist told me when I called back to the vets after Albert had received his X-ray 

“ I did warn the vet that he’s not the friendliest of cats, he WAS mismanaged at a previous surgery “ I reminded her but she wasn’t really interested.

I asked to see the vet

Albert had come round from his anaesthetic and was fighting fit.

I could hear him from reception.

I had booked him in early as a precaution. He was eating fine and had asked to go out early this morning for his usual hunt, but he was slightly guarding his deformed leg and he limped a little more than usual.

It had taken two burly country vets and a practice nurse to anaesthetise  him.

He had no new leg fractures but must have jarred his old injury the vet told me as there was marked arthritic changes around his repaired leg fracture of a decade ago. The vet noted an “old “ vertebral fracture that was probably missed by his former vet. She had also checked his teeth and removed a tick from his shoulder given the information he didn’t like , even me picking him up

“ He’s lucky” she said “ and he’s a fighter!” 

I noted she had a fresh plaster to the back of her hand.

Without the dogs in the car , he wailed all the way home from inside his basket, only shutting up when I let him out in the kitchen where the dogs smelled hesitantly  at his left leg, where he had been shaved and canulated . 

He’s slept on my bed most of the afternoon, only coming down to eat some specially cooked chicken on the window ledge. I snapped him then sharing my eggy breakfast plate with Mary before he took himself off upstairs again to rest. 

The fight all but left him