Thursday 30 April 2015

Carry On Nursing Part 14




I love nurses, absolutely love them.

They aren't the backbone of the NHS they are the NHS as far as I'm concerned. Most of them anyway because life always allows for exceptions but this post is mainly about the good ones, the funny ones, the ones with a glint in their eyes, best sense of humour and no nonsense attitude, the ones who put up with so much and keep smiling, keep caring, keep nursing. This is especially for the ones who for me personally, have made this whole ordeal more than bearable.

Until seven months ago I had very little contact with nurses, my dealings with the medical profession were a few consultants and my own doctor. Nurses didn't really feature for me, I mean I knew they did a good job, I read about the fact they were underpaid, I knew they wore uniforms and had a sexy reputation (unfounded as far as I know) in lots of 1970's films. I also knew that it was a career / vocation I could never contemplate because I am just not made that way, but thank heavens they are.

Fast forward to today and frankly if I don't have some sort of daily contact with one I feel almost bereft. I have met a variety pack, young and old, those starting out and those with almost too much experience. Yes there are nurses who wear with pride the been there seen it all done it all t.shirts, I had the dubious pleasure of meeting a Frank Carson style male nurse who proudly told me he should have retired a year ago but would miss it too much, set firmly in his ways he wasn't going to follow 'new fangled' ideas and as long as he made his patients laugh he was staying where he was. My heart went out to his bosses...

Despite some really awful times when I just couldn't cope they have been insightful, practical and humorous but above all else they cared, really cared and that shines brighter than any PHD in medical science, especially when all you want and need is reassurance and a twinkly eye.

I had heard about the MacMillan nurses, I knew how good they were but I hadn't realise that from your first appointment for a biopsy / scan you are 'given' a dedicated nurse. I struck lucky, my cancer nurse and I hit it off from the word go, I must admit I found it quite uncomfortable to say the words 'my cancer nurse' but in effect that was what she was, and she has been there for me the whole time. From the first appointment, she understood I didn't want or need flannel, I just wanted to be told the truth. She also realised I needed a healthy dose of black humour or I would not be able to cope with what was happening and she provided buckets of it. From the first consultation, she held my hand (metaphorically speaking as I don't go for that kind of gushy stuff although I make exceptions for a hug) and when she saw how lost I was by consultant speak she would throw me a wink or give me a knowing smile and then follow it up with a phone call or an email to make sure I knew what was going on.

She was there at the operation for the lumpectomy, making me laugh before I went in and reassuring me, always always reassuring me. She was like a guardian angel, if angels have lovely skin which I'm sure they do. She certainly does. When I was admitted for Neutropenic shock at Christmas she paid me an unexpected visit. Popping her head round the door she looked at me lying in the hospital bed and very sternly said "Just what do you think you are doing in here?" her eyes betraying her humour. I was so touched that she had come to see me and very much in need of some sort of maternal hug that in that particular moment when all my hair was falling out and I was feeling so let down by my body and ill I just cried. She sat with me while I snivelled out an apology for crying and being pathetic and I let her hold my hand while she talked practicalities and made me laugh again. Her timing once again was impeccable, showing up exactly when I needed her, doing exactly what I needed to make me feel better without me even realising it. Throughout my chemotherapy she would either call or email me depending on when she believed I was feeling better. She always always seemed to know when I would be too ill to talk or be just about able to respond to an email. A priceless skill as far as I'm concerned.

They don't tell you about that when discussing the NHS and it's failings.

I have different sets of nurses I come into regular contact with, there were the nurses I saw on a weekly basis to change the dressing and flush out my detested Picc line. When I was too sick to move they came to see me, no questions asked just part of their job to include me on their already busy rounds. Most of the time I managed to visit their clinic and one appointment I particularly remember there was a lovely Spanish nurse on duty. I was having a bad day, a really bad day, I didn't realise at the time that I was anaemic, I felt washed out, tired and depressed and annoyed with myself for not coping better. I was desperately waiting for the 'good days' to start after chemotherapy. Within thirty seconds of walking in to her clinic and being asked how I was I started crying, it certainly took me by surprise but it didn't faze Miss Spain who sat me down, didn't take my tears personally and gently told me off for not being kinder to myself. Spending time talking through stuff and making me laugh she did so much more than just change a dressing that day and it's a small measure of how wonderful she was that I hugged her as I left.

They had a lot to put up with at that tiny little seaside clinic as they received lots of flack from those at the big hospital...not face to face obviously, office politics are alive and thriving even in the nursing profession. No, this was done in a snide manner huffing and puffing to patients in for blood tests that the picc lines weren't correct according to the photographs in the manuals. Well I for one am eternally grateful to those lovely nurses who did it slightly differently because when all you want to do is tear out the tap attached to your arm they did their best to position it comfortably, and Moon Face and his associates can take a running jump with their 'how to' manuals.

Talking of Moon Face, there was a nurse (male) who worked alongside him in the chemo unit, I wasn't quite so sure of this one, from the very first time I met him he was like the song from Sesame Street, 'One of these nurses is not like the others, one of these nurses is not quite the same' I think he was a part of the picc line team and he may have been more senior than some of the other wonderful chemo nurses who went about their business quietly and kindly, but I'm not convinced. He had less of an air of authority and more an air of superiority, not quite the same thing, more David Brent than Florence Nightingale... he did unknowingly add a certain unexpected comedic value to chemo but I made it clear I was distinctly unimpressed when he tried to disparage the community nurses from my area, and not finding an ally he kept his distance.

Community nurses are terrific unsung heroines, pootling around the countryside like industrious bees they spend time with their patients who need them more than we would like to admit. I have my favourite, I'm not ashamed to admit it, right from the moment she walked up the stairs to our flat I adored Sparkly Mc.Gee, the affection seemed to be mutual and pretty much instantaneous as was a wicked sense of humour and a dirty laugh. She was good, she was very good, I plied her with home made brownies and banana cake because she made me feel better just by being here. In exchange she taught me how to do my own daily stomach injections and cured the ulcer on the inside of my leg with her magic plasters and no nonsense advice.So much for what that doctor told me about chemotherapy stopping it from healing, he obviously underestimated the power of nurses....And whereas the others I have come across will always be wonderful and colourful characters in a play where I was a just a passing protaganist, Sparkly will become a good friend because I now have her number and if she doesn't keep in touch then I will hunt her down.

Every cloud and all that.

Finally the unqualified nurses, the ones who came and sat with me during chemo, bringing mints and magazines and holding my sweaty hands and drooping head as I went through the general misery that is that treatment. They kept me sane, put up with my incoherent ramblings and increasingly grey face, they made me feel less of a burden and just plain loved. 

Lucky me.



















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