![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Relaxing day..
Jan. 25th, 2012 08:52 pmToday was a really nice, relaxing day here. I needed a day to do stuff around the house, go food shopping etc., so I decided not to go out to the farm. I slept in, didn't get out of bed until almost 11 a.m., then eased into the day. Put in a load of laundry, then went up to the Library to take back some books and get some more, bought food, came home and put more laundry in, and then tidied up the apartment.
I made a lasagna for dinner tomorrow (a broccoli, mushroom, cottage cheese and mozzarella combo)and now there's leek and potato soup on the stove.
It's nice to have a day to myself.
I've been thinking about some of the stories I have gathered up over the years of my nursing career, and sorting out the ones I think might be interesting to share. God knows I've had lots of experiences to draw on.
Way back in 1971 when I first came to BC, I worked in Shaughnessy Hospital; it was a Veterans' Hospital, serving the veterans of several wars: we even had 2 veterans of the Boer War! They were Mr. Darling and Mr. Hays, two lovely gentlemen I will always remember. Mr. Darling was 92, and Mr. Hays was 93, at that time. Mr. Darling was just like his name, and he used to flirt with all the nurses. Mr. Hays was a long time socialist, and we used to talk about politics and his experiences over the years. They were the ones on the ward I really liked to be assigned to. Then there was Mr. Moon, who was in his 80's, and totally obsessed with his bowels. Every day, at least three times a day, he would come up to me and say loudly "Sister! What are you going to do about my bowels?" It got to be quite the joke around the ward. I was a young nurse, just embarking on my career, and glad to have a job, because it was a bit tough; none of the other hospitals were hiring at the time. So I didn't complain much when I was on duty on the evening and night shifts, and the staffing for a ward of 23 patients was me and an orderly. If I was lucky, the orderly was one who did his job rather than hide out in his little "office". Oh, and he got paid more than I did, because he was a man. This was before the time of the BC nurses' union..thank heavens times have changed.
Another patient who sticks with me from that time (I have forgotten his name, so I'll just call him Ron) suffered from alcoholic dementia, or Khorsikoff's syndrome. Essentially, he'd pickled his brain. He had no shortterm memory left, and was completely impulsive. We used to get him up into his wheelchair, buckle him in, and then tie the chair to the railings in the hall. One evening the phone rang; it was the ward a floor down. The nurse said they'd heard a big crash, and we should investigate. When we did, there was Ron, still strapped in to his chair, lying on his side like a flipped over turtle, wheels spinning. He looked up at us and just grinned. Next day he told the doctor he had gone for a great ride on his motorcycle!
Time to go check the soup.
I made a lasagna for dinner tomorrow (a broccoli, mushroom, cottage cheese and mozzarella combo)and now there's leek and potato soup on the stove.
It's nice to have a day to myself.
I've been thinking about some of the stories I have gathered up over the years of my nursing career, and sorting out the ones I think might be interesting to share. God knows I've had lots of experiences to draw on.
Way back in 1971 when I first came to BC, I worked in Shaughnessy Hospital; it was a Veterans' Hospital, serving the veterans of several wars: we even had 2 veterans of the Boer War! They were Mr. Darling and Mr. Hays, two lovely gentlemen I will always remember. Mr. Darling was 92, and Mr. Hays was 93, at that time. Mr. Darling was just like his name, and he used to flirt with all the nurses. Mr. Hays was a long time socialist, and we used to talk about politics and his experiences over the years. They were the ones on the ward I really liked to be assigned to. Then there was Mr. Moon, who was in his 80's, and totally obsessed with his bowels. Every day, at least three times a day, he would come up to me and say loudly "Sister! What are you going to do about my bowels?" It got to be quite the joke around the ward. I was a young nurse, just embarking on my career, and glad to have a job, because it was a bit tough; none of the other hospitals were hiring at the time. So I didn't complain much when I was on duty on the evening and night shifts, and the staffing for a ward of 23 patients was me and an orderly. If I was lucky, the orderly was one who did his job rather than hide out in his little "office". Oh, and he got paid more than I did, because he was a man. This was before the time of the BC nurses' union..thank heavens times have changed.
Another patient who sticks with me from that time (I have forgotten his name, so I'll just call him Ron) suffered from alcoholic dementia, or Khorsikoff's syndrome. Essentially, he'd pickled his brain. He had no shortterm memory left, and was completely impulsive. We used to get him up into his wheelchair, buckle him in, and then tie the chair to the railings in the hall. One evening the phone rang; it was the ward a floor down. The nurse said they'd heard a big crash, and we should investigate. When we did, there was Ron, still strapped in to his chair, lying on his side like a flipped over turtle, wheels spinning. He looked up at us and just grinned. Next day he told the doctor he had gone for a great ride on his motorcycle!
Time to go check the soup.
