Yes, I’ve started work and I’ve immediately accepted the role of chief editor. I had expected that this would form a large part of my role, but I didn’t expect that my most frequent requestor of grammar and word-choice wisdom would be a native English speaker (a recent arrival from Vancouver)......because nearly everything she writes correctly is revised by a non-native speaker to poor English. I believe we spent 15 minutes discussing whether we were required to shorten the title His Excellency, Chief Executive Officer Mr. …….to H.E C.E.O Mr…. or HE CEO Mister…etc. Titles, level of authority and chain of command are extremely important here. I can’t possibly overemphasise this point. I’ve been led to believe that an incorrectly positioned period or the use of Dr. instead of Mr. on a memo could lead to my role being terminated.
I’ve spent my first three days working through a list of 100 medical and clinical policies of the hospital and prioritising those that need urgent revision. Every nurse or hospital employee I’ve met has a favourite policy that they wish me to correct, so hopefully any small changes I can make will have an impact on their work situations and patient care. If the criterion for revision was poor grammar it would be impossible to prioritise. ‘Security breeches’ is my current favourite, used to describe the hospital ‘Code Gray’ or physical threat. I was tempted to change it to chastity-belts but I don’t know my boss well enough to know if a) he would get the joke, or b) he would find it funny.
My colleagues are lovely. I’m sitting at a temporary desk with the worst ergonomics I’ve experienced in a long time. I’m in an office the size of a large bathroom with 5 other women, 4 of whom are from Doo. There are two other women who work on different areas of policy but they’re based in another office and the one who has all the information I need is too busy to provide it unless she absolutely must. It is a tad uncomfortable, but after a grumpy day 2, day 3 was lovely. My boss, whom I’ll call Khalid, is delightful. He’s amusing, has a relatively good grasp of spoken English and has provided clear expectations of me. On day 4, I believe he felt the need to re-assert his authority or remind me that I’m in Doo, as he rang me to complain that I hadn’t left a full line after a question in a memo to make it easier to read(!).
I was in Khalid’s office yesterday when an elderly Dr. telephoned in a panicked state as he was hoping to employee someone who had reported that his second cousin, twice removed was already an employee of the hospital. He wanted a precise definition of ‘close relative’ as written in the conflict of interest policy. After kindly reassuring the Dr. that he needn’t be concerned in his situation, my boss hand-balled the defining task to my to-do list with a giggle.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
First encounter with the religious Police and shopping, shopping and more shopping.
My first shopping priorities included food, a zip-up abayya, a SIM card, broadband and a coffee machine. Emma and I caught the compound bus to a local mall where we’d planned to meet up with another newbie. Unfortunately she got on the incorrect bus and ended up feeling quite unsafe at a much rougher part of town than us. Mildly worried about encountering the religious Police in our inadequate attire (Emma’s borrowed abayya was about 10cm too short and mine completely open at the front), we pounded the marble floor looking for a store that sold abayyas. Very odd. Every woman in the entire country wears one but do you think we could find them in a store? We passed one store that looked very expensive that had some but no others. In desperation we returned there 40mins later to discover that the prices were actually quite reasonable. All retail workers here are male and they are extremely accommodating. Unfortunately it is virtually impossible to try on clothes that one wishes to purchase, as change-rooms are non-existent. This store kindly lent us their broom cupboard and we eventually purchased two lovely zip-up abayyas and matching scarves for about A$90 each.
Feeling quite chuffed with ourselves, we found a mobile store and began the process of getting a SIM card. The gentlemen in the store thought it was wonderful that we were from Australasia. One repeated the word ‘Sydney’ approximately 30 times over the next hour while we waited for him to do whatever he was doing (I’m guessing not much). While standing at the counter in frustration, I heard a man yell ‘Cover your head woman!’ and turned to see a member of the religious Police (rP) glowering at us. To my relief, he turned and left immediately. The retail workers thought it was hilarious. Two of them then stood guard by the door and tried to tell us with charades each time they were nearby again with much laughter. The rP reportedly wander all public areas maintaining a sense of order and upholding the law when required. They are distinguished by their beards, wearing a shorter thobe than all other males (above ankle length) and a white headscarf without an egal (ring), as only aroha wears a crown. One of my flatmates mentioned that there is a male nurse on her ward who is also rP. It sounds like a difficult juggling act as it affects his physical interaction with patients and staff and responses to emergency situations.
Shopping here is done on a massive scale. Shops open from 10am-1pm and then 3pm-midnight. There are excessive brands, varieties and sizes of all items you could possibly want to buy, and the more bling, the better. I saw the biggest bobby-pin stand I’ve ever seen. All colours of the rainbow, all shades of sparkle, all thicknesses, weights and materials. I’m writing this a week after arriving and I’ve already visited 5 large malls and a number of standalone stores. There are many stores that are duplicated in all malls, but each mall seems to have it’s own style with a specialist area of merchandise. One has mostly shoe stores (a big deal when you wear black from head to ankle), another bling dresses and jewellery and the most recent we visited (and the Codoolest by far) had abayyas galore.
Feeling quite chuffed with ourselves, we found a mobile store and began the process of getting a SIM card. The gentlemen in the store thought it was wonderful that we were from Australasia. One repeated the word ‘Sydney’ approximately 30 times over the next hour while we waited for him to do whatever he was doing (I’m guessing not much). While standing at the counter in frustration, I heard a man yell ‘Cover your head woman!’ and turned to see a member of the religious Police (rP) glowering at us. To my relief, he turned and left immediately. The retail workers thought it was hilarious. Two of them then stood guard by the door and tried to tell us with charades each time they were nearby again with much laughter. The rP reportedly wander all public areas maintaining a sense of order and upholding the law when required. They are distinguished by their beards, wearing a shorter thobe than all other males (above ankle length) and a white headscarf without an egal (ring), as only aroha wears a crown. One of my flatmates mentioned that there is a male nurse on her ward who is also rP. It sounds like a difficult juggling act as it affects his physical interaction with patients and staff and responses to emergency situations.
Shopping here is done on a massive scale. Shops open from 10am-1pm and then 3pm-midnight. There are excessive brands, varieties and sizes of all items you could possibly want to buy, and the more bling, the better. I saw the biggest bobby-pin stand I’ve ever seen. All colours of the rainbow, all shades of sparkle, all thicknesses, weights and materials. I’m writing this a week after arriving and I’ve already visited 5 large malls and a number of standalone stores. There are many stores that are duplicated in all malls, but each mall seems to have it’s own style with a specialist area of merchandise. One has mostly shoe stores (a big deal when you wear black from head to ankle), another bling dresses and jewellery and the most recent we visited (and the Codoolest by far) had abayyas galore.
The journey, incredible wealth and a marriage proposal
I flew Wgtn-Chch-Syd-Dubai-Codoo. I had a 12h layover in Dubai during which Emirates kindly put me up in a hotel. After a much-needed shower I walked around the local area for an hour or so. The heat was similar to a hot day in Melbourne but I was disturbed to hear that the temperature was 30 degrees when we landed at 6am. I booked a 4h tour of the old and new Dubai through the hotel staff and was happy to meet a young lass, Emma from NSW who was also on her way to Codoo to work as a paeds nurse. It was an enormous blessing to share the day with her and especially as we arrived in Codoo with some trepidation, frustration (already!) and exhaustion, and discovered that we are roommates.
The tour was excellent. We visited the Dubai museum, a small general souk, the gold souk, took a cruise on the Dubai river and paddled in the sea near the hotel that looks like a sail (water temp. 30 degrees). Emma and I were rather parched at the gold souk and couldn’t find a single store that sold anything other than gold. We eventually asked a gentleman who agreed to take us to get water if we would visit his store. We bought our water and then agreed to see his shop. Emma was quite concerned about going with him and I agreed to pike on the adventure when he took us down a laneway, inside a building and then wanted to take us upstairs to see his cheap illegal imports. We high-fived our survival of our first dodgy experience and carried on our merry way.
We visited a very expensive traditional craft mall and Emma and I managed to score our own private tour guide. He was very helpful at describing the techniques used for carpet making (I was particularly taken by the magic silk knotted-rugs that change colour when you turn them and are fire-resistant, demonstrated with a lighter in front of us), inlaid marble, inlaid silver, embroidery and exquisite tailoring in bright and bold colours. Mum, you would have loved it. I took the gentleman’s card and he’ll send a driver for us next time :)
We met 3 other Australasian nurses at Dubai airport while awaiting our flight. It wasn’t difficult to spot them. We felt incredibly uncomfortable. The men stared at us unashamedly, and poor Emma felt particularly awkward as she’d been advised that she wouldn’t require an abayya to enter Doo. While officially true, she was rather conspicuous. The flight was interesting to say the least. All 5 of us were sitting in different locations. I had chosen an aisle seat to avoid sitting between two men but it didn’t really make much of a difference. I quickly put my headphones in and began watching a movie whilst feeling very concerned about my exposed wrists and visible long pants beneath my open abayya. The gentleman next to me watched my video screen or leaned on me as much as possible for the entire flight. I was leaning so far into the aisle that I was constantly bumped by passing passengers and trolleys. The gentleman sitting across the aisle one seat in front made an absolute show of turning around and staring straight at me. Even whilst he ate. I had to resist a strong urge to stare straight back at him. After dinner, the gentleman next to me leaned over and spoke a little close for comfort straight through my earphones “American?”. I was unsure whether to answer, but couldn’t have borne the staring, and didn’t feel confident to fake being German so removed my earphone, said ‘no, New Zealand’” and replaced my earphone. He continued to talk in broken English so I stopped my movie and began to converse. He asked me where I was going, what I was doing, where my husband was (thank aroha for my wedding band) and very quickly, whether I would like another one. I wasn’t certain that I’d understood so ignored it, and he then said that if my husband was in NZ, then perhaps he could have another wife. I asked how many he had and he said only 1 but 2 was good for a fuzzy man. Would I consider marriage? “Ah no, thank you”. He asked me if I was fuzzy and I said no which he accepted but he was very surprised that my husband wasn’t fuzzy and couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want more than one wife. I’m not sure whether I should have been offended. I was fairly comfortable with my husband fabrication until the questions became more specific. Where did my husband work? Why did he send me to Doo? How many children? No? Why not? Why was my husband not fuzzy? How long until I see him? Hmm. I was glad when we landed.
We had a long wait for our luggage, and headed to customs with trepidation. I was mildly concerned about my rongopai whereas Emma was fearful of her ‘saucy’ movies on her laptop(!). We were guided through customs by a hospital rep while the officer neglected to even look at the video screen of our luggage.
One of the first things I noticed on the 1h drive to the hospital included the vague lane markings on the roads if any at all and all roads are at least 4 lanes wide in each direction. The cars go wherever they can fit and if they can’t, they honk and push in anyway. They will drive on the footpath if it is clear or at least until it ceases to be, drive over the mid-road boundaries, and drive in the wrong direction if it suits their purposes. Suicide circles (aka roundabouts) are unbelievable. I don’t think I can actually describe it. I’ll take some video for you one day. Imagine a full roundabout, cars coming from every direction, not waiting for anyone and no one has anywhere to go. Approx 70% of cars have incident markings on their bumpers. Kids bounce around in the front and backseats, oblivious to seatbelts, some even assisting with steering while Dad talks on his mobile. Young men seem to enjoy standing up through the sunroof while the car is moving. If there’s a shortcut across the desert people take it.
The compound is enormous. There are two major areas of accommodation and a bunch of smaller ones. I am in a lovely 4bdrm villa as far from the hospital and shops as possible which suits me well. It’s about a 20min walk to the other compound, shops, pool and gym or 45min to the hospital…not very pleasant in the heat though, so there are buses every 15mins that circle the compound. Buses leave twice a day to various shopping areas too but you can catch a taxi at any time. We can wear western clothing (below knee, covered shoulders) on the compound but must be fully covered at the hospital or if leaving the compound. Emma and I were stoked to find that we have a private walled rooftop terrace on top of our villa that we can use to sunbathe in our bikinis. We went to sleep happy, excited and completely exhausted to the sound of our aeroplane-engine strength air conditioners.
The tour was excellent. We visited the Dubai museum, a small general souk, the gold souk, took a cruise on the Dubai river and paddled in the sea near the hotel that looks like a sail (water temp. 30 degrees). Emma and I were rather parched at the gold souk and couldn’t find a single store that sold anything other than gold. We eventually asked a gentleman who agreed to take us to get water if we would visit his store. We bought our water and then agreed to see his shop. Emma was quite concerned about going with him and I agreed to pike on the adventure when he took us down a laneway, inside a building and then wanted to take us upstairs to see his cheap illegal imports. We high-fived our survival of our first dodgy experience and carried on our merry way.
We visited a very expensive traditional craft mall and Emma and I managed to score our own private tour guide. He was very helpful at describing the techniques used for carpet making (I was particularly taken by the magic silk knotted-rugs that change colour when you turn them and are fire-resistant, demonstrated with a lighter in front of us), inlaid marble, inlaid silver, embroidery and exquisite tailoring in bright and bold colours. Mum, you would have loved it. I took the gentleman’s card and he’ll send a driver for us next time :)
We met 3 other Australasian nurses at Dubai airport while awaiting our flight. It wasn’t difficult to spot them. We felt incredibly uncomfortable. The men stared at us unashamedly, and poor Emma felt particularly awkward as she’d been advised that she wouldn’t require an abayya to enter Doo. While officially true, she was rather conspicuous. The flight was interesting to say the least. All 5 of us were sitting in different locations. I had chosen an aisle seat to avoid sitting between two men but it didn’t really make much of a difference. I quickly put my headphones in and began watching a movie whilst feeling very concerned about my exposed wrists and visible long pants beneath my open abayya. The gentleman next to me watched my video screen or leaned on me as much as possible for the entire flight. I was leaning so far into the aisle that I was constantly bumped by passing passengers and trolleys. The gentleman sitting across the aisle one seat in front made an absolute show of turning around and staring straight at me. Even whilst he ate. I had to resist a strong urge to stare straight back at him. After dinner, the gentleman next to me leaned over and spoke a little close for comfort straight through my earphones “American?”. I was unsure whether to answer, but couldn’t have borne the staring, and didn’t feel confident to fake being German so removed my earphone, said ‘no, New Zealand’” and replaced my earphone. He continued to talk in broken English so I stopped my movie and began to converse. He asked me where I was going, what I was doing, where my husband was (thank aroha for my wedding band) and very quickly, whether I would like another one. I wasn’t certain that I’d understood so ignored it, and he then said that if my husband was in NZ, then perhaps he could have another wife. I asked how many he had and he said only 1 but 2 was good for a fuzzy man. Would I consider marriage? “Ah no, thank you”. He asked me if I was fuzzy and I said no which he accepted but he was very surprised that my husband wasn’t fuzzy and couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want more than one wife. I’m not sure whether I should have been offended. I was fairly comfortable with my husband fabrication until the questions became more specific. Where did my husband work? Why did he send me to Doo? How many children? No? Why not? Why was my husband not fuzzy? How long until I see him? Hmm. I was glad when we landed.
We had a long wait for our luggage, and headed to customs with trepidation. I was mildly concerned about my rongopai whereas Emma was fearful of her ‘saucy’ movies on her laptop(!). We were guided through customs by a hospital rep while the officer neglected to even look at the video screen of our luggage.
One of the first things I noticed on the 1h drive to the hospital included the vague lane markings on the roads if any at all and all roads are at least 4 lanes wide in each direction. The cars go wherever they can fit and if they can’t, they honk and push in anyway. They will drive on the footpath if it is clear or at least until it ceases to be, drive over the mid-road boundaries, and drive in the wrong direction if it suits their purposes. Suicide circles (aka roundabouts) are unbelievable. I don’t think I can actually describe it. I’ll take some video for you one day. Imagine a full roundabout, cars coming from every direction, not waiting for anyone and no one has anywhere to go. Approx 70% of cars have incident markings on their bumpers. Kids bounce around in the front and backseats, oblivious to seatbelts, some even assisting with steering while Dad talks on his mobile. Young men seem to enjoy standing up through the sunroof while the car is moving. If there’s a shortcut across the desert people take it.
The compound is enormous. There are two major areas of accommodation and a bunch of smaller ones. I am in a lovely 4bdrm villa as far from the hospital and shops as possible which suits me well. It’s about a 20min walk to the other compound, shops, pool and gym or 45min to the hospital…not very pleasant in the heat though, so there are buses every 15mins that circle the compound. Buses leave twice a day to various shopping areas too but you can catch a taxi at any time. We can wear western clothing (below knee, covered shoulders) on the compound but must be fully covered at the hospital or if leaving the compound. Emma and I were stoked to find that we have a private walled rooftop terrace on top of our villa that we can use to sunbathe in our bikinis. We went to sleep happy, excited and completely exhausted to the sound of our aeroplane-engine strength air conditioners.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Departure Looms and a WEIRD Hospital-based Event.
So I finally got my visa!! I got the call last Friday and I guess I did the “I got my visa, I got my visa, I got my visa” dance about 7 times for my patient who began to hit me by the 5th time and danced again for my parents when I got home. Even the DJ on Radio Active 89.0 was privileged to share a moment with me and my happiness in the car. I was asked to wait patiently for Kerry (my UK agency contact) to phone me about my flights so I left her a message before she’d even arrived at work. She rang me and sounded almost as excited as me and said that I could go on the next flight if I wished. Oh yeah…..except I have a 4 day hospital admission this week for some unexpected lupus treatment. Felt a bit worried about telling the agency this tidbit but she casually said well how about leaving on Saturday? Yes. Definitely yes. Well it's actually Monday, but that's a good thing. 2 more days to squish and ditch excess luggage.
Please don’t get me wrong. I’ve had a wonderful time in NZ. Staying with my parents has been great (and no, I’m not just saying that because they’ll be some of the first to read this). Highlights of the past 54 days include:
- Simply hanging out with Mum & Dad, visiting with their friends, going to rongopai with them
- Sharing in the ups and downs of immediate and extended family life which I usually only hear via the phone
- Celebrating my birthday with my family, possibly the first since I was 18
- Skyping Mum in the morning from my bed so she knows to turn espresso machine on (and then my breakfast and strong flat white arrive 10mins later while I’m still moving to sit up on my pillow, oh the luxury, love you Mum!)
- Receiving Paul’s updates of his adventures as a policeman (every bit as exciting as we civilians think it might be)
- Watching lots of DVDs just because I’ve got the time
- Watching Zephyr (family pussy cat) appear without fail when my weetbix is first lifted to my mouth and patiently sit there while I finish as much as I can so he can lick the remnants. He then moves on to the next willing participant, usually Mum followed by Nana (visiting from Dunedin). 2 days ago, Mum called him from the second storey of our house. He was wandering in the garden, no doubt torturing some poor creature and he turned, slowly began walking to the house up the stairs and onto Nana’s bed, just to wait for her to finish her weetbix.
- Visiting my grandparents in Dunedin. So blessed as I’ve said to still be able to spend time with all four of them.
- Hanging out in Otaki with Anna & Warrick at the good ol’ kiwi bach.
- Spending multiple occasions with good friends who I usually only get to see once on my short trips home
- Having a somewhat terse (from my end) discussion with a jewellery store assistant about the clothing requirements of fuzzies as she couldn’t and wouldn’t understand why fuzzies can’t wear ‘normal’ clothes when they live in NZ. Quid pro quo was her argument.
- Being able to help out a family who are dealing with the crazy, stressful, emotional, tiring world of an acquired brain injury and share my experience to ease their load temporarily.
- A special weekend in Greytown with Mum & Dad, Paul & Shelley.
- Getting a tattoo! For those of you who’ve seen the pic below, it apparently looks quite different in real life. I’ll attempt a more realistic image at some point.
- Recognising and thinking again about the wonderful friends I’ve made in Melbourne now that I can’t just call to hang out.
- The hospital event described below.
One of the more difficult parts of being home has been being unwell. My lupus has been a little bit nasty for about 8 weeks and my usual management of it wasn’t working. This has meant ridiculous fatigue, body aches and rashes. Day-to-day it’s meant sleeping for 8-14 hours and waking up feeling as if I haven’t slept and someone has pushed my body through a flat-sheet pasta machine, staying in bed until the last possible minute and then going to work with the family (mentioned above). Poor Mum didn’t really envisage my 8 week stint here involving only sleeping or being somewhere other than home. It hasn’t been all that way, but it was quite devastating seeing her face when I did my “I got my visa” dance ☹. It’s the longest time she’s had me at home since I was 18.
I’m typing this from my cosy single-bed hospital room. I get cups of tea or grotty coffee delivered every 2 hours, quite acceptable meals at 8, 12 and 5 (small, medium or large) and a few hours of intravenous drug treatment in the morning (high-dose steroids for those in-the-know). The steroid treatment has a rather exaggerated side effect of those I take at home. I put a piece of food near my mouth even when I don’t feel hungry and it vanishes. Inhaled into my stomach before I can even chew while my hand is looking for the next mound of food. Doesn’t matter what it tastes like. If it goes in the mouth, it goes. Guess the free gym in my Coo accommodation is going to come in handy. My therapy doesn’t stop at medications and food. I attended hydrotherapy in a lovely warm pool this morning with four men in their 50s. I had a physio to put weights on my legs and guide me through various exercises to mobilise my joints (first public display of my tattoo!). Tomorrow afternoon an occupational therapist is going to teach me relaxation and pain relief exercises. I’m quite excited ☺. I’m already feeling a lot better and I’ll sort out the longer-term treatment plan once I arrive in Coo. In the past 36 hours I’ve watched 3 DVDs, read a murder-mystery in 3 hours and a few chapters of ‘Stalingrad’ in 4 hours. This afternoon I received a rather random photo of Alice, the patient in the next room standing (dressed) in our communal bathroom via bluetooth on my mobile. Yes read the last sentence again. If you’re wondering, I did knock on her door and ask ‘what the?’ out of curiosity and she giggled while her parents and boyfriend looked at me rather strangely. I had been contemplating asking her to take a trip to the fancy coffee store with me later this afternoon since she seems to be the only other patient within 2 decades of my age, but my plans have changed. Explanations I’ve thought of include:
1) A pick-up attempt. It was quite a sexy picture despite the toilet cistern in the background and if you had seen me in my swimsuit, PJ and towel combo this morning you’d have been hitting on me too. Hmm mm. Yes you would.
2) The beginning of a fun adventure that is bound to end up with one of us receiving medication via a painful route, or perhaps flowers?
3) Hospital bluetooth photo tag? I haven’t yet decided what to send back or indeed if to send one. My nurse suggested in a hushed conspiratorial whisper that I should take a picture of me in front of the urn in the kitchen but it doesn’t seem have the same zing about it.
4) The boring version i.e. she was trying to send it to one of the people visiting her, but I really cannot understand why she chose the bathroom of all places or chose to send it to the phone called 1432.6500.
Ok you know something is funny when you’re giggling constantly while typing it. I’m not supposed to admit that I’m laughing at my own words but that was a VERY bizarre and funny event. Your explanations of her behaviour would be much appreciated….
Please don’t get me wrong. I’ve had a wonderful time in NZ. Staying with my parents has been great (and no, I’m not just saying that because they’ll be some of the first to read this). Highlights of the past 54 days include:
- Simply hanging out with Mum & Dad, visiting with their friends, going to rongopai with them
- Sharing in the ups and downs of immediate and extended family life which I usually only hear via the phone
- Celebrating my birthday with my family, possibly the first since I was 18
- Skyping Mum in the morning from my bed so she knows to turn espresso machine on (and then my breakfast and strong flat white arrive 10mins later while I’m still moving to sit up on my pillow, oh the luxury, love you Mum!)
- Receiving Paul’s updates of his adventures as a policeman (every bit as exciting as we civilians think it might be)
- Watching lots of DVDs just because I’ve got the time
- Watching Zephyr (family pussy cat) appear without fail when my weetbix is first lifted to my mouth and patiently sit there while I finish as much as I can so he can lick the remnants. He then moves on to the next willing participant, usually Mum followed by Nana (visiting from Dunedin). 2 days ago, Mum called him from the second storey of our house. He was wandering in the garden, no doubt torturing some poor creature and he turned, slowly began walking to the house up the stairs and onto Nana’s bed, just to wait for her to finish her weetbix.
- Visiting my grandparents in Dunedin. So blessed as I’ve said to still be able to spend time with all four of them.
- Hanging out in Otaki with Anna & Warrick at the good ol’ kiwi bach.
- Spending multiple occasions with good friends who I usually only get to see once on my short trips home
- Having a somewhat terse (from my end) discussion with a jewellery store assistant about the clothing requirements of fuzzies as she couldn’t and wouldn’t understand why fuzzies can’t wear ‘normal’ clothes when they live in NZ. Quid pro quo was her argument.
- Being able to help out a family who are dealing with the crazy, stressful, emotional, tiring world of an acquired brain injury and share my experience to ease their load temporarily.
- A special weekend in Greytown with Mum & Dad, Paul & Shelley.
- Getting a tattoo! For those of you who’ve seen the pic below, it apparently looks quite different in real life. I’ll attempt a more realistic image at some point.
- Recognising and thinking again about the wonderful friends I’ve made in Melbourne now that I can’t just call to hang out.
- The hospital event described below.
One of the more difficult parts of being home has been being unwell. My lupus has been a little bit nasty for about 8 weeks and my usual management of it wasn’t working. This has meant ridiculous fatigue, body aches and rashes. Day-to-day it’s meant sleeping for 8-14 hours and waking up feeling as if I haven’t slept and someone has pushed my body through a flat-sheet pasta machine, staying in bed until the last possible minute and then going to work with the family (mentioned above). Poor Mum didn’t really envisage my 8 week stint here involving only sleeping or being somewhere other than home. It hasn’t been all that way, but it was quite devastating seeing her face when I did my “I got my visa” dance ☹. It’s the longest time she’s had me at home since I was 18.
I’m typing this from my cosy single-bed hospital room. I get cups of tea or grotty coffee delivered every 2 hours, quite acceptable meals at 8, 12 and 5 (small, medium or large) and a few hours of intravenous drug treatment in the morning (high-dose steroids for those in-the-know). The steroid treatment has a rather exaggerated side effect of those I take at home. I put a piece of food near my mouth even when I don’t feel hungry and it vanishes. Inhaled into my stomach before I can even chew while my hand is looking for the next mound of food. Doesn’t matter what it tastes like. If it goes in the mouth, it goes. Guess the free gym in my Coo accommodation is going to come in handy. My therapy doesn’t stop at medications and food. I attended hydrotherapy in a lovely warm pool this morning with four men in their 50s. I had a physio to put weights on my legs and guide me through various exercises to mobilise my joints (first public display of my tattoo!). Tomorrow afternoon an occupational therapist is going to teach me relaxation and pain relief exercises. I’m quite excited ☺. I’m already feeling a lot better and I’ll sort out the longer-term treatment plan once I arrive in Coo. In the past 36 hours I’ve watched 3 DVDs, read a murder-mystery in 3 hours and a few chapters of ‘Stalingrad’ in 4 hours. This afternoon I received a rather random photo of Alice, the patient in the next room standing (dressed) in our communal bathroom via bluetooth on my mobile. Yes read the last sentence again. If you’re wondering, I did knock on her door and ask ‘what the?’ out of curiosity and she giggled while her parents and boyfriend looked at me rather strangely. I had been contemplating asking her to take a trip to the fancy coffee store with me later this afternoon since she seems to be the only other patient within 2 decades of my age, but my plans have changed. Explanations I’ve thought of include:
1) A pick-up attempt. It was quite a sexy picture despite the toilet cistern in the background and if you had seen me in my swimsuit, PJ and towel combo this morning you’d have been hitting on me too. Hmm mm. Yes you would.
2) The beginning of a fun adventure that is bound to end up with one of us receiving medication via a painful route, or perhaps flowers?
3) Hospital bluetooth photo tag? I haven’t yet decided what to send back or indeed if to send one. My nurse suggested in a hushed conspiratorial whisper that I should take a picture of me in front of the urn in the kitchen but it doesn’t seem have the same zing about it.
4) The boring version i.e. she was trying to send it to one of the people visiting her, but I really cannot understand why she chose the bathroom of all places or chose to send it to the phone called 1432.6500.
Ok you know something is funny when you’re giggling constantly while typing it. I’m not supposed to admit that I’m laughing at my own words but that was a VERY bizarre and funny event. Your explanations of her behaviour would be much appreciated….
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