it's not all doom

at the hospital coal face despite recent posts. only one person dies this set and he does so comfortably. though the nurses won't let the junior have toast until she certifies the body, which really is a bit un-necessary at the end of a night shift.

i get various body fluids in the face. sprayed and smeared. i'll say no more. the nurses are highly amused so i am happy. and it's a week for wee old wifies, who remain my firm favourites in the patient classification stakes. i have lovely warm hands according to one, who compliments me so highly burberry declares it 'sickening'. then there's old posh bird, who the nurses aren't coping with too well. she's horrified apparently because 'your uniforms contain nylon'! they're a dying breed these punters and i love them. i give her a fuss, prop her up with her daily telegraph and she's loving it. finally there's wee old bird wifie, who's full of dementia and had a fall as only really only old women can and looks like she's been hit by a bus. oh it's you she says, and it may be me, or someone completely different, and she reaches up to stroke my face. is it a chocolate cake she's been playing with? please, please let it be so. i carry on regardless. it's so infrequently these days i get to do actual stuff on the wards i really don't care. one of these days the nurses will even let me make a bed. but they'll be suspicious oh yes they will.

interaction of the week is when i get called a hoor by one of the junior nurses. i have to ask whether she is over fifty and a man but she is from the country and it's funny to hear something in the old dialect. It perhaps sounds worth than it is to non-scottish ears but in context, if you listen carefully, it goes something like this