I love this. I haven’t felt like this since about … 14 months ago? It’s a feeling that only comes from an amazing piece of music that for some reason makes perfect sense to me at a perfect moment in time.

My insides feel like they are bubbling.

And it’s like there’s a fist clenched tight around my heart, squeezing it harder and harder, with every breath I take.

I want something to burst from out of my rib cage.

I can’t stop smiling.

I want to share this with everyone.

But I can’t.

Because I know “Us” won’t mean the same thing to everyone or perhaps anyone, ever. I may not even feel this same way about it this time tomorrow.

But for now …

I’m so happy

In my room, painting a painting for my dear Papa.

Anyone who knows me slightly well knows that I LOVE trees. I’m not a dendro or anything, I just love them. I love everything about them, I find them humbling and beautiful. Aweinspiring and leafy. They make me feel secure. Conversely, places without trees make me feel edgy. And I feel a deep sadness every time I see that one I’ve grown up with has been cut down. It takes hours to cut down one massive tree. It takes decades for one massive tree to grow. It also makes me angry.

I opened my very first bank account with the National Australia Bank when I was 11. Dad thought it would be a good idea to become savvy with banks at a young age and for about 6 months, I used to walk down to the li’l Highton branck to deposit and withdraw the pittance that I had. I was impressed by Dad’s bank book, all those instances it had been stamped made my bank book look very amateur. I think I had a grand total of twelve stamps before I decided to stop going there. Not even an entire page.

Bendigo Bank became my bank of choice. I like Bendigo Bank. Bendigo Bank is a good bank. But I digress.

I had $4.52 in that NAB bank account for ten years that I never touched. And every month I got a bank statement informing me of my account details and my $4.52. Until one day, earlier this year, I got a bank statement from the NAB and it said I had $0.00. I don’t know where my $4.52 went. I’m sure that that money along with the $2.00 surcharge fee that all NAB ATM’s charge anyone when they withdraw money has gone to a good place though, so I’m not worried!

I rang the NAB that day I got that letter to tell them to close my acount, what’s the point in having it open, really? I mean, I haven’t accessed it for over a decade and there’s no money in it.

So, I rang and I was put in a queue. And another and another and another ’til I got through to some daft bitch who after wasting 40 minutes of being put on hold, told me I have to go into my branch myself to close it, she can’t do it over the phone.

So, I went into the li’l Highton NAB branch and I said “Please close my account, I don’t want anymore paper wasted letting me know I have no money. I’m already aware of that. Also, I haven’t been here for over ten years. Also, you’re killing trees letting me know I have no money in an account I don’t ever use”. And the lady I talked to was very understanding and said “I’ll close your account, you WILL get one more letter from us but it will just be for your records, confirming that your account has been closed.” – I didn’t want that letter either but I got it and up until today, I haven’t thought about the NAB.

Up until today I hadn’t heard from them since receiving my confirmation letter.

I come home from work to find a letter from the NAB.

Can you believe it? The li’l Highton branch is closing and relocating to Belmont. And they’re letting ME know? I don’t give a rats ass. I’m no longer affiliated with the NAB. Or AM I?? So, I called the NAB, hung up before it connected realising the error of my ways, and went to the li’l Highton branch and stormed up to the counter and this is what transpired:

Suzy: “I got this letter today and I closed my account months ago. So, why did I get this letter?”

Bank Teller: “You closed your acount?”

Suzy: “Yes.”

Bank Teller: “You no longer have an account here?”

Suzy: “That’s right.”

Bank Teller: “I don’t know why … if you closed your account … “

Bank Teller then confirms the account is closed on the computer.

Bank Teller: “You’re still on our database. All your details are still there.”

Suzy: “I don’t want me details sent on to this new branch in Belmont. I don’t want to be sent letters about the NAB anymore. It’s a complete waste of paper.”

Bank Teller: “Well, it’s on the system, it’s all automated. I’ve got no say in it, so …”

Suzy: “So … I’m expected to keep hearing from the NAB even though I’ve no business with you whatsoever?”

Bank Teller: “It’s out of my control, it’s all automated.”

Suzy: “You can’t delete my details?”

Bank Teller: “No.”

And that was the end of that. I swear to God if I hear from NAB again I’m going to burn down thier brand spanking new Belmont branch. Sure, it’s ironic in that I’m burning it down as a protest to stop them from wasting paper and cutting down trees, our natural CO2 storers, and hence contributing harmful CO2 into the atmosphere during the burning … wait … is that irony? Whatever, it’s the principle of the thing.

I couldn’t even get angry at that Bank Teller because it’s “out of her control”. So, I got to thinking, even if the system’s automated some jive sucker has to put those automated letters in to envelopes and then post them, computers don’t do that. Surely thier banking programs could have a “delete client” function. The programs we use at work do. They become completely irretrievable. And if thier programs don’t have that function, surely they can update the current program to allow for that?

I am only one angry ex-client of the NAB. But how many others are there with reams of bank statements that have come from being a client of theres for more than 12 years?? How much paper are they going to waste? How many more trees need to be cut down for no good f*cking reason? How many have already been cut down for no good reason? And this is only one bank. Take a moment to think of all the other companies that waste paper … it’s a wonder we have any trees left.

Thinking like this makes me angry I need to lie down.

In conclusion, the NAB sucks and I HATE THEM!

Bendigo Bank good.

CBS great.

* sound gun shot *

My third and final week of placements flew by. All except for the last half hour. That last half hour lasted longer than the three weeks of placements put together. Instead of going through day by day, I thought I’d just write of some highlights of the week.

I got to spend a day in theatre.

Young Man With Crohn’s Disease asked me out to lunch.

I got through the whole three weeks without ever seeing anyone vomit.

I only had the one incident with bloody ass poo.

I got to go home early on the Tuesday because I worked through my lunch time.

I got to work with great preceptors all week!

I met Robin Williams exact double who was a theatre technician. It was freakin’ scarey how identical they were. I wanted to ask him if I could call him Patch Adams, since, all people in theatre wear blue scrubs and you can’t tell if they’re nurses, technicians, surgeons or doctors.

I’ll detail my day in theatre because that was pretty cool. So. Our facilitator found me in the ward and said “c’mon, Suzy, we’re going to theatre!” and she took me by the elbow and led me down to level four and through a big pair of sliding glass doors into a bright, white (no natural light) rabbit warren, then through to the female change rooms where I got to get changed into light blue scrubs! It was awesome right from the start!

I met this middle-aged lady they were to be operating onand that I was to be observing and she was a bit nervous, as you would be. I held her hand and she squeezed back tight whenever her anxiety would creep up. I tried to take her mind off the surgery by asking her about who’s waiting for her at home and her family and what she does for a living. She was lovely! And chirpy! I walked with her into the operating theatre and held her hand, watched as the anaesthetics team worked thier magic and felt her grip lessen and lessen ’til her fingers slipped through mine and she was out cold.

She was having a double procedure, a gall bladder removal and a goitre removal. I was pretty lucky really because I got to see both micro and macro surgery. I must say, theatre’s not like it looks like on t.v.’s. I was expecting the whole:

Surgeon: “Scalpel.”

Nurse: “Scalpel.”

Surgeon: “Blood bucket.”

Nurse: “Blood bucket.”

Surgeon: “Priest.”

But it was far more relaxed.

The first thing they did to her after she was under was tape her eyes shut with sticky tape. Then they shoved a big hose down her throat that I assume helps her breathe or perhaps pumps her stomach with m&m’s. Not sure. Then they covered her with green blankets. Even her face. The only part of her exposed was her chin, neck and the top of her chest. I think they cover her in blankets because it’s cold in there and blankets have a calming affect even for those out cold with generals. So then I watched as Surgeon #01 cut her neck with a surgical knife, a 15 cm incision just above her collar bone. I couldn’t help but grab at my own neck in sympathy as I watched blood dribble out. But surgeon #02 caught all that blood with gauze and before I knew it, no blood was seen at all.

Surgeon #01 then started cortorizing the wound and cutting deeper and I saw little globules of fat underneath the skin and before I knew it, we were at the thyroid! I learnt that when surgeons have to cut blood vessels they use this clampy looking tool that’s electric and connected to a big machine. So they put the clamp on the vessel and  the machine will make a prolonged beep and then when the vessel’s good to go, the machine will beep again, but a major seventh pitch away from the initial prolonged beep. There was a heart monitor machine hooked up to the patient and the heart rate was represented by a beep whose pitch was a perfect fifth above from the prolonged beep pitch of the vessel cutting machine. It ended up being frustrating because there’d be this constant perfect 5th beeping, every now and then there’d be the prolonged tonic beep, and then to finish, the major seventh. I never got resolution! It would’ve been perfectly fine to my ears if the heart monitor was beeping a semi-tone above but alas … it wasn’t. And no resolution was ever had.

I think the frustration was amplified because I hadn’t eaten since 6am (and it was now 10:45am), and I’d been standing still for a solid two and a half hours. And anyone who knows me knows that I can’t handle standing still for five minutes so this was killing me.Luckily, a theatre person noticed I was looking a bit weak and told me to go have a break in the break room. And either someone was having a farewell party or they treat the surg. team like gods because the massive bench in the break room was blanketed in cakes, donuts, slices, strudels, biscuits, cup-cakes, muffins. I was too chicken shit to try anything (easy to be because all the surg. staff look at you with this “get f*cked” look on thier face) so I just made a cup of tea and sat in the corner by myself and watched the clock til I fell asleep and then woke up and realised I was supposed to be back in theatre.

I worked my way back through the rabbit warren and into the theatre room and watched as they removed the patient’s massive goiter. I got back in time for that and I was stoked! Then I watched as they did a laparotomy. That’s when they jam a thick, metal rod down someone’s belly button that has a video camera inside and then they manouvre that around as they make “lap sites” which is where they pearce 2, 3 or 4  instruments through the tough outer layers of the belly and into the sticky, slimey, smelly cavernous abdomen. They then do everything they need to do with those instruments. With lap sites, patients don’t take as long to recover because all that is left by the time surgery is all over is some puncture wounds. They heal a LOT faster than massive incisions. It was all absolutely fascinating. I watched as they took an instrument and pierced the patient’s gall bladder and watched on a big t.v. screen as golden, sparkly syrup oozed out of her punctured organ and into her abdominal cavity. It was kinda gross.

The surgeons finally removed the gall bladder up through the patients belly button and I watched as they placed it into a green kidney dish.  Then the theatre nurse cut up the gall bladder and squeezed out a number of hard, bumpy, yellow and black balls, each about the three times the size of a regular garden pea. The patient was getting her gall bladder out because of these stones, see. Pretty cool, eh? Apparently they smell worse than anything in the world but I wasn’t game enough to give them a sniff.

So, once the surgery was all done, the patient was wheeled into recovery where I waited for her to wake up. And when she finally did, she smiled up at me and gave my hand a big squeeze and didn’t let go! Until I pried my hand from her anyway. It was great to see her before during and after surgery. And she was right as rain!

Theatre is very humbling. We’ve come a long long way as a human race. Look at what we do to ensure our survival? Look at what we’re now capable of as a species. I couldn’t stop thinking that the whole time I was watching the operations. Every now and then I’d burst out laughing though,  I couldn’t help it. I was reflecting on an episode of David Attenborough on orangutan’s and how like us they are, one such orangutan on this episode liked to hammer nails. Only, being an ape, his accuracy wasn’t really that good and he’d just sort of lose interest every now and then and look at the camera or out into the expanse of forrest that lay before him. He wouldn’t stop mindlessly hammering though. The whole episode had examples of this human-like behaviour only, you know … it’s funny because it’s kind of … retarded. They’re slap dash about whatever they do. Even cracking open a piece of fruit on a hard surface looks funny. Ingenious yes, but definately slap dash. So I’d imagine orangutans in an operating theatre, masked, gowned and gloved and doing the same operations to one of thier own with the same sort of hap hazard approach, every now and then, losing interest and looking up at me with a vacant, adorable expression as they continually fiddle around with thier instruments, mussing up thier sterile field, not paying attention.

Aaaah …

Anyway, that’s it from me and placements, folky folks. Thanks for reading. I’ll write a new blog soon on nothing in particular. Until then loyal, lovely readers, may good health, happiness and good fortune find thier ways to you. And Happy-No-Swine-Flu getting. Let’s wash our hands lots, ok? Youse guyses and me.

So, my friends! The last two days have flown by, I’m really starting to get the hang of this whole nursing thing.

Yesterday was a morning shift, my first morning after a late shift for the week. Those are killers because you get home from your afternoon shift around 9 and then get to bed and to sleep by 12 and your alarm goes off at 6 and … yeah … they’re not pretty. But, it was my last one for this block of placements. Next week I have 3 earlys then 2 lates. No late-earlys! YAY!

I got to look after my good pal, Young Krohn’s Disease Man yesterday, who was admitted again on Wednesday to get a part of his bowel cut out. He was in good spirits! Particularly after giving him his powerful pain killers. I like Young Krohn’s Disease Man, particularly after giving him his powerful pain killers. A good student nurse friend of mine got to look after him on Wednesday evening and she said he was a real crack-up after pain- killers, did the whole “bed goes up, bed goes down, bed goes up, bed goes down” routine and continued to chat to her with a smile on his face and his eyes closed shut.

I also got to look after Middle-Aged Bladder Wash-Out Man, who needed his bladder to be continually washed out with 2L of fluid through a catheter every 40 minutes. Both these men were your typical “Suzy’s Pick of the Patients” – They needed no assistance in the shower, only supervision with a walk and were always up for a laugh. The only down side to yesterday was a young bloke who had a catheter in after surgery who swore his head off at the fact that he had a catheter in. I’ve never had to look after an angry patient before. Frustrated, sure, and if that’s the case, I always spend some time being an ear for them and once they’ve let off a li’l steam, they’re right as rain. But this guy! Making phone calls to his friends, swearing on the phone, swearing directly to me, not making eye contact. But fair enough. Apparently the nurse who inserted the catheter in the morning did it wrong, had to start all over again and that caused him quite a bit of pain. Plus, he’s young. And what young person thinks they’re ever going to have to need surgery? Still … bit of a rude prick … and I must admit, that verbal abuse (not that it was ever directed at me) stays with me and horrifies me way more than cleaning bloody ass poo.

Today I got to look after Cheeky Old Man #2 and for the last time because he’s being discharged tomorrow morning. And all he needed this afternoon were his routine medications and a walk. We went for a big walk and talk and sat in the sun room and watched the bay. It was a wonderful day weatherwise. Huge gusty winds and downpours of rain, grey clouds carpeting the entire sky and being reflected back in the choppy ocean. He really wanted to go home that night and I asked around but … he had to stay one more night.

I also got to look after Delightfully Charming Old English Chap who was in recovering from TURPS (if anyone’s interested in what TURPS is, check it out on the intrawebs, it’s a common procedure but I can’t be bothered explaining it). He too had a bladder wash-out going and apart from a walk, really didn’t need much in the way of nursing care. And might I say, Delightfully Charming Old English Chap was quite a fit man, we too walked and talked and sat in the sun room and talked about a wide array of things; England, The Lakes District, wild orchids, bird watching, books, the joys a dog brings to one’s life. It was a lovely afternoon shift!

The only remotely uncool thing I had to do today was assist an elderly lady to the bathroom. And that’s not even uncool, really.

Here are some skills I got to practice today:

Bladder wash outs and all that’s entailed.

Giving a Clexane injection.

Cleaning a staple wound dressing.

Obs.

And that’s about it. Pretty tame really. This nursing thing is good! I can’t believe I’m saying this but … I’m gonna be a nurse! And I’m really happy about it! 

Peace out, my beautiful loyal readers. May the world treat you well this day. And every day. Forever and ever. And then some!

Howdy, folks!

I haven’t updated recently because prior to today, there wasn’t much to say. But today was mighty interesting! I’ll cover Friday, Monday and Tuesday also …

Friday was a late shift, I started at 1:15pm and finished at 9:45pm. I was spewin’, too because on Thursday I got to go home at 8:30pm. On Friday, as soon as it got to 8:00pm I was thinking “not long now!” so you can imagine, every minute dragged on and on and on and on. I know you’ve all been in that position at one time or another, so you know the feeling. Friday was a quiet day. I got to look after Super Old Sick Man and Big Sick Bikie Guy again. Not much to report, really. I did get to spend a bit of time with each of them though, and have a good ol’ chat. I found out Super Old Sick Man has a good singing canary and he loves doing jigsaw puzzles, and not crappy 200 piece ones either. I mean, decent one to two thousand piece ones. I asked him if I bought in a puzzle would he like to do it but he said he doesn’t have the patients for it anymore. He’s convinced he’s not going to get better. I tried to convince him how good it would be if he could get home for an hour or two over the week-end but he didn’t seem to want to hear it.

On Monday I got to my early shift and found out Super Old Sick Man had had a turn over the week-end had gotten even worse    he didn’t make it home for an hour or two either. He’s been pretty out of it all week. Although, I haven’t had to look after him personally this week, every now and then I pop in to say hello.

Monday I got to work with a preceptor who … I can’t quite make up my mind about her. She seemed too busy for me sometimes, other times she was happy for me to draw up antibiotics … hmmm. I got to look after two patients with MRSA. That’s some sort of nasty disease I think, and when you’re diagnosed with it, you have to be isolated from other patients. Also, anyone who enters the room they’re in have to put on disposable gloves and a disposable gown before they enter and take it off and bin it before they leave. I think I entered and exited thier rooms about 50 gowns worth of times. Both of these patients were easy to look after, though, so it was no bigie.

The first was Li’l Ol’ Lady. I got to remove her catheter. First time I ever removed a catheter before. It went fine. I took her for a good walk and a sit in the sun room for an hour before lunch and at one point she asked me “shouldn’t you be doing work?” to which I replied “I am! I’m looking after you and this man over here (my other MRSA patient, also sitting in the sun room) today and you’re both almost good enough to go home so there’s not much for me to do.” – It was a very relaxing shift. The other man I looked after was Mr. Angry Pants. Mr. Angry Pants was fed up with being in hospital and just wanted to go home. I was told he was angry at hand-over and braced myself for it, but he was fine. As soon as I told him he was allowed to be angry and that it didn’t bother me, he cooled his socks, he was actually very friendly. I sat and had a good chat with him for an hour after breakfast, took him for a walk, and he was just thankful to have someone listen to him. Noth patients were discharged home the next morning so I doubt I’ll ever see them again. I finished at 2:45pm so I was stoked! Home before 3pm … noice!

Tuesday I had a late shift, and worked with the same preceptor again. She seemed more obliging this day. I got to look after Cheeky Old Man #1 and Cheeky Old Man #2. Cheeky Old Man #1 had had his prostate removed and had two holes either side of his belly button were blood and clots drained out into two clear bags with plugs at the end. I had to flush them at one point during my shift. That means I emptied the contents of the bags into a kidney dish, recorded how much blood there was (in mls) and then rinsed it with water and made sure it was all nice and clean and clear. Draining blood and clots  from two holes in a man’s belly made me nauseas.

Cheeky Old Man #2 had had part of one of his kidney’s removed. He was a heavy smoker his whole life and he’s paying for it now. I refer to them both as being cheeky because Cheeky Old Man #1 held my hand awful tight when I took him for a walk and wanted to go for a swim with me and Cheeky Old Man #2 asked for my number. All in all, it was a pretty cruisy shift. I got to leave at 8:45pm as well, so that’s a boon.

Now, let’s get to today. Today was a fascinating day. I’ll sum it up in dot points:

I took blood from a patient for the very first time (Cheeky Old Man #2)! I put a tourniquet round his arm, tested which vein felt good, stabbed it with a needle and watched as vials got filled with his still warm blood.

I went with my preceptor (AWESOME lady, today!!!) and Cheeky Old Man #2 to get his abdomen x-rayed this evening because he wasn’t doing too good. We wheeled him in a wheel-chair down to level 1 and whilst we were waiting for the radiologist, I found another wheel chair and challenged Cheeky Old Man #2 to a race. He said no but promised to tomorrow.

The radiologist I met knows my old man and is a Collingwood supporter.

A doctor spoke to me today.

This part I don’t want to sum up in dot points.

We had a man come in today with rectal bleeding. If anyone knows anything about vampire bats, they may know that they are called so because thier diet is comprised 100% of blood, which means vampire bat guano and vampire bat caves have a very VERY distinctive smell. Similarly, rectal bleeding causes poo to have a distinctive smell. Something about the blood, I hypothesize. Anyway, Old Anus is Bleeding Man today had … something of an accident, we might say. After he showered, we put him in what we in the nursing profession call “pad in pants” where we get a giant pad, and put it into these hospital underpants called mollipants. An hour or two after his shower, he was lying in bed and I assumed one of the four men in this room had farted and just not owned up to it. But the smell wasn’t going away … and it had that same familiar, sickening scent the bathroom had after Old Anus is Bleeding Man had used it. Also it seemed to continually punch you in the face.

I took the initiative to ask him how everything was going “downstairs” and asked him if I could check it out. Nothing could’ve prepared me for what I saw/smelt. For starters, his mollipants were stuck with bloody poo to his flano pyjamas. I got him up out of bed and in my careful consideration, grabbed the following: a big towel for him to stand on, two small hand towels (one wet with hot water, one dry), a roll of toilet paper, a medical waste garbage bag, an adult diaper and a handy pair of rubber gloves. So we got his pants down, we got his mollipants down, and his pad stayed, stuck to his thighs. So, I got that out of the way and watched as handfuls of dough-like, sticky, dark, bloody shit fell out of his ass, and landed on the prepared towel. He said he couldn’t quite reach around to clean himself so … yours truly did the honours. I literally wiped mounds of bloody poo off an old man’s ass today. Once I got rid of the bulk of that with the toilet paper, I gave it a good clean with the hot, wet hand towel, dried it with the dry hand towel and by this stage my preceptor came to help me as we got him into an adult diaper. I accidentally got his IV caught up in his diaper so we had to undo it, untangle it and get the diaper stuck back together. But then he was in his bed, I disposed of all the mess appropriately and the room no longer smelt of bloody human faeces!

Don’t youse all wish you were doing nursing??

Yesterday was a fantastic day! I really mean that, it was wonderful. I had a dream that Old Greek Man died and I had to shock paddle him back to life, so I did. He opened his eyes, groaned and died again, my preceptor yelled “Quick, quick! Shock him again!” so I did but this time he didn’t come back to life. I spent the rest of the dream consoling Old Greek Man’s wife. Can you believe that when I got to my shift, Old Greek Man actually died in the night, around 3am? I’ll forever wonder what time my dream was had …

But aside from the loss of O.G.Man, the day was great and I left feeling euphoric. It was a morning shift. The following are the four patients I got to look after today: Old Polish Man, Old Adorable Man, Young Krohn’s Disease Man and Middle-Aged Chest Pain Man. I had the best preceptor I’ve ever had, EVER! Let’s call her Mrs. Awesome. She knew her stuff, encouraged me to do everything, and picked up on every little significant detail to do with me and my interaction with staff and patients. She was also wonderfully happy and had a great rapport with the patients and staff. And she was flabberghasted when I took the initiative to ask Old Polish Man if he knew the difference between an opened catheter leg bag and a closed one (see, if it’s open, urine will automatically poor out the bottom all down your legs and feet which is why it’s imperative to know the difference, particularly since Old Polish Man was soon to be discharged and would no longer have nurses emptying out his piss bag). Furthermore, Mrs. Awesome was amazed at when I suggested a way to make catheter leg bags more accessible to the visually impaired, which Old Polish Man was/is. I’m not going to explain how here in case someone steals my idea. I’m going to look into patenting the idea and seeing if I can get rich off the royalties once I sell it to the leading catheter leg bag makers. Yeah. YEAH! Unfortunately, I don’t get to work with Mrs. Awesome again this placement, she’s going on holidays this week-end for the next two weeks. That makes me a sad panda.

Anyway, I not only honed in on some good nursing skills yesterday, I also got to meet some of the most interesting patients to date. As you can imagine, Old Adorable man was adorable. Not only looking, but in nature. Mrs. Awesome even joked that she hoped he’d get some sort of nosocomial infection so he’d be forced to stay in hospital longer. I got to assist Old Adorable Man in the shower and even though he didn’t need much assistance once he was sitting in the shower chair, I opted to clean his feet for him since he couldn’t reach too well. And boy did he giggle! He told me he was ticklish and I couldn’t resist tickling his feet further. Man! He was a cutey. He showed me two massive scares/brusies on his shins that he’d gotten many decades ago that had become visible in his old age, one was from one of the Clydesdales his father raised, another was from when a POW kicked him. He’s also the type of patient you always wanna be looking after. I got to take him for a walk around the hallways after his shower. We stopped at a window and looked out at the view of St. Mary’s and Ceres Look Out. He told me stories of old and when we finally got back to his room, Mrs. Awesome said “I was wondering where you two got to!” but she wasn’t mad, she was happy that he’d gotten to go for a good walk.

Another interesting fellow I got to know was Old Polish Man. I sat with him in the sun room for half an hour whilst we waited for his daughter to arrive to take him home. He worked in a forced labour camp in Poland during WW2. He wasn’t Jewish, he said you just got picked up off the street, along with his father. He never saw his mother or brother again after that fateful day. He worked in a China factory for the most part. He made plates, bowls and vases. He also spent months digging trenches for the Germans. Day in, day out, in the snow. He said the worst thing about the whole time he was there was the hunger. All he could think about all the time was how hungry he was. For lunch every day they were fed 3 small potatoes with some sort of sauce. There’d always be leftovers, but the two German women that served the food, instead of feeding the people, would take the leftovers to a sty, throw them on the ground and let two pigs devour it. Once Old Polish Man realised this was going on, he snuck around behind the two German women and once they were gone, he’d race into the sty, kick the pigs away and stuff his pockets with as many potatos as he could afford. Then he’d share them with his starving friends. Interesting dude, Old Polish Man was, I hope to see him again soon, there’s a possibility he’ll be coming back in a week or two for an operation or something.

And then there was  Young Krohn’s Disease Man. He’s also another ideal patient as he can shower himself, feed himself and have a good laugh with you. After Old Polish Man got picked up by his daughter, I decided to wheel his wheely chair back to his room (I wasn’t sure where it was supposed to go but so long as it was in the hospital, I could do no wrong). Now, this particular wheely walker had four wheels and a seat in the middle, it doubles as a chair when walking impaired people realise they’ve gone too far and need a rest. I couldn’t resist holding the frame, putting one knee on the seat, and gathering speed with my other leg and then raising that leg so I’d glide freely down those massive, empty hospital hallways. I cornered it into the patient’s room, expecting only to find Young Krohn’s Disease Man there but as it turns out, Middle-Aged Chest Pain Man was there too … wife in tow … I couldn’t've looked more unproffesional. But Young Krohn’s Disease man had a good laugh. He was discharged from the hospital about an hour later, which left only Old Adorable Man and Middle-Aged Chest Pain Man.

I spent the last hour of my shift talking with Middle-Aged Chest Pain Man. I won’t go into details with that one, but, he’s still in my thoughts. I was hoping that I could look after him again today but … alas, no. Middle-Aged Chest Pain Man was grateful that I’d come to visit him, he really needed someone to talk to yesterday. I would’ve like to have gotten to talk to him again today but the two times I swung by his room, he was occupied. Once was with a doctor, another time with his wife and kids.

Today was a quiet afternoon shift. I got to look after 3 patients; Old Sleepy Morbo (morbidly obese) Woman, Super Old Sick Man and Big Sick Bikie Guy. My preceptor was absolutely lovely. And very generous too, she let me leave at 8:30pm. I much appreciated her genuine care for her patients. It wasn’t that phoney, condescending crap either. She was the real deal. She was very sweet. I liked her but I won’t get to work with her again because she doesn’t have another shift on whilst I’m there

Old Sleepy Morbo … not much to say there. She literally slept the day away. She was awake for 6 minutes whilst I was there, 4 for when I did her obs at 2:30pm, 2 for when I gave her some antibiotics through her IV at 8pm.

Super Old Sick Man, is just that. Super old and sick. I got to remove a drainage tube from his belly today that was secured by tegaderm (that’s a clear, sticky, large, square-shaped bandaid) and a single stitch. That’s right folks, I removed my very first stitch on a human today! And I didn’t accidentally stab him or make his wound worse or anything! I say that now, but I BET I’ll walk into my afternoon shift tomorrow and hear in handover that he died overnight from sepsis, no doubt caused by the clumsy removal of his abdo. stitch. To which I’ll be all “luwl luwl luwl luwl luwl” with my index finger in my collar, pulling it out, over and over again.

And lastly, Big Sick Bikie Guy. I don’t actually know if he’s a bikie but he looks like one. And he’s got more bags with drain tubes coming out of him than … … … uh … … … some sort of thing that’s got loads of bags and drain tubes. Big Sick Bikie Guy also doesn’t have a penis. It got cut off because he had cancer there. I feel really sorry for Big Sick Bikie Guy. As if having a stomer* isn’t enough. He was feeling pretty low, as you can imagine.

stomer: a hole in your tummy where your poo comes out. There isn’t a spincter there, so it just comes out whenever it wants to. You can be in the supermarket, or by the pool! Stomer poo won’t wait for you!

Anyway folks, that’s it from me now. Time to have some me time!

’til next time, take care of yourselves … aaand eachother.

Bonjour, y’all!

I’ve survived my first two days of placements. I’m combining the first two days in this post because there’s not much to report on my first day. Surprisingly enough, it was a breeze! Time flew, it was an afternoon shift (1:15pm – 9:45pm), I didn’t have to do anything too invasive or distressing, every single nurse around me was absolutely lovely and had all the time in the world for me and my preceptor (buddy nurse) was a joy! Before I tell you about her, let me just paint a picture of what it’s like to be a student nurse on placements. You know when you play Bond and you get to a level where you have to get a scientist to follow you around to unlock something or access something and you have to protect him from bad guys and put up with him getting trapped in the room behind you because he sometimes just stops following you and starts looking around, not paying attention? Well, that’s what we are. A hindrence. But, being Bond (the buddy nurse) you have to protect us and put up with us and keep us alive, no matter how slow we are, no matter how mindless. And super awesome buddy nurse did just that! She looked after me, she told me where things were, she constantly asked if I’d like to do this, do that, she was happy and was super duper informative. Thumbs up for super awesome buddy nurse!

Now, as for day two … not so good.

I have a habit of sleeping through my phone alarm. Mostly because my phone switches itself off when it gets bored. So I bought this new alarm clock, one of those old timey ones with the two bells on top? And clearly didn’t set it properly as it went off at 3:25am. And it scared the living s outta me. So much so I didn’t get back to sleep ’til 5:20am, despite all my good get-back-to-sleep efforts. I had to be up at 6am for an early shift (7am – 3:30pm) and went to sleep the night before at midnight.

However, I got to the hospital on time and sat in on handover (that’s when the head nurse of night shift goes through patient by patient to the next lot of nurses coming in and updates them on any changes, etc). And after handover, the other three student nurses got buddied up with thier preceptors (which is prearranged) and I was left alone. A shadow of things to come, thought I? Surely not! But I was wrong. I was well wrong. I have this theory, see, that any nurse that’s super obese is absolute hell to work with. And so far that’s 100% true. Can you believe my buddy nurse today was super obese? For starters, she didn’t even know she was supposed to be looking after me, so that’s always a good start! Secondly, she’s super obese. And you know my theory. Thirdly, everything to her was a stitch. Even bad news. I wish I was jolly.

It was a crap day today because my buddy nurse had no time for me, she assumed I knew where everything was, ignored my questions, and constantly had me doing mediocre tasks. All with a smile and a laugh.

However, I got to experience some interesting things today:

I got to do a wound dressing on old Greek man.

I got to give 2 clexane injections (not one to old Greek man, but one to old English man. And another to young motor vehicle accident man).

I got to give old Greek man a bed bath.

He asked whilst I was washing him “what if wife come in?”, I told him not to worry. Two hours later, old Greek man well and truly cleaned and clothed was greeted by wife. I walked in and met wife. Old Greek man looked at wife, pointed at me and said “that’s her” and I looked at wife with wide eyes not quite knowing what to say “Yes, wife. I’ve cleaned your husband.” – I thought me and old Greek man had an understanding.

What else?

Here’s an interesting thought for all you men who read this blog. When you become an octogenarian, your willy shrivels up to about the same size as the top half of your thumb. Enjoy it now, I say. Even if you think it’s not big enough. Surely, it’s not as small as what I’ve seen. Maybe it’s a case of “if you don’t use it, you lose it”. So … stay busy, but not too busy. If you use it too much you’ll go blind. You need a happy medium.

I got to know one really cool patient today, he made the morning bearable. This is the type of patient that makes nursing fun. He was in his late forties, so, fairly young, and sadly, sent home at 12 noon, but all morning I got to hang out with him. These patients, that are young and generally quite well, shower themselves, feed themselves, dress themselves, generally cause no trouble and are always up for a laugh and a chat. I’m glad he’s in the comfort of his own home now but I’ll miss him. He was in good spirits! Let’s call him Superdude.

Sometimes, when a patient is super sick (like old Greek man) a met call needs to be made. A met call is when a nurse realises something’s askew and they call over the loudspeakers “met call to Heath Wing 6, met call to Heath Wing  6″ and before you know it, 10 doctors have come outta nowhere and are assessing old Greek man to see what’s wrong. When that happens, if it’s in a hospital room where there are other patients, they usually pull curtains around old Greek man’s bed to assure privacy. Today however, there were so many staff surrounding old Greek man, they pulled the curtains around every other patient’s bed so they could not be confined. Superdude’s curtains were pulled around him and since I didn’t want to be in the way, I snuck into Superdude’s quarters. I put my finger up to my lips to single the “shhhh!” since I didn’t want to get in the way of important doctors and such, being the annoying Bond-game-like-scientist that I am. I started up a conversation with Superdude and before long, super obese buddy nurse heard my voice and called out through the curtain “Suzy, you gonna come see what’s going on out here?” to which I stormed out of Superdude’s quarters and yelled back to him, with anger in my tone,  “thanks a lot, Superdude, now I’m in trouble!” to which he laughed and laughed! Those moments make nursing worthwhile.

I got to look after old English lady yesterday who, within minutes of meeting me, gave me a big hug and a kiss as she thought I had summoned Man-Who-Wheels-Patients-to-Theatre, the very same man she’d been anxiously waiting to arrive all day long (it was mostly just a good coincidence, which I did tell her, but she seemed adament in believeing that I’d done something about it … which … I kind of did but mostly … coincidence). God bless you, old English lady (if it wasn’t against the privacy act, I’d totally tell you her name because it’s absolutely adorable!). Again, another moment that makes nursing worthwhile.

Anyhoo, that’s it from me today, folks, will update tomorrow if all goes to plan! Now it’s time for yoga. My back and feet are in incredible pain …

Hope y’all are being treated very well!

Take care,

Suzy J.  

So … as you may or may not already know … I’ve been without a car the last two weeks. My nanna very kindly offered hers to me and I was grateful. But unfortunately, it’s technically unroadworthy because there’s a crack in the windscreen, nanna’s lost the new registration sticker and up until this morning, needed to be jumpstarted every time I wanted to drive anywhere. Until I went to BATTERY WORLD that is! Roger, the owner of the franchise, fitted my nanna’s car with a brand new battery. I had respect for him right away as he said “You just want  a cheap battery, yeah?” – no hard sale. Also, he recycles every battery he replaces. Also, he offers a 24 hour roadside service! Call 13 17 60. You know what else I liked about Roger? He didn’t charge me for doing the hard work of actually replacing the battery, which although I observed, didn’t look very hard but definately tedious. So praise to you Roger and Battery World. Sure, I’m still broke (battery’s aren’t THAT cheap), but I now have a car I feel moderately safe driving around in! Also, Van Morrison’s “Bright Side of the Road” sung me all the way home (up until getting the battery replaced, Dad told me to not use the radio or heater or anything that might drain the battery). It’s a good morning!

Bless you, Battery World.

Blattery World.

So, we have this spare car. Let’s just call him Ultimate Poor Guy.

And one time about a month ago, Ultimate Poor Guy broke down in Warrandyte. But that’s ok, because UPG got fixed in a place in Wantirna. It cost $512. They gave UPG a new alternator and a new fuel pump. But then one time, two weeks later, UPG broke down on the Geelong Bypass at 1am. I got home at 5am because the bypass is shiney and new, much like the fuel pump was. Because the bypass is shiney and new, it’s hard for women on the phone from RACV to tell the men who drive trucks for RACV to come find us. It’s also hard for men who drive tows hard to find us too but that’s ok because they got the car to Harold Salt’s, King of Trustworthy Mechanics (thanks Crommo for recommending him, seriously that man is a saint, Harold Salt that is ).

$180 later, UPG was fitted with a new, reliable fuel pump! So I decided to get my car, The Beast, serviced from Harold Salt because I like Harold Salt. $140 later, Matt and I had 2 old, yet reliable cars under our belts!

And then last night, Matt and I were driving home from Melbourne and it was dusk and the battery light came on on Ultimate Poor Guy. But he was handling smooth so I didn’t think too much about it. But then I put on the lights and Ultimate Poor Guy didn’t like that too much so I switched off the lights and very, unsafely, drove home in the dark. Well, I almost drove home. We got onto La Trobe Terrace, 15 minutes away from home and had to stop at the lights at the intersection of Bell Parade and La Trobe. I’d changed from the very left lane to the very right lane at this stage as I was planning on getting off the highway when the chance came so that I could take less dangerous streets all the way home. But Ultimate Poor Guy decided to conk out. We got fifty metres away from that intersection. But it was OK because I had my phone and I called my dad.

But dad didn’t answer the phone. So I phoned home and John rung around to find either one of my folks (I would’ve done it but my phone battery was about to die). In the space of five minutes, a nice man in a ute with a trailer attached stopped behind us to help us push UPG into the very left lane where we would be in a suitably more safe position. And in the space of a further two minutes, a lady in a 4wd slammed on her brakes to avoid hitting the man with the ute and trailer. It was ok, she didn’t hit the trailer.

But the woman that was  driving behind the woman in the 4wd slammed on her brakes and ran up the back of her. And then the girl that was driving the car behind the woman who smashed into the back of the 4wd smashed into the back of the woman who smashed into the back of the 4wd. But it was ok, because two police cars came by and had their pretty red and blue flashing lights going mental and that made the whole night very nice although it didn’t stop me from bawling my eyes out. But it was ok, because I was wearing a shirt with long sleeves and I could wipe my eyes and snotty nose on it.

The tall policeman came to talk to me and I was scared because I thought I was going to get into trouble. He looked at me square in the eye and I was a blubbery mess and then he said in a big, deep voice “Are you ok, young lady?”. He didn’t want to know my name or my licence number and he said it was not my fault. He said it was good in a way because no one got hurt but I still felt very guilty. He said I should go home with this nice young man (meaning Matt) and get him to pour two glasses of whiskey,  one for me, and one for him (the tall policeman).

Ultimate Poor Guy is now at the ever reliable, ever trustworthy Harold Salt’s. I rang Harold Salt this morning to let him know what happened last night and he said he had a look at Ultimate Poor Guy and can you believe it? The alternator doesn’t charge the battery properly. The brand spanking new alternator and fuel pump that got fixed in Wantirna only a month ago caused Ultimate Poor Guy to brake down twice. And Ultimate Poor Guy has cost me a total of $850. I’m going to try and get the $500 back from the mechanics in Wantirna though because I think they’re a bit dishonesty. I think I’ll be really angry when I speak to the mechanics in Wantirna. I think they’re not good mechanics. I think they’re not good mechanics at all.

END!

Perhaps one of my most favourite eats in the whole world. Simple. Classic. Satisfying.  But if you get the timing off, it ends up ALL wrong.

preparation time 1 minute

cooking time 2 minutes

serves 1

1. Toast 2 pieces of bread (preferably some sort of seeded loaf, however, multigrain and white are also suitable choices) to a golden brown colour.

2. Whilst bread is toasting, get margarine from fridge, butter knife from drawer, plate from plate cupboard and Craft Peanut Butter original from cupboard. Hint: If you buy the bigger jar of peanut butter you get more value for your buck. Also, it lasts longer because there’s more of it.

3. Make sure the knife is prepositioned in the margarine. Once you become pro, you’ll know EXACTLY how much to get on the knife to spread on both pieces of toast without having to go in for more and potentially uglify the margarine with multiple burnt crumbs.

4. When bread is suitably toasted, quickly remove from the toaster and place on the plate. Apply preprepared margarine liberally, spreading all the way to the edges. If it’s not glistening with melted margarine, apply more.

5. Add peanut butter. Try to make sure there are multiple pools of melted margarine and peanut butter mountains throughout the toast so as to keep each bite a surprise.

nb. For a slight twist, add IXL’s smooth Plum Jam.

Now THAT is what the Italians would call “good ciao”.