A proper break in the sand

Moto X.

The heat is high, the competition is on.
The sun glares down on the slick helmet of the biker who surges over the peak of the hill in a cloud of sand. Momentarily he's hidden from sight, lost in the swell of grit. But a split second later, he bursts through the dust with a mechanical growl and his front wheel thuds dully into the soft golden track, as the rest of the bike follows and ploughs on downwards.
Yet his balance is jaded; his control is gone. The front wheel wobbles as the rider panics and swerves to regain command of his bike. He breaches the next hill - the largest and steepest one in the course. His bike leaves the ground, but it doesn't land as it did before. The bike slides and lands on its side, skidding through the sand and sending up a plume of earth. The rider falls and lands almost acrobatically on his feet, but the force of his fall sends him forward again and he tumbles to the ground, skidding through the dust like his still sliding bike ahead of him.
He comes to a stop, and suddenly everything else seems to do so too.

A marshal runs forward, missing the still speeding bikes. Another man joins him. Suddenly, we too - Amy and myself - are running with bumbags in tow, surging across the thick, deep sand as fast as our sinking boots would let us.

Determination turns us blind; we climb the steepest side of the hill instead of the steadily sloping side of the track! What numnuts - we near the top and the sand breaks away under our weight. Now we are fighting to reach our fallen casualty, grappling for stable ground to grip on to, so we can haul ourselves up onto a level surface.

More people have gathered at the scene by the time we almost crawl to our casualty's side; he's rolled himself onto his back now and he's groaning in pain. Beneath the helmet I can see bright red blood, trickling from his nose and open lip. His mouth is full of it. But thankfully he's fully alert and breathing. His airway is fine - he can swallow the blood himself. And he can talk. In fact, he's crying slightly, and he's able to tell us where the pain is. His neck and back are hurting... a lot.
Dammit, I think.
Now, this sounds quite unprofessional, but for some reason we were left without radios on this particular Moto X stint. So we had to rely on our mobile phones for contact. But Amy discovered she had no call credit, and, as it turned out, neither did I.
"Amy, can you text Caitlind and ask for help?" I say as I grab a hold of the helmet. "We're gonna need a collar and a board."
Amy starts texting away as I turn to our casualty. 15 years old, lying on dry dust on a boiling hot day, undoubtedly melting in his body armor and his heart pounding with the shock of what's happened to him.
Don't move, keep as still as you can, don't move your head, don't nod, don't nod...
Caitlind arrives, out of breath from the climb, and with no gear.
So we send Amy running back down the hill to RE6 at the far side of the track. Meanwhile we - the usual duo - tend to the poor lad who's still not quite sure how this could have happened to him.

Eventually we get our gear - a collar is placed around his neck. By now, the rest of the team minus one has appeared, along with even more people.
Two guys are there - they announce that they too are first aid trained. Great, so we have extra hands if we need them.
Two women make a nuisance of themselves; clearly with the best of intentions, but we really don't need it when they're bustling about and talking over us to the patient and each other, when our communication is, to be quite honest, far more important, to both casualty and team mates.

Someone's dialled an ambulance - it arrives almost as soon as 999 was entered in the phone.
Usually we have the casualty all set for transportation by now, but by this point we had been battling with a wonky scoop which just wouldn't close. It seemed as though the sand had clogged up the clips, and no matter how hard we pressed, the damned thing just wouldn't click shut.
And to add to the poor image, the entonox mouth piece broke in some unfixable manner. So although our efforts were up to scratch, the equipment wasn't quite with us.
But the paramedics had arrived, with their own board, onto which we log-rolled the young man.
Soon, he was strapped up and away in the ambo to ARI.
To add to our poor resource performance, we didn't even have a PRF to hand over.
Yet despite the negatives, the hefty crowd which had watched on in awe graciously thanked us for what we had done. Clearly, we had done something.

But from the morning, to the afternoon.
A second young lad - 14, this time - left his bike with a heavy collision into another rider. The second rider was dazed for a moment, but was more pissed off than anything when he realised what had happened and how this had affected his racing time.
The first rider, however, was left with a far worse issue.
Ronnie and Caitlind cut through his pricey racing suit, while the lad sucked on entonox with all of his might - he was in a lot of pain, and this didn't add up to a hopeful outcome.
Right enough, the moment the boot was off and the clothing cut clear, there was a faint blue bruise and a lump where both the tibia and fibula had broken, and were now prodding at the skin as though urging to break through.
The boy was incredibly brave, and perhaps this shows just how well entonox works (n.b. different canister, therefore working mouth bit).
And this time, we managed to strap him up in a splint, secure him on a scoop (one which actually worked too) and carry him to our ambo, ready for the SAS ambulance to come and transfer him to DGH.
Job well done, with working gear and no annoying spectators to intervene at awkward and inconvenient moments.

Moral to these stories?

If you happen to be a part of the audience watching us work with a major injury at such an event, then please remember we need space and a bit of hush so we can work quickly and effectively. If you're first aid trained too, then let us know; it's great to keep in mind so we know we can rely on someone else who knows what they're doing if need be. If, however, you are neither relative nor first aid boffin, and rather just want a piece of the action but with 'good intentions,' then you do more good standing to the side and spectating. Please and thank you.

CALLING ALL FUNDRAISERS!!! Here's something a little bit lighter...

Ok, this is my third and final entry for tonight!

I've realised my past two entries are actually quite deep and dark - far too bleak for my normal way of thinking!
So here's a nicer thought, which Caitlind and me had a laugh about earlier on today:

How about a Red Cross music video?

Ok, sounds a bit... well, lame, but let me expand on this pitch.
We were talking about our original RC fundraising idea - setting up a day of five-a-side football matches, with teams made up between Inverness and Elgin volunteers/staff. We were thinking girls vs boys, with some of the more reluctant players being mascots, cheerleaders, or first aiders (well, we need someone to cover the event!) In fact, they could run cas sim for the public, or set up a couple of goody stalls, the contents of which could be donated from our local retail stores. It would be like a RC fun-day, with the public putting in money to bet on who the winning team would be, and generally just popping in the odd penny for us making arses of ourselves anyway.
If anyone is interested, then do get in touch - I have a link to my Facebook at the side of my blog, so leave a comment/send an e-mail. If you don't do Facebook, I have Bebo too! Or even leave a comment on this post - I'll get back in touch!

But I made a point of mentioning a video I'd seen on Youtube - a navy squadron, who had made a music video miming to the Rusted Roots classic "Send Me On My Way" (for those who don't get that, it's the song featured in Ice Age and Matilda. If you still don't know which song I'm on about, Youtube it, cos it's a good ane).
But because some killjoy has removed the music from that particular vid, I've found a replacement video which is even better, made by the same navy crew with Outkast's Hey Ya - it's bloody funny, so check it out before you read any further to get my drift: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEkYqL9n7vo&feature=PlayList&p=CAB1BC67058E34F9&index=2

I thought it would be brilliant fun to do that sort of music-type-video thing, to raise a few funds (just with less planes and more ambos). It would get everyone involved, strengthen the bond between volunteers and staff, raise a few laughs, give everyone a little keepsake of the RC, and show a bit about what the RC does (more locally, if anything) in a brighter, more amusing, light. No more of this tragic footage with crying babies and depressing music - how about a bit of a local fundraise, where we put the 'fun' in 'funds'.
Oh my God, where did that cheese-covered line come from?
What a slogan, lol.
It's amazing what expressions you can come up with at half 11 at night.
Anyway, I digress. Seriously, what a different, unoriginal, and unusual way to publicise the RC and raise funds. How many other groups have dared, or even thought, of doing such a thing?
I think, if people were up for it, then we should give it a shot. All we need is a cam corder, a bit of input, passion and determination from everyone, a bit of patience for the editing, an editing whiz (I know a boy who's got the right software - he happens to be my cousin) and bam, we have a music video which is a bit of fun and makes for good memories.

No singing is involved, just miming and a bit of input, whether it be in filming, acting, driving, posing, dancing, etc etc etc.
I think - or at least like to think - that it could be done.
So once again, if anyone happens to be reading this blog, who happens to be a loyal volunteer or staff member, who happens to like this idea and would like to give it a shot, then please, do mail me. Or if you have any other ideas of a similar nature, then once again, do say.

And think of all the songs we could use - Nickleback's Rockstar, Send Me On My Way, the Proclaimer's I'm On My Way or 500 Miles, Blondie's One Way or Another, Kenny Loggins' Footloose, or the oh-so-classic Tub Thumping by Chumbwamba. Do What You Want by OkGo - not well known, but a hardcore, fun song. Even better yet - the very well known and popular Don't Stop Me Now by Queen.
Actually, here's a funny one - Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne. I'd like to see that one, lol.
Hell, I have a whole playlist.
And the list is endless.

You think you know somebody...

Don't you just hate it when you get a slap in the face?
Not literally in this case (though both forms are equally as bad). I mean, when you experience a moment in life which sheds light onto the shadowed personality of someone who you thought you knew.
When they do something so inexplicable and out of character, yet somehow it fits them so perfectly now that your eyes have been opened to who they really are and what they are really like.
It's the second when you feel as though someone has kicked you and now they laugh at your stupidity for not having seen it coming.
Now, your trust is shattered - broken into a million pieces. You become weary of ever growing close to another person again. All because one stupid man has fouled the very faith you had in humanity.
Perhaps it's best not to question this blog post. But leave this entry with a wise piece of advice:
People are not always who they seem to be. Trust people, yes, and put your faith in them, else life wouldn't be worth living. But if they turn out to be some hideous monster who enjoys jeopardising the good things in life, because the grass could always be greener and what they have now isn't quite good enough, then don't bloody well be surprised.

Dicing with death

I think I'm finally getting in to this whole nursing thing.

I've finally met my mentor, after 3 weeks of being left to wander alone like the waif of a student that I am, latching on to who ever will have me for the duration of the shift.
And it turns out she's actually really nice. I know I'm gonna learn a lot from her, which makes the remaining 7 week hospital stint look a lot brighter.

Anyway, more to the point of my title, I dealt with my first death the other night. The woman was elderly; she died with her eyes closed. This is a blessing, because usually folk die with their eyes wide or semi open, which is just plain freaky. I don't think I could deal with a body if it stared at me with a lifeless gaze, peering out at me from glassy eyeballs half-hidden beneath crinkled lids. Anyway, enough overly-descriptive talk.
A young nurse and myself entered the room together, and for a second a pang of pity passed through me. I had known the patient well enough when she was alive - I had helped her on a couple of occasions, and she had always been nice and patient, and very chatty. Funny too. So to see her lying there, half expecting her eyelashes to flutter or her chest to rise with a breath, but seeing nothing of life about her, was slightly heart-wrenching.
The moment passed and I walked over to her side. I rested a hand on her arm. She was slightly cold to touch, and as I gazed at her face I noticed how pale she had become. All of her flesh was ashen - very deathly - and I saw that the underside of her arm was a mottled purple colour. Now, there is a medical term for that, when all the blood rushes to the underside of the body due to the pull of gravity and the fact that there's no longer a heart to keep it moving round the system. But I can't remember it.
We got to work, cleaning her body. My eyes barely left her face. She wore such a blank expression, yet it seemed to be one of peace. Finally, after all the pain she had suffered, she had found rest.

It makes you wonder what happens after death; if there's an afterlife, or if that's it, nothing, just blackness, which you wouldn't realise anyway cos your mind wouldn't be awake so you wouldn't be aware of it. Or would you? Because when you think about it, when you come round after you've fainted, you remember the blackness kinda fading, as you open your eyes to the world again. At least, that's what I remember after my fainting episode. And you remember the exact point when everything goes black. So maybe, without realising it, you are aware of the blackness, because you're aware of it at the beginning and at the end, and therefore you must remember the middle of it, cos when you wake up, you remember it being black. So is that what dying is like? You're just constantly stuck in a black state - a black hole? And yet... surely that can't just be it. Living your whole life, doing the things you want to and striving to make a name for yourself, and what happens? You end up in the dark. Surely your soul doesn't reach this standstill and stay there forever - for infinity - cos there's nothing like death to stop that sensation? Surely you must live on, whether it be as a supernatural being, or in another living form, like reincarnation.
It's thinking like that which turns you crazy.

So off this tangent, and back on track.
We rolled her onto her side to wash her back. Her arm flopped like that of a rag doll, landing with a gentle thud onto the air-filled mattress. Despite knowing that there was no strength in her to move anymore, I still expected her to pull away, or stop herself from rolling to far. But there was just nothing.

The nurse accompanying me told me that people deal with these 'last offices' in different ways. Her personal coping strategy was to speak to the person as she went, treating them as if they were alive and could hear everything she was saying. At first I thought this would be difficult; maybe like playing make-believe with a doll. But after a while, I found myself talking to the patient, telling her what I was gonna do next, asking her to roll towards me or telling her to lift an arm as I picked it up myself and washed it gently. I inwardly laughed at myself, but at the same time, I drew comfort from this odd addition to the final ritual which the hospital held for this woman.
We dressed her in a theatre gown - she had no special nightdress for leaving her ward room in - and cocooned her in a white blanket, wrapping her up as though she were a gift, as my fellow nurse had said. I'm not immensely religious these days - in fact, I'm almost cynical about it now - but I almost shocked myself when I thought tenderly that we wrapped her up like a gift for God. If there is a God up there, I hope he gets it, first class delivery, cos really this woman deserves nothing else than to be an angel.

We sealed her in a white body bag, with label attached like an identity card. My writing remains on the name tag that we secured around her wrist. Slightly freaky thought really, that my writing blemishes a dead person's body.
Then, I realised it was eight o'clock, and therefore home time.
And that was it - business finished, now let's forget about it and go home for supper.
I write this now, because it's a form of reflection on my part. At the time - and this may sound twisted - I was chuffed because it meant another box ticked in the nursing skills passport. Another story to add to the evidence list in my portfolio.
But now, I think about this and realise actually what a deep experience it is, to be the people to prepare her for her long journey to the underworld, to some sort of extent. I'm not mentally scarred by this event - my mentor said it was good to be introduced to this kind of thing early - but nor am I going to forget it in a hurry. It was a good experience; a learning curve in technique, skill and professionalism, and also in facing up to the inevitable which lies in wait for all of us.
Death is a big part of life - a very big part which we must all deal with at some point or another. I say I won't forget it in a hurry, but neither will the family she has left behind. And I know that both myself and her family will have to dance with death again at another point, hopefully in the very, very, very distant future.

Drink, Drugs & Rock n Roll (plus energy boosts, fast food, boating...)

The stage was set for some big entertainment this weekend.
And I'm not just talking about the various acts which were lined up for Rockness '09 - I'm on about the fun factor which Caitlind, Graeme and myself had planned out to make this Rockness experience the most kick ass highland music festival experience so far.
Saying that, our initial plans for a boozey pub night on Friday evening were scrapped at short notice when Graeme discovered he was due for a 5pm to 3am shift. Since we couldn't really change this - bad conscience and all - Caitlind and I naturally joined him. Although we did get to go to Burger King earlier on for some grub, and we did have a good laugh in Graeme's pink Audi on the way to Inverness, so really Friday wasn't too lost on the banter front.
Of course, the night shift was pretty ace too. There was a lot of variety in the casualties we met up at the Nesstival arena where Caitlind and I had been thrown to; ailments ranged between the less concerning problems like mild sun burn or plaster requests for paper cuts, and the more major issues like intoxication leading to reduced consciousness, tachycardia, and risk of hypothermia (the latter usually being due to their absence of clothing) or the occasional large nose bleed due to a drunken punch up. The usual for a music fest really.
We also discovered that night the life-saving properties of 'Monster' energy drinks. Need to be fully alert and awake for 10 hours straight? Give 'Red Bull' the kick, and pump yourself with this stuff. It's damn good and does the job. Plus the cans are big, so you get a lot of juice at one time. Good stuff.

Saturday was slightly more eventful, on both chillaxing and working fronts.
We were joined by Hannah during the day, and after the four of us had finally come round out of our comatose state and pulled ourselves out of bed, we decided it was time for lunch. Well, breakfast, technically. So we went to MacDonalds.
Then, after a spot of shopping (La Senza, Graeme?) and a quick stock up on energy boosts - this time Red Bull cos the multi-packs from Morrisons were good value -Hannah suggested a great place for a bit of wind-down time.
Invershneckie's Whin Park has a boating pond, and seeing as the sun was shining and we had all the time in the world to kill, we decided it would be good fun to make Graeme practice his boating skills and row us round the wee lake for a while. Ok, we didn't flog him for the whole time - we each had a turn in the rowing seat, with a "How to Row a Boat 101" from our swiftie pal.
Once we'd had our fill of splashing each other with oars and crashing into the mini islands, we decided it was time to return to the Youth Hostel - our home for the weekend - and get ready for our next 5pm - 3am stint.
Saturday at Nesstival was busy again, with yet another bundle of different casualties to deal with. Plus the same questions to answer, mainly:
"Where's the nearest toilet?"
"Can I use your toilet?"
"Can I take a short cut through your tent?"
"Do you guys have any sun cream/after sun?"
"Have you seen [insert name here]?"
"Do you have any water?"
"Do you have any condoms?"
I think that list pretty much covers it.
Once again, the Monster drinks were going down a treat, but another saving grace was the UK office's very own Operational Support Unit - aka, the Red Cross burger van. It had been driven up from London as a one-off deal, purely to feed the many first aid volunteers and ambo personnel who needed the sustenance during their long shifts. All free, and all ours.
Actually it was a very snazzy vehicle and well appreciated, though why it had blue lights and battenburg on it is a wonder. The only emergency I could see it responding to with blues and twos is if a first aider was starving somewhere.
Anyhoo, it shouldn't be dissed - I really think Northern Scotland could do with one. The constant supply of lasagna, mac 'n' cheese, late night pies, fruit, crisps, cakes and doughnuts (or 'Dougnuts', as someone had spelt it - great hilarity for Douglas) were welcomed with open arms and stomachs.

So, with Saturday night blending into Sunday morning, yet another shift came to a close.
Sunday was spent in Pizza Hut sharing a giant cheesey bites pizza (apart from Caitlind, who opted for a healthy Caesar salad) and relaxing on the grassy front of the Youth Hostel, after Caitlind and me truly clobbered Graeme in a wrestling match, or two. It was really fine, just lying about, using Graeme's gut as a pillow and soaking up the sun's warm rays, listening to music and having a blether. But sadly, the chilled out afternoon had to come to an end, and as we queued up to board the mini buses back to Rockness, the grey rain clouds loomed over us.
Seriously, that's not just for dramatic effect - the weather did change, but it's not like we were upset to return to the site. Actually we were really excited, cos Biffy Clyro and the Prodigy were away to play that night.
For once, I was not shoved up to to the Nesstival post. This time, both myself and Caitlind were let loose in the main stage Arena, within the confines of the main stage pit. And somehow, we ended up in the grab team.
I'll say it now - the grab team is awesome. I actually loved every minute of it. I'm not sure why really, 'cos on reflection you have to carry a heavy Alpine stretcher, O2 and a first aid kit, and usually you add a heavy unconscious person to the equation. But you also get to barge through a heaving mass of people, and you are never fully sure of what you're going to find when you reach the casualty. You also get to work as a real unit - team work is vital in the grab team, and I really liked that. I think it's just the overall adrenaline rush that kicks in with the job.
But last night, it was the Prodigy, and the Prodigy meant one hell of a rave, and a massive rave meant lot of casualties. Which meant a lot of shouts for us.
I totally surprised myself with the strength I found in me. I think I have adrenaline to thank for that, and possibly Monster energy drinks again. But I really, really enjoyed the buzz. I hate to admit that, because it's like taking thrills from other people's misfortunes. But while I did feel sorry for the folk we had to roughly lift and shift on the stretcher, I also loved the ability to part the crowd and fight through to the hospital tent, knowing that it was vital to get these casualties to safety, and while doing so knowing that the responsibility of another person's life was literally in our hands.
Even writing this now gives me shivers, lol.
Point is, I'd quite happily do that again, anytime, anywhere.
Aside from the change in role, the bands were pretty good. Biffy Clyro naturally put on a rocking performance, and the Prodigy almost lived up to their rave-ilicious reputation. I say almost 'cos I actually expected more of a head-banging performance from them, but then I'm not a great fan and I didn't really have much time to acknowledge their show. Either way though, the finale of Rockness '09 was pretty damned brilliant.

So, home we went, at four in the morning. Now I sit here, tired and trying my best to remember the best bits of the weekend. Actually, for being so shattered, I think it's a pretty good account.
It's definitely long enough.

Game On

Gordonstoun hosted its annual Junior Highland Games today.

In the green grounds where "even the grass seemed posh," there was many a spectacle to be seen. An all day BBQ (yummers) with lush burgers for sale; a tent set up by the youngsters with face painting, tombolas and several stalls; a larger tent containing merchandice stalls (they sold googley-eyed ambo figures!) and another big tent which provided cakes and tea all day to the many spectators witnessing the games of the day.

Actually, the games looked like quite good fun. I wouldn't have minded lobbing a haggis across a field, or battering someone with a pillow off a slippery log, or flexing my muscles in a tug-of-war match... hah, muscles...
A few ideas for some RC fundraising events?

Plus there were two pipe bands to entertain the crowds, and an abundance of other smaller shop stalls each flogging their finest, hand-crafted goodies. If I'd had any cash on me, I would have been tempted to buy the odd necklace or two; there really were some good things out for sale.

Oh, and there was Gordonstoun's very own fire engine, with it's youngster fire cadet crew. I so wanted a shot of firing down several traffic cones with a jet of water. Just to impress a rather cute water-fairy (yes, that is a firey, in case no one gets the slang) who was, according to Caitlind, checking me out near by - ch-ching! *...Ahem*
Plus traffic cones are the new bane of my life... but that's a story for another time.
Alas, I never got a shot of the hose, but I did meet an old school mate of mine who had escaped to Gordonstoun a couple of years ago. That's something.

Anyhoo, after our nostalgic trip down memory lane, well, that's when we got our excitement fix.
Ironically, I had just said to Caitlind how quiet it had been, and how it would make things a little more interesting if something happened for us - preferably a paper cut - when a man came running up behind us.
"Excuse me! Someone's collapsed down there!"
Oh God.
A first aider never runs, a first aider never runs... Ok, we're running!
We reached the casualty without any direction - the guy hadn't even pointed us the right way and yet somehow we managed to find our way almost automatically through the crowds, as though we had a built in casualty-radar or first aid sat-nav.
It was an elderly woman - in her eighties - and by the looks of it, she was having some sort of mild seizure. She was definitely confused and didn't look well at all.
Caitlind took control while I dashed to RE6 to grab the trolley bed, while Charile joined in and fetched a blanket.
We loaded the poor woman up onto the bed and took her round to the ambo, where Christine set up the O2 for her and Charlie filled out a PRF, while I dialled for an ambulance. Worryingly, we were told that she had a history of a heart defect. She had been recently issued with new medication for the condition - a leaking valve - but for the past few days she and her family had suspected it to be disagreeing with her. Our casualty vomited. Perhaps it was just the medication? However, her underlying symptoms suggested otherwise. Caitlind later suspected an absent seizure - a mild fit - but for the time being, in all the excitement, we were suspecting the heart.
The ambulance arrived. I gave the handover to the paramedic crew, who transferred her to their own vehicle. She was stable but tired and somewhat confused, and I couldn't blame her. Whilst first aiding gives you a buzz, I imagine that to be the casualty on the other end of the line with a problem which is resting in the hands of total strangers (who in truth have no medical qualifications other than those gained in basic/enhanced training) must be a daunting experience. Also, to not have encountered such an episode before until now would make you feel worried, scared and confused too.
On bringing these points together, it makes you realise just how important it is to get medical history, and how vital patient care is; building that brief, trusting relationship between yourself as a first aider and the casualty is key to establishing effective care and treatment, which is needed to reassure the casualty and promote the beginnings of recovery; the effect that first aid should have.
Wow, that should totally be incorporated into one of my health care essays. I've come over all nursey now =P
But on reflection it is totally true.

So we sent her on her way, with praise from her family - and I quote: "When you came over, I thought you girls looked far too young to do anything, but you are both brilliant."
Yay ^-^

Thankfully, this story has a happy ending. The woman was seen to be fine and was discharged from hospital after various check ups and monitoring. Hopefully she won't have to face an episode like that again.

Another day saved by the amazing first aid duo, me thinks =]

It's a Love-Hate thing...

...Nursing.

I started my 3rd placement today, on the currently non-existent ward 9 at Dr Grays. I say non-existent as it is closed for refurbishment.
So really, I'm stuck on ward 7. But let's not get drawn into technicalities.
The point is, my first impressions are neither "wow, I'm so glad I'm there for 10 weeks," nor "God, I'm gonna kill myself if I have to spend another day there."
In fact, I'm glued somewhere in between the two concepts.

Ok, to be honest, it's not so bad. The staff are really nice [so far] and seem to be alright with having a limpit in student-nurse-form following them about the place. But then I suppose they're used to it. The patients are lovely and 'patient' too (no pun intended there, honestly).
And the Sister of ward 9 is incredibly nice; so nice she's given me 6 days off - in a row - for Rockness shinanigans. Four days off for the actual event, and two for recovery time.
I could have hugged her at that moment.
Plus she's big on filling in the paperwork, which is very helpful when you have a portfolio to complete. Saying that, her daughter is about to start her nursing training, so I guess she understands the pressures of paperwork upon the average student nurse too.

However, for a first day everything felt a bit... slow.
They say be careful what you wish for, so I'm not gonna outwardly wish for an action-packed, rushed-off-your-feet day. Although it would break the monotony of the afternoon.
The mornings are fine, as in any care job; they fly by in the blink of an eye as you fire through showering people, dishing out porridge, toast and teas and take a few obs. Before you know it it's break time, which speeds by too and it's typically sods law that it does.
Admittedly, it feels like it's been a very quick day, and suddenly I feel pretty tired. I think it's more lethargy 'cos of the stuffy heat we're enduring at the mo.
Shouldn't complain - Caitlind and me got 3 beach days out of it. Today could've been a fourth, but no.
I guess the sun burn does need time to heal...
Anyhoo, I digress.

I know the saying goes that you should give a new situation a chance to settle in before you go judging it. I generally hate the first day of new placements anyway, and usually the rest of that week... and maybe the next one too... before I finally get into the swing of things.
Perhaps I'll feel better once I finally get a definite mentor and I'm not just randomly latching onto folk, like some sort of lost puppy. Or barnacle.
Never mind, at least I have hours so I know when my days off are. And I'm sure I'll get into it eventually, when I find the confidence to really settle into the place. Until then, it's a bit of a love-hate scenario. Still, I have faith that, like all other nursing-based practices I've endured so far, it will fly by and be over before I know it.

After all, it's only for 10 weeks =S