Hello. I’ve been a bit quiet lately, haven’t I? Time for the fun to recommence.
I’m now two weeks into my first nursing placement, and I’m zapped. The work feels all consuming at the moment, and there’s lots I would like to write about. The big snag (aside from lack of energy) is the rule around confidentiality . I’m unable to write about patients for all of the obvious good reasons, and also unable to write about the placement provider. The reasons for this are a lot less clear to me and I suppose that’s why I feel reluctant to write anything at all for fear of crossing an invisible but deadly confidentiality line. At some point, I’ll talk to someone and clarify the position, but I don’t know who to talk to and feel that it’s an obscure thing to address given that I can’t exactly explain my reasons, vanity aside, for blogging.
At times like this, trivia‘s the thing. It turned out that smart-casual was more smart than casual and so I had to get some new clothes. Then I realised I would have to iron them because wrinkly is not smart. I gave up ironing six years ago with my last office job, and it has been quite a shock to go back to it. I’d forgotten how oppressive it feels to stand there passing a hot implement over wrinkled fabric for an hour at a time, struggling with where to put the seams, noticing the bits I missed only when the garment is on the hanger. I’m aware that some people like this sort of thing, but they must be masochists, and that’s not me being judgemental, it’s just true. The whole smart effect is ruined by the by the necessary nursing shoes. In spite of this, I’m developing a fondness for the super wide, super comfy foot enveloping lace-ups with the squishy insoles. They are guardians of my twelve and a half hour days. My feet haven’t hurt, but the lino corridors are hard on the hips.
If you change jobs regularly, you’ll be familiar with the problem of lunch. Every workplace has its own facilities, customs, cheats, temptations, obstacles and comforts. There’s never a way of anticipating them, and it’s necessary to feel foolish on breaks at least a couple of times during the first weeks, as a right of passage. My new workplace has a lovely staff canteen, serving cooked breakfasts and hot lunches. It also has vending machines. There are three breaks in the twelve and a half hours.
The availability of food presents all manner of dilemmas for a fat woman on the edge of huge. I find it very hard to resist grease, but there is bacon before me, at 9am when I’m tired and vulnerable. The scent of it reaches out along the corridors to the wards. Sometimes patients ask us to fetch some. Being a creature of habit, I dare not approach the counter. Eight weeks of bacon sandwich every morning and I’ll be a size up for sure. Ditto the vending machines which feel like gambling, but with a sure sweet win. I’d never stop at the occasional treat, at 5pm with over two hours to go, it would be a mars bar and crisps. So, for this employer, and as a kind of commitment to nursing (also because I’m copying a fellow student who’s lunchbox I admire) I’m embracing the healthy packed lunch. I take fruit, nuts, a cereal bar and a sandwich. I drink water. I am seriously considering a short walk at the teatime break, for the benefits of fresh air and sunlight. Don’t worry, I’m not about to do meditation, I’m not sick. Although…….
By the way, I’m on the local radio tomorrow at 11am. Don’t worry, the fame won’t change me.
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