Better late..?

I glanced at the clock, half an hour had passed. Time to poke the sleeping tiger again. If I was lucky, I might be able to catch my night nurse before she handed the keys over to the day staff at hand over. Spotting my nurse, I called out to her. She stood out in her agency scrubs like a sore thumb. Glancing up, we locked eyes, before she promptly buried her head in the folder, as one might do if they are trying to hide in plain sight.

"I can see you you know" I called coolly. Still she ignored me. Muttering darkly, tummy throbbing, I fumbled under my pillow for the ever elusive call button, trying hard to avoid touching any of the patches of silicone plastic that are scattered about its smooth surface. As the Orange call light flashed above my head at the entrance to the bay, and unable to ignore me any longer, begrudgingly she started to approach. 

"Yes?!" She snapped, lips curled in a snarl. Slightly taken aback at her tone, but aware time was marching ever forwards, I replied b politely, "sorry to disturb you, but I asked for some pain relief over half an hour ago?" The muscles in her clenched jaw twitched so much, I thought they would jump right out off her face!

She rolled her eyes skyward, reluctantly slouching off in the direction of the controlled drug room. Erghh! I know her type like the back of my hand. She had been nothing but rude, dangerously lazy and insolent all night, right from the moment she had first arrived on shift. Consistently late with medications, and refusing without a bitter debate to use proper sterile technique when handling my Hickman line. 

As far she was concerned, my life line required no more special treatment than a standard peripheral cannula... I mean that is what it is isn't it, a rather large cannula?! No. It's not. One can last years and will give you a life threatening infection in minutes, (such as sepsis) if mistreated, the other does not. 

"Handover" an original cartoon by Rosie P

I was jolted out of my thoughts by the tell tale rumblings of the computer trolley. Since their introduction last year, they have been at best cluttering up the ward, and at worst preventing patients from getting their medications, by amongst other things, deleting drug charts and running out of battery. At last I thought, some pain relief. Half an hour late, but better late than never. But when the trolley approached my heart sank. Three nurses stood crowded round it, so close they seemed to move as one. 

Handover. And they were 15 minutes early. I howled, mouth open in a silent scream of frustration. Now at best it would be at least another half an hour at the earliest until I would get some relief. The plethora of nurses stopped at the end of my bed, hand over began in earnest.  

"This is Bed 32..." said the nurse, waving her hand vaguely in my direction. I huffed indignantly, "I HAVE A NAME", I screamed internally. "She requested oxynorm, but I'd already given the keys to another nurse. It's fine though she's not in that much pain". In couldn't stand it any longer. 

"And how do you know that? Are you in my body? Can you feel the saw like pain in my joints? And stabbing spasmodic pain throughout my abdomen? Just because I am not screaming the place down like some people, (I glanced towards my neighbour), does NOT mean that I'm finding my pain difficult to bear!!" The accompanying hard stare I gave turned her a spectacular shade of crimson. Paddington would have been proud. 

32 hours and counting: A Transport Story

"What?!" My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe my ears. This can't be happening. Not for the second day in a row. I looked at Dad, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. For once, my insatiable voice had been silenced. Everything that could be said had already passed my lips. So I just sat there. In dumbfounded silence blinking back bitter, angry tears.

"Dreamer" an original cartoon by Rosie P

"I'm sorry, but we've tried contacting the bed manager, and transport won't be here before 9 tonight at the earliest. Would that be too late? It's really difficult to book for a stretcher ambulance on a weekend. Plus you have far to travel..." it was only when her voice trailed off that I became aware my eyes were throwing daggers. I snorted in disbelief, shaking my head, resisting the urge to grab her warmly by the throat.

Panic started to rise I my chest. I can't do another night. Not here, with meds so infrequently, with the constant screaming and moaning from the old lady next door. My eyes widened as another realisation hit me, like a punch in the gut. Oh god. What about my TPN?? Yesterday I got lucky as they'd over ordered my prescription, leaving me with a spare bag. The fight for fluids could take hours! My head sunk into my hands, the light stabbing my eyes like a thousand white hot needles. A migraine was brewing. The calm before the stress induced storm to come.

Sound went distant. Colour started to drain. I could hear Dad. He was talking to a gaggle of nurses: "So 10am tomorrow, for definite?" The resounding silence said it all. The cracks were beginning to show in earnest. "Your bed manager said that he'd arrange and pay for a private crew for tonight." Dad hissed, "We had even given him the name of our regular private ambulance company, only to be told that G4S have made there own arrangements. That was nearly two hours ago. So, once again, where the hell are they?!" He growled.

"Fire Breather" an original cartoon by Rosie P

"Stretcher cases are more complicated than you understand, sir." exclaimed the nurse. Dad's laugh was more like a howl. If humans could spit fire, she would have been roasted alive in a nano second. Big mistake nurse, big mistake.
"I have travelled in more stretcher ambulances than you have had hot dinners, NEVER ever has it taken this long" he seethed. "That award you have on your notice board, for your ability to organise patient discharges is clearly not worth the paper it's written on!", and with that we set about dismantling my care for the second night in a row, leaving the nurse and gawping Carer to chew wasps alone.

I felt utterly drained, as if I'd run a marathon up Everest. With Dad busy on the phone, and another nurse placing my meds back in my bedside locker, I glanced at the clock. Time was not on my side. 8 o'clock. The night shift had started to arrive for handover. Amongst them was my favourite nurse. Dropping her bag in the corridor, she made a beeline for me, embracing me in a bear hug without a word. Grateful and emotional, I squeezed back. "I'm so sorry" she soothed.

"So am I", I whimpered, tears finally running. "So am I".

Too little, too late

I'm floating on an ocean of comfortable nothingness. Its silent except for the gentle lappng of the water. Calm. Peaceful. I can hear a voice in the distance. So far away it's almost inaudible above the waves. I strain, trying to work out where it's coming from.

"Rosie", I awake with a start. I'm on the ward in T9, the nurse is leaning over me, her hands resting gently on my arm. I try to rub the sleep out of my eyes, temporarily confused as to my whereabouts. "Walk up sleepy head, transports here".

A wave of anger hits me like a train, knocking the sleep out of me once and for all. "What, now? Buts it's too late! I've cancelled my nurses and Dad's gone home. What time is it anyway?"
She glanced at the clock. "Nearly 11pm" at this, a disgruntled man stuck his head round the curtain. "It's she ready or not?" He moaned, starting daggers. "We don't have time to be hanging about".

A tidal wave surged inside me, flooding me with hot adrenaline. I tried to swallow it back down, but there was no room. My volcano of frustration would not be contained. "We don't have time to be hanging about?!" I repeated, turning phasers to death con one. "Who the hell do you think you are?!" The man opened his month to reply, but my razor sharp gaze stopped him dead in his tracks. The colour drained out of his face, turning him a rather peculiar shade of grey. 

"I have been waiting for you to turn up since 3 o'clock this afternoon, and have spent my day being continuously lied to and fobbed off by your useless bloody company. As a result, I have been unable to return home and wil have to spend another night incarcerated with no sleep". The man gulped, shrinking back against the curtain, desperate to find some kind of relief from the intolerable heat of the death stare.

"So what do you want us to do?" Croaked the ambulance driver, eyes resolutely fixed on the floor, a shadow of his former bolshy self. I contorted my face into a smile and replied in little more than a whisper, "I want you to go back to your controllers and recant my immense displeasure. They shall be hearing from me with a formal complaint in due course".

His frantic nodding reminded me of one of those nodding dogs. The nurse and I watched in cold stony silence as he desperately tried to find his way out of the small gap in my curtains. Then like an animal being returned to the wild, he disappeared out of sight as fast as his short legs would carry him.

Going, going... gone?

"That's not good. I can't feel the cuff." Said the specialist nurse. Her brow furrowed with concern and concentration, as her fingers moved deftly up my chest and neck probing the skin for the tell tale lump. "When did you notice the line looked different?" She asked suddenly. 

"This morning when I was getting changed, I noticed that the junction where the lumens part was outside the dressing. It wasn't in that position yesterday."

Starting to slip. Not that I knew it then...

The nurses frown grew.  She pulled off her gloves, the soft slapping sound broke the increasingly tense silence. I knew what she was thinking, it had crossed my mind the moment I first saw my line. I was the first to break the silence, "it's falling out isn't it." The words stuck in my throat. Hot tears began to form, making my eyes sting. The nurse glanced at her college, who had been hovering so close to the curtains I'd forgotten she was even there. The look they exchanged told me all I needed to know.

She nodded. "It certainly looks that way, but we won't know for sure until I've reviewed your post opp measurements and have given the line a full visual examination. I'll get the sterile measuring kit" My heart sank. Just my luck. Two days post op and the damn thing is already slipping out. I wish I'd just put up with the allergic reaction from the stat lock* after all. Anything is better than this, even red hot rashes and blisters the size of ping pong balls! And with that thought, my heart sank further. The stat lock. Oh god! Is that why it's falling out?! No, can't be. I shook my head. No. Much more likely it was this morning's nurse tugging it whilst giving meds. Thank god I held on to it!

Triumphant. Line redressed.

Lost deep in my musings, I hadn't noticed the two nurses leave until the rattle of a metal trolley barging through my closed curtains announced their return, dragging me back to earth. I landed with a bump. The metal trolley was laden. A full sterile dressing pack lay open, gloves, syringes, alcohol wipes and several measuring tapes spilling over its surface. Hands sterilised, I began to peal of the dressing covering my new life line with the same care you would afford a live grenade.

Gently taking the weight of the line with one gloved hand, the nurse carefully began her examination to decide my fate. Her other hand was a whirl of measuring tape and prodding. You could have cut the tension with a knife. I closed my eyes. Willing everything be ok? "Hmm... yes it's out by at least 3 cm. Stitches look good though" she mused. Her fingers probed deeper into my bruised and swollen tissue. The pain was sharp as a dagger. It took my breath away.

Suddenly, the roaming fingers stopped. Another hand joined the poking, it's fingers pressing slightly harder, more furtively. "Aha!" Exclaimed the nurse. Her partner was as startled as I was, jumping in surprise. "What?! What is it?!" But the nurse was on a different planet, eyes closed.

"Yes. It's defiantly there. The cuff is still in a reasonable place. It's moved, but it will still be able to do its job and tunnel into your vein over time." I couldn't quite allow myself to believe it.
"So it's still ok to use?" She nodded, smiling. The relief on her face was obvious. "And I'm still ok to go home today?!" She nodded again.

"As long as you're happy. Just make sure you keep an eye on it until the stitches come out in 5 weeks time".

I hadn't realised until then that I'd been holding my breath. Slowly I exhaled, relief seeping through me like a warm liquid until every nook and crannie was glowing. It's not often you dance with the devil and come out on top.

*A small clamp like devise that adheres to the skin, holding the line in place.

"Manners maketh the nurse"

Manners cost nothing. I understand you are tired, that you have worked a long and difficult 12 hour shift. That you want to go home to your bed. But having a go at a patient because they are in agony and have had the sheer audacity to ask you yet again for their medication, which they originally asked for well over an hour ago, is not conducive to the situation.

You are not in charge here. The patient is not your subordinate. You are both equals. A nurse is a patient's hands and legs when they cannot move. They are a comforter and soother when pain is out of control. Respect is earned, and works both ways.

When pain relief is asked for, from the perspective of the patient, the message, (and the nurse), often seems to vanish into the ether, never to be heard of again. If no one has appeared by the half hour mark, doubt creeps in. Have they forgotten? Are they doing it? Am I not due it yet? We only press our buzzers to find out what's going on, not to offend or upset you. That is after all why they are there.

To misquote a character from the film Kingsman, "Manners maketh the nurse". 

Hospital buzzer