Just got back from holidays in Stirling today. It was a fine wee break, doing general touristy stuff - like riding open-top tour buses and befriending the driver - and waving good-bye to my wages as I bought a whole new wardrobe (well, there abouts).
I was glad to return home in time for Red Cross tonight, because despite the dull weather and low lying cloud, we were promised a BBQ, which was going ahead whether it rained or not.
First of all though, we had to earn our burgers and cake by completing thee Big Scenario planned by the group a few weeks ago, and set up for us by one of our trainers.
My partner in crime (she'll know who she is by now - in fact, I'm just gonna start calling her that in all my blogs now...or I could call her Raffia - the fake name she used as a casualty, tee hee) another less-frequent member of our RC gang and myself volunteered to be the casualties, which resulted in the three of us sitting in our own wee patch of woodland, each with our own condition waiting to be treated, each getting wet because of the fine rain (the sort that soaks you right through) and each being molested by midges.
Finally, we heard the signal - three toots of a car horn - to alert us to the forthcoming first aiders who would come and help us in our time of need.
I'm not sure what happened with the other two casualties, but I do know that my scenario was quite entertaining. I was supposed to be suffering fae Hypothermia, but it was hard to imagine at the time cos I was wearing a thermal fleece, had a blanket wrapped around me, and a hi-vis jacket across my knees to keep them dry. The hair could go frizzy - I didn't care anymore.
Things literally heated up even more so when folk came with the necessary equipment and used them successfully. Of course, this is a good thing, but by the time we had spent a good five minutes stuck inside a wee tent/shelter thing, and myself wrapped up in not only my original blanket, but a silver sheet, another blanket, and a body bag-type-thing with another first aider hugging me to keep me warm, I was starting to feel like a cross between a boil-in-the-bag, and a roasted, casualty. It had to be done - for accurate practice - but by the time I was freed from the tent and various other bits and bobs designed to raise the core temperature of an actually frozen casualty, I was glad to feel the rain and cold air on my face again.
In the end though, everyone generally did really well. I know that "Raffia" (lol) was injured more often than treated in one circumstance, but it can't be helped; everyone did well in the end anyway, and it all adds up to experience.
Following the scenarios came the BBQ, at first in the drizzle, then the pouring rain, and finally in the dry dark of 9 at night. It was a good BBQ, with a lot of laughs, a lot of water, and a contact lense catastrophe (that hurt a bit). I'm gonna have to get "Raffia" back at some point - she started a round of Happy Birthday for me, cos she missed the opportunity a couple of weeks ago, when it actually had been my birthday. I know she'll be reading this at some point, so just to let her know, I'll get her when she least expects it...ha ha ha...
Anyhoo, all in all the night was great fun. It's the best RC banter we've had on a Tuesday night in a while me thinks. There were a lot of laughs, but the best bit had to be when one of our trainers (I'm dying to mention his name, but I won't) came running in to the office proclaiming that the new guy who's probably going to join our team next week is hot, and told us 'ladies' to calm down. I don't think it was us who needed the calming down, not next to our trainer!!
It's nights like these that make me glad to be in the RC. Ok, so there's never a moment when I think, "God, I wish I had never joined," and there never will be I don't think, despite what ever negative things have cropped up in the past. But it's just...especially nights like these when I'm thankful for joining. As time goes on, the people in our wee (well, big) Elgin gang feel more and more like a second family. I love it when a night is a good banter, and everyone just gets on hunky-dorey, cos it's those nights when the gang really does feel like a team.
I'd say tonight was definately one of those nights.
Tuesday 26 August 2008
Thursday 21 August 2008
Glenalmond '08
Right, I suppose I'd better explain what Glenalmond - or Glen - 08 actually is. Let's start with the obvious; the 08 stands for 2008. We clear on that?
Ok, lets be serious here - Glenalmond is a college situated in Perthshire (roughly 7 miles out of Perth, funnily enough) and every summer since about 2000 the Episcopal Church (there's no way on Earth that I'm explaining that to you) has taken over it and ransacked the grounds and its buildings. Basically, Glen is a camp for any Christian youth member who wants to go and explore more about their faith and meet tonnes of new, uber cool peeps along the way.
And the best bit is - for a Christian youth camp, Glen isn't that preachy! So everybody wins.
So what do we do there, I hear you ask?
Well, where do I start? Sunday is the day we arrive, and the camp begins when each diocese (churchy area) brings forth their own wee cross which is decorated by the youth of that diocese. There's six in total, I think... Anyhoo, these crosses are placed on one big cross and once they're altogether, then the camp can officially begin. On Sunday nights, we usually have a Quiz Night to get everyone into the swing of things - kinda like one big ice-breaker. Then it's night prayer, said back up at the dorms on each individual floor. Then bed time at some rediculous hour in the morning when a leader finally loses their rag with all the chatting going on.
Each morning begins with breakfast, and the food is pretty damn good. Nothing to complain about really. I mean, who could complain about the option of having a fry-up every morn? Everyone sits together in the school's dining hall and shares the morning banter - mainly people being really tired and trying not to fall asleep in their cereal bowls.
Brekkie is followed by morning prayer in the main theatre, and then Workshops. Workshops range fae Art to Drama, to writing a newspaper, to Music, to photography, to filming, to debating, to baking and this year even to comedy (now that was good!). Following this are our House Groups. House groups are...well...they do what it says on the tin really. All delegates are sorted into groups and its in these groups that we do our worship in (each night one house group will perform a short worship - ok, this sounds preachy, but it's actually a hip way of doing the whole religious thing, cos each worship is made up entirely by the delegates. This means funky songs are usually involved, and some kinda sketch, either funny or serious, along with a prayer and some kinda symbolic thing that involves everyone, e.g. lighting candles). House groups are generally....well, let's be honest, boring, but this year I kinda enjoyed mine, cos it was the top house group so it was us oldies and we generally had a good banter, especially seeing as we had ace leaders (including the almighty Bish; the bishop who runs the joint - he's just awesome).
Then it's lunchtime - more tasty grub.
Then a wide range of activities. Each afternoon is taken up by two activies, and each one is usually ace. You can find yourself spoilt for choice sometimes. Here are some examples:
Swimming (always ending with a game of incredibly vicious water polo where all Christian morals are thrown out the window and people claw at each other and drown each other in order to win a game -such good fun!), supervised snoozing (meaning a leader plays a relaxation cd and you can catch up on some well-needed sleep), knitting (ok, sounds lame, doesn't it? But it's a chance to gossip and in some cases there was even EXTREME knitting - oh yas! This involved knitting in the middle of a glen near Glenalmond - well worth signing up for, cos the scenery's just gorgeous), outdoor and indoor games (self-explanitary), climbing, and many more.
Following this is free time, where you can do whatever you want, unless your housegroup is leading the worship that night, in which case you have to go and practice for it.
Then it's dinner time - more food, yay!
Then it's the house group's worship.
Then it's that night's activity. It's up until now that every day has pretty much the same routine (yet it never gets boring, surprisingly - oh, excluding Wendesday, which is an amble, usually based on some random theme the leaders have come up with. This year, it was "Transylvania-shire" - tres contradictory?) Anyhoo, now it all varies fae night to night. This is the line up:
Monday - Ceilidh - always kick ass.
Tuesday - Murder Mystery - written by one of the leaders, it's damn hard sometimes, especially this year's one!
Wednesday - Question Time - basically one big debate sesh where everyone gets to put their point of view across about some kinda issue. Sometimes a bit dull, sometimes entertaining - a nice, healthy balance usually.
Thursday - the highly anticipated Disco!! Need I say more?
Friday - Cafe Society, aka a Talent Show, although this year known as "Show Time!" (has to be said in show-jazzy voice with jazz hands gesture), but some people thought GVP was more interesting, GVP standing for the Glenalmond Variety Performance... make of that what you will.
Friday night ends with an outdoor night prayer held in the quadrangle of the college, infront of the chapel. This is possibly one of the most beautiful moments that Glen has to offer. All delegates and leaders standing in a circle in the night, lit only by candle-light, singing together and being thankful for the amazing week that Glen has been. If the night is clear, as it kinda was this year, then a starry night sky just completes the scene. It's usually a very emotional moment, as it's officially the last night of Glen (and this year, it was my Birthday!!).
Then Saturday comes, and by 2pm everyone's usually long gone. It's like a bloody tear-fest usually; everyone's sad to leave behind the new mates we've just made, and the old ones we may not see again for the next year. And for those nae coming back, it may be a case of nae seeing them for a long time. But we all leave with happy memories, and as cheesy as this may seem , it's a nice way to end it all.
Of course, for us Elgin crew (or should I say Diocese of Moray, Ross & Caithness Crew), there's always the banter of the mini buses on the way back home to look forward to!
So, as you can probably guess, Glen is always great fun, with plenty of laughs and banter and emotional moments too.
It's a place where you can just be yourself, with no prejudices held against you for being who you are, or who you want to be.
You mingle with people old and young, and it opens your eyes to all walks of life. In a way, it teaches you to be more open-minded.
And perhaps the best part is, that even if you're nae the most religious person in the world (I'm in that contingency), it still gives you a little bit of faith - a faith in humanity even.
And with that inspirational speech out the way, I'm off to bed.
Ok, lets be serious here - Glenalmond is a college situated in Perthshire (roughly 7 miles out of Perth, funnily enough) and every summer since about 2000 the Episcopal Church (there's no way on Earth that I'm explaining that to you) has taken over it and ransacked the grounds and its buildings. Basically, Glen is a camp for any Christian youth member who wants to go and explore more about their faith and meet tonnes of new, uber cool peeps along the way.
And the best bit is - for a Christian youth camp, Glen isn't that preachy! So everybody wins.
So what do we do there, I hear you ask?
Well, where do I start? Sunday is the day we arrive, and the camp begins when each diocese (churchy area) brings forth their own wee cross which is decorated by the youth of that diocese. There's six in total, I think... Anyhoo, these crosses are placed on one big cross and once they're altogether, then the camp can officially begin. On Sunday nights, we usually have a Quiz Night to get everyone into the swing of things - kinda like one big ice-breaker. Then it's night prayer, said back up at the dorms on each individual floor. Then bed time at some rediculous hour in the morning when a leader finally loses their rag with all the chatting going on.
Each morning begins with breakfast, and the food is pretty damn good. Nothing to complain about really. I mean, who could complain about the option of having a fry-up every morn? Everyone sits together in the school's dining hall and shares the morning banter - mainly people being really tired and trying not to fall asleep in their cereal bowls.
Brekkie is followed by morning prayer in the main theatre, and then Workshops. Workshops range fae Art to Drama, to writing a newspaper, to Music, to photography, to filming, to debating, to baking and this year even to comedy (now that was good!). Following this are our House Groups. House groups are...well...they do what it says on the tin really. All delegates are sorted into groups and its in these groups that we do our worship in (each night one house group will perform a short worship - ok, this sounds preachy, but it's actually a hip way of doing the whole religious thing, cos each worship is made up entirely by the delegates. This means funky songs are usually involved, and some kinda sketch, either funny or serious, along with a prayer and some kinda symbolic thing that involves everyone, e.g. lighting candles). House groups are generally....well, let's be honest, boring, but this year I kinda enjoyed mine, cos it was the top house group so it was us oldies and we generally had a good banter, especially seeing as we had ace leaders (including the almighty Bish; the bishop who runs the joint - he's just awesome).
Then it's lunchtime - more tasty grub.
Then a wide range of activities. Each afternoon is taken up by two activies, and each one is usually ace. You can find yourself spoilt for choice sometimes. Here are some examples:
Swimming (always ending with a game of incredibly vicious water polo where all Christian morals are thrown out the window and people claw at each other and drown each other in order to win a game -such good fun!), supervised snoozing (meaning a leader plays a relaxation cd and you can catch up on some well-needed sleep), knitting (ok, sounds lame, doesn't it? But it's a chance to gossip and in some cases there was even EXTREME knitting - oh yas! This involved knitting in the middle of a glen near Glenalmond - well worth signing up for, cos the scenery's just gorgeous), outdoor and indoor games (self-explanitary), climbing, and many more.
Following this is free time, where you can do whatever you want, unless your housegroup is leading the worship that night, in which case you have to go and practice for it.
Then it's dinner time - more food, yay!
Then it's the house group's worship.
Then it's that night's activity. It's up until now that every day has pretty much the same routine (yet it never gets boring, surprisingly - oh, excluding Wendesday, which is an amble, usually based on some random theme the leaders have come up with. This year, it was "Transylvania-shire" - tres contradictory?) Anyhoo, now it all varies fae night to night. This is the line up:
Monday - Ceilidh - always kick ass.
Tuesday - Murder Mystery - written by one of the leaders, it's damn hard sometimes, especially this year's one!
Wednesday - Question Time - basically one big debate sesh where everyone gets to put their point of view across about some kinda issue. Sometimes a bit dull, sometimes entertaining - a nice, healthy balance usually.
Thursday - the highly anticipated Disco!! Need I say more?
Friday - Cafe Society, aka a Talent Show, although this year known as "Show Time!" (has to be said in show-jazzy voice with jazz hands gesture), but some people thought GVP was more interesting, GVP standing for the Glenalmond Variety Performance... make of that what you will.
Friday night ends with an outdoor night prayer held in the quadrangle of the college, infront of the chapel. This is possibly one of the most beautiful moments that Glen has to offer. All delegates and leaders standing in a circle in the night, lit only by candle-light, singing together and being thankful for the amazing week that Glen has been. If the night is clear, as it kinda was this year, then a starry night sky just completes the scene. It's usually a very emotional moment, as it's officially the last night of Glen (and this year, it was my Birthday!!).
Then Saturday comes, and by 2pm everyone's usually long gone. It's like a bloody tear-fest usually; everyone's sad to leave behind the new mates we've just made, and the old ones we may not see again for the next year. And for those nae coming back, it may be a case of nae seeing them for a long time. But we all leave with happy memories, and as cheesy as this may seem , it's a nice way to end it all.
Of course, for us Elgin crew (or should I say Diocese of Moray, Ross & Caithness Crew), there's always the banter of the mini buses on the way back home to look forward to!
So, as you can probably guess, Glen is always great fun, with plenty of laughs and banter and emotional moments too.
It's a place where you can just be yourself, with no prejudices held against you for being who you are, or who you want to be.
You mingle with people old and young, and it opens your eyes to all walks of life. In a way, it teaches you to be more open-minded.
And perhaps the best part is, that even if you're nae the most religious person in the world (I'm in that contingency), it still gives you a little bit of faith - a faith in humanity even.
And with that inspirational speech out the way, I'm off to bed.
Up-dates...shall we start with insults?
Hmm, well, I think I need to up-date this thing more often, cos now I have to remember what has actually happened in the past that may well have been worth noting down at some point.
I know a good topic to start with actually......insults.
Work and being insulted go together hand in hand when it comes to this particular Nursing Home job.
Here's a personally-experienced example - one of the residents has to go to the hair dressers one afternoon. This client doesn't like the hairdressers, but she has to go else she'll end up looking neglected with Ozzy Ozborne-style hair. This is cool for some, but nae appropriate for an eighty-something year old. So I go in to her room and tell her she has to go downstairs (her room was on the top floor) to get her "scalp examined". Calmly and quietly she agrees and tries to get herself up out of her chair. I go to help her, and instantly she sits back down again, claiming she can't do it. The ensuing conversation went a bit like this:
"Now Mildred*, you can get up, you were almost there. Look, I'll help you."
"Send them up to me," she said sharply.
"They can't come up the stairs, you have to go to them."
"Why can't they? Why should I?"
"Because...because they have all their equipment and stuff. And it'll be good for you to get out of your room for a while. Surely you don't want to be cooped up in your room all day?"
Mildred sniffs indignantly and watches the telly from over my shoulder. I already know I'm not in her good books, but she's definitely nae in mine now. The hairdresser was getting impatient as it was - Mildred's antics were only further holding up the proceedings.
"There's some good stuff on the t.v," she continued in a rather ignorant tone.
"Listen Mildred, you have to come downstairs for now, but after lunch myself or one of the other carers will take you back up to your room. Is that ok?"
"I do like this programme."
"Mildred?"
"I'm not listening."
So I turned round and switched the t.v off. This was followed by:
"I know why you did that! To make you feel BIG!!"
I didn't say anything during the verbal on-slaught that was flung at me, but on this remark I did think, "hardly, when I can turn a t.v on or off any time I want."
Eventually the continuous stream of insults ended with a stroppy "Get out of my room, go on, get out!!" She then raised her fist to me and I knew it was time to back off.
So I did what I was told and bumped into the head nurse of the floor, who promptly asked, "What happened?"
My reply?
"Mildred, that's what happened."
I then left for my lunch break half an hour late.
Of course, this was only the beginning.
Later on I was in charge of the lounge area, and was having quite good fun playing a quiz game with the old biddies present there. They seemed to be having fun too, and everything was just hunky-dorey...
...that is, until Mildred appeared in the door way. Amazingly, someone had coaxed her out of her room. Either that, or had used brute force.
But there she was, as calm and collected as any decent elderly lady. And she was smiling as she walked in.
I smile back at her; "Come on in Mildred, there's a seat on the sofa here for you if you want."
So she sits down and makes herself comfortable.
See, the beauty of most argumentative situations involving elderly people and carers is that the residents usually have some form of dementia, and any previous tense moments are forgotten by at least one side of the argument.
Mildred, like most residents, has dementia, and quite a bad case. She is forgetful, and often very aggressive with it. It wouldn't be the first time that she's whacked a carer across the face before.
Anyway, returning to the lounge. I asked a question based on religion - the answer being Islam - and the answers I got from the clients were close, but nae close enough.
"Iran?" One said.
"No, that's a country," I thought.
"Iraq?" Said another.
"That's where you belong!!" Sounded a harsh, familiar voice.
I turned to Mildred and stared.
"I beg your pardon?"
"That's where you belong - right out of the way in Iraq!"
Em, ok then, I thought , and looked around the room. A few clients gasped at the remark and tutted.
"I hardly think that's...appropriate, Mildred," I said sternly.
But Mildred just sniffed disapprovingly and looked the other way. Clearly her dementia hadn't blocked out our previous tiff in her room.
Thankfully I was saved when another carer came in and announced that it was 4 o'clock and I could go home.
I escaped with a cheerful good bye and no doubt a killer of a look from Mildred.
Of course, there's not just one culprit in the Home. Because there are a few of the residents who have pretty bad dementia, childish insults are relatively common. However I often find that it's the residents who aren't affected by dementia, yet still need help because of physically not being capable to help themselves, that can really bite your head off. These clients tend to be the proud sort who hate to give in to us carers and our do-goodiness.
For example, Betty, who is bed bound but pretty much all there mentally. She can't feed herself, she has no teeth and so is barely understandable, and depends on us to move her every couple of hours because she's too weak to mover herself into a comfortable position. Now for a moment, put yourself in her position - how frustrating it must be to have a sharp-witted mind and not be able to put a point across because no one will understand what you're saying. The only way you can make yourself totally clear is to unleash anger when you're nae happy with something. Imagine not being able to get yourself comfortable, and having to wait on a carer to come and do it for you; a carer who who know only because they come and wash you every day because you can't do that yourself either. They come every meal time too to spoon-feed you, and you so want to do it yourself so sometimes you try to grab the spoon out of the carer's hand. Then you get angry and frustrated, and when they try to change your nightie you claw at them and yell every profanity under the sun at them in the hopes that they'll just bugger off and leave you alone.
It's sore and hurtful for a carer to face this at first, but then you realise that the insults you get are nothing personal; it's just a vent of anger at who ever happens to be there at the time.
Some insults, like "you belong in Iraq, you do," are funny and the sort you can tell to your pals the next time you're out for a meal and end up blethering about work. Then there are the insults that are really brutal, but actually say "just back off a bit, cos I'm nae liking this."
The sad truth is that, as a carer, we have our duties to do, and this does mean invading people's personal bubbles, whether they like it or not. We don't particularly like it, but someones got to do it.
So work, as ever, is an entertaining, interesting, eventful, emotional roller-coaster ride. Some things just never change.
*All names in italics are false names to hide identities. I like keeping my blog anonymous, cos then no-one can go for my throat if I mistakenly write something inaccurate or offensive about someone. It's a C.Y.A procedure - Cover Your Arse. That's something the Red Cross has taught me, although obviously for different situations, mainly PRFs**....anyhoo, I digress.
**PRFs = Patient Report Forms for those who didn't know.
I know a good topic to start with actually......insults.
Work and being insulted go together hand in hand when it comes to this particular Nursing Home job.
Here's a personally-experienced example - one of the residents has to go to the hair dressers one afternoon. This client doesn't like the hairdressers, but she has to go else she'll end up looking neglected with Ozzy Ozborne-style hair. This is cool for some, but nae appropriate for an eighty-something year old. So I go in to her room and tell her she has to go downstairs (her room was on the top floor) to get her "scalp examined". Calmly and quietly she agrees and tries to get herself up out of her chair. I go to help her, and instantly she sits back down again, claiming she can't do it. The ensuing conversation went a bit like this:
"Now Mildred*, you can get up, you were almost there. Look, I'll help you."
"Send them up to me," she said sharply.
"They can't come up the stairs, you have to go to them."
"Why can't they? Why should I?"
"Because...because they have all their equipment and stuff. And it'll be good for you to get out of your room for a while. Surely you don't want to be cooped up in your room all day?"
Mildred sniffs indignantly and watches the telly from over my shoulder. I already know I'm not in her good books, but she's definitely nae in mine now. The hairdresser was getting impatient as it was - Mildred's antics were only further holding up the proceedings.
"There's some good stuff on the t.v," she continued in a rather ignorant tone.
"Listen Mildred, you have to come downstairs for now, but after lunch myself or one of the other carers will take you back up to your room. Is that ok?"
"I do like this programme."
"Mildred?"
"I'm not listening."
So I turned round and switched the t.v off. This was followed by:
"I know why you did that! To make you feel BIG!!"
I didn't say anything during the verbal on-slaught that was flung at me, but on this remark I did think, "hardly, when I can turn a t.v on or off any time I want."
Eventually the continuous stream of insults ended with a stroppy "Get out of my room, go on, get out!!" She then raised her fist to me and I knew it was time to back off.
So I did what I was told and bumped into the head nurse of the floor, who promptly asked, "What happened?"
My reply?
"Mildred, that's what happened."
I then left for my lunch break half an hour late.
Of course, this was only the beginning.
Later on I was in charge of the lounge area, and was having quite good fun playing a quiz game with the old biddies present there. They seemed to be having fun too, and everything was just hunky-dorey...
...that is, until Mildred appeared in the door way. Amazingly, someone had coaxed her out of her room. Either that, or had used brute force.
But there she was, as calm and collected as any decent elderly lady. And she was smiling as she walked in.
I smile back at her; "Come on in Mildred, there's a seat on the sofa here for you if you want."
So she sits down and makes herself comfortable.
See, the beauty of most argumentative situations involving elderly people and carers is that the residents usually have some form of dementia, and any previous tense moments are forgotten by at least one side of the argument.
Mildred, like most residents, has dementia, and quite a bad case. She is forgetful, and often very aggressive with it. It wouldn't be the first time that she's whacked a carer across the face before.
Anyway, returning to the lounge. I asked a question based on religion - the answer being Islam - and the answers I got from the clients were close, but nae close enough.
"Iran?" One said.
"No, that's a country," I thought.
"Iraq?" Said another.
"That's where you belong!!" Sounded a harsh, familiar voice.
I turned to Mildred and stared.
"I beg your pardon?"
"That's where you belong - right out of the way in Iraq!"
Em, ok then, I thought , and looked around the room. A few clients gasped at the remark and tutted.
"I hardly think that's...appropriate, Mildred," I said sternly.
But Mildred just sniffed disapprovingly and looked the other way. Clearly her dementia hadn't blocked out our previous tiff in her room.
Thankfully I was saved when another carer came in and announced that it was 4 o'clock and I could go home.
I escaped with a cheerful good bye and no doubt a killer of a look from Mildred.
Of course, there's not just one culprit in the Home. Because there are a few of the residents who have pretty bad dementia, childish insults are relatively common. However I often find that it's the residents who aren't affected by dementia, yet still need help because of physically not being capable to help themselves, that can really bite your head off. These clients tend to be the proud sort who hate to give in to us carers and our do-goodiness.
For example, Betty, who is bed bound but pretty much all there mentally. She can't feed herself, she has no teeth and so is barely understandable, and depends on us to move her every couple of hours because she's too weak to mover herself into a comfortable position. Now for a moment, put yourself in her position - how frustrating it must be to have a sharp-witted mind and not be able to put a point across because no one will understand what you're saying. The only way you can make yourself totally clear is to unleash anger when you're nae happy with something. Imagine not being able to get yourself comfortable, and having to wait on a carer to come and do it for you; a carer who who know only because they come and wash you every day because you can't do that yourself either. They come every meal time too to spoon-feed you, and you so want to do it yourself so sometimes you try to grab the spoon out of the carer's hand. Then you get angry and frustrated, and when they try to change your nightie you claw at them and yell every profanity under the sun at them in the hopes that they'll just bugger off and leave you alone.
It's sore and hurtful for a carer to face this at first, but then you realise that the insults you get are nothing personal; it's just a vent of anger at who ever happens to be there at the time.
Some insults, like "you belong in Iraq, you do," are funny and the sort you can tell to your pals the next time you're out for a meal and end up blethering about work. Then there are the insults that are really brutal, but actually say "just back off a bit, cos I'm nae liking this."
The sad truth is that, as a carer, we have our duties to do, and this does mean invading people's personal bubbles, whether they like it or not. We don't particularly like it, but someones got to do it.
So work, as ever, is an entertaining, interesting, eventful, emotional roller-coaster ride. Some things just never change.
*All names in italics are false names to hide identities. I like keeping my blog anonymous, cos then no-one can go for my throat if I mistakenly write something inaccurate or offensive about someone. It's a C.Y.A procedure - Cover Your Arse. That's something the Red Cross has taught me, although obviously for different situations, mainly PRFs**....anyhoo, I digress.
**PRFs = Patient Report Forms for those who didn't know.
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