Light relief

How can you tell you're flying over Africa?

Worn out

It's been a tiring day!

Sad News

The phone rang last night with a text message bearing sad news of a previous colleague. It was one of those moments when you find yourself listening to something and not really believing that you are hearing it. A young teacher who came to work in my last school about 14 years ago had died. She was 39 and died from intestinal cancer. A keep fit fanatic, her only clue that something was wrong, apparently, was that her stomach was constantly bloated. When she went to have it checked out, it was thought that she could be treated but sadly, the disease had progressed too far.
Inevitably, the memories came back from those days at school when the staff had been 'a brilliant bunch' working well together and sharing a good sense of humour. S. had often been teased for being gullible. There was the time, soon after she started with us, that I told her solemnly that the following week it would be her turn to take assembly and it was to be a minimum of 40 minutes. She listened politely, looking as if this prospect would be no more than a blip in the day and then went off to freak out, before being reassured by another member of staff that it was a joke. Then there was the time when Tracey Island was in such demand as the top Christmas present of the year for small boys that the shops were bare and none were to be had, whereupon, she decided to make one herself for her son, following the current instructions on Blue Peter, and coerced us all into collecting the relevant junk materials.
An excellent, hardworking and committed teacher, she inevitably moved on after a few years to widen her teaching experience and other new life experiences came her way. We still heard news of her from time to time and met up at courses and were pleased that she was happy and settled. Such a tragic waste of a young life.

Back home

He's home!

Cold weather

Kaptain Kobold's latest post set me thinking. Yes, it has been cold lately but I have come to the conclusion that Keith must generate a tremendous amount of body heat. Why? Well, when he's here, the house is always warm, at least I find it so. He tends to complain that he is cold and we have a running battle in the evenings, when he surreptitiously turns it up or puts the fire on and I, equally sneakily, turn it back down. But since he's been in hospital, I find the house is quite a lot colder even though the heating settings are the same as they always are.

It's definitely time he came home!

The Foot

This is the post-operative foot. According to Keith, it now has a 12 mm threaded stainless steel bar through the heel and into the femur with a wingnut on the bottom.

(I think maybe his imagination is running away with him!)

What a drip

Keith had his operation yesterday afternoon. A steel rod was inserted through the bottom of his heel as the skin there is healthy, so there is less risk of infection. He was pleased to have had it done, even though it sounds gruesome, as he can now have his foot bandaged and wear a 'boot' rather than having another plaster cast to his thigh, which is what they tried before. As it seemed to be almost impossible to find a vein in which to insert the drip, they resorted to putting it in his neck, which proved quite uncomfortable once the anaesthetic wore off. Another problem was that he had to turn his head to one side for the drip to work, and as it contained the all important anti-biotics, this was a problem. So during the course of the evening, he informed any staff who came close enough to listen, that the drip was not working properly and could someone please sort it out. Not an unreasonable request, you would think. However, by the end of the evening, nothing had been done, which meant that he had gone for several hours without the anti-biotics which he needed and the only suggestion forthcoming was that he would have to keep his head turned to the right to enable the drip to work and, yes, they expected him to spend the whole night with it in his neck.
Finally, as he put it, he had to get nasty and point out that this operation was his last chance and that if the foot did indeed become infected, it could mean amputation, so he was now not asking but TELLING them that they had to sort it out!
Within 5 minutes, the drip was reset and a line put into his leg rather than his neck.

Something which made the incident even more annoying was that, a couple of hours earlier, another patient on the ward had asked to have his bed moved from one side to the other 'for a change of scene' which was done almost before the words were out of his mouth. But although they had time to do that, they hadn't time to sort out Keith's drip.
Oh and, to put the tin hat on it, he wasn't given his night painkiller. This morning, when he questioned this, he was told that 'they had been busy.'

Maybe part of the answer to improving the NHS, rather than throwing even more money at management is to review the calibre of some of the applicants for nursing training!