Bruce Springsteen Coventry

Insomnia

I'm in a right old mess, crippled by the sniffles, I fear it's terminal. When hay fever and a touch of cold (man flu) collide.

I really thought I had found a solution to poor sleep following a night shift, a hot milky drink with a few pages of my book before trying to go to sleep. It was tremendously successful on my last run and seemed to work following my first shift on Sunday. Slept like a top, waking refreshed and ready for action at around four o'clock in the afternoon.

Sadly it wasn't as effective following Sunday nights shift as I tried to sleep during Monday in preparation for my final one. Tossed & turned all day and eventually admitted defeat at two o'clock'ish. Getting up I didn't feel right, I knew I wasn't at my best as the temptation to pull a sickie was great. Despite my significant moaning and protest, predominantly I realise you have to take your medicine and just get on with it. But I just couldn't find that little pouch of reserve to hold on.

I slouched in front of the tele, just about got myself together for the shift, but my heart wasn't in it ... and neither was my body it seems. Throat got sore, sniffles increased, I just felt *blaaa* 

I kept going through my shift; pulling a long forgotten, aged and battered Lemsip from my bag kept me numb for an hour or so. Regular iced drinks and a ice lolly* helped to numb my throat for a short while. But as the night progressed I just felt worse and worse. Staffing numbers are so poor that you can't really embrace or cover a member of staff departing mid-shift, especially on a night however ill they maybe.

So I just had to hang in there feeling rather pathetic and sorry for myself. Even verbalising that I wasn't at my fighting best were greeted with surprise. "But you're never ill!!!" 

I even got sent for a break mid-shift, and I went. Which was greeted by equal surprise  "But you NEVER go for a break!!!"

Lying in a darkened cubicle I still felt guilty despite being entitled to a forty-five minute break each night. If I added up all those night shifts that I have forgone a break and claimed the time back I'm sure I'd ultimately be very close to retirement?

When I started nursing you were made to go for a break during the night, irrespective of whether you wanted one or not. I clearly recall lying on discarded soft play items, dozing briefly and then feeling horrible for the remainder of the night. That little night doze would all to frequently jeopardise the quality of my day sleep.

Even when I did sleep, hard to avoid when lying on padded apparatus in the pitch black, I use to wake up so disorientated and confused. Which amused my colleagues greatly, but left me feeling horrible.

Eventually I put my foot down and simply declined preferring to endure the shift straight through. Even so I do feel a little robbed of all those hours I have given the NHS for free.

As I get older staying awake has become harder, night shifts really are a young persons game. By my mid-thirties when things did quieten I tended to suddenly droop, my head would drop and I'd doze. Again to the significant amusement of my colleagues. 

*Solario ice lollies available in the vending machine in the canteen, who knew? It did seem ironic that you could get a whole range of microwave meals, Danish pastries and ice creams, but the usual vending machine fare (sandwiches, cans of pop, etc) were absent. The girls reported that it was most amusing to come across me sitting at the main nursing station eating an ice cream at three o'clock in the morning.

Manna

This week marks the return of the mysterious fluff that has appeared on the lawns and in the trees at around this time every year since we moved to Stone. 

Originally we thought it was remnants of newly fitted carpets from surrounding houses, and we became quite indignant about it as I recall. It did seem to correspond with houses being completed and new folks moving in. We even purchased a garden hoover to try to deal with all the further debris that we found on waking each morning, now kaputt.

 

It was only the following years that we investigated further and discovered that despite it's wool like appearance and texture it wasn't carpet  but blossom from a long established set of trees at the edge of the development. We just have to accept it arrival and that it remains as it clings to everything and catches every branch, nook and cranny. 

It led to me wondering if the manna of Moses was not just some mythical dough but blossom? Bet it didn't taste very nice?!?

Sick

And of course today is Cleaner Wednesday 

When all I really want to do is stay at home, sit around, watch television and bumble about online I am forced to flee the house. Embrace a few hours wasted in coffee shops, just waiting until I can go home again, dose myself up on Lemsip, feel sorry for myself and potentially go back to bed. 

I really don't want to be unwell for Bruce Springsteen in Coventry tomorrow, the way I was feeling earlier I could have readily pulled out discarding the £65 ticket. But despite remaining a soggy mess of snot and nasal congestion I do feel slightly more human and hope that I will feel even more normal tomorrow.  Sore throat is improved and my glands are reducing. 

The streets aren't safe

If you can avoid the uneven paving, the poorly sited street furniture & signage and the dog turd littered paths, you are confronted by human detritus. They attempt to stop you as you reaching your destination, impeach as you go about your daily business, demand your time, your attention and frequently your money.

I admire anyone attempting to make a crust, but does it have to be at the expensive of me trying to go about my day.

I'm distrusting of wacky, wary of the zany (at the best of times). Today I was almost accosted by a bunch of young people (students I presume?) in fancy dress, distributing dental hygiene promotional literature. Thankfully I managed to avoid and consequently missed the opportunity to converse with either a tooth, a tooth fairy or a six foot red toothbrush.

Forgetting those in fancy-dress, the very sight of any lone soul clinging to a clipboard or wearing a charity logo emblazoned kagool desperately trying to make eye contact makes me take a wide swerve to avoid.

I'm the same with ...

Charity collectors (chuggers), paid street workers employed predominantly by reputable charities to guilt trip people into signing up for a monthly direct debit (swindling the elderly out of their pensions)

I don't doubt that all charities need to generate capital to continue their good work and I am sure that street work is very lucrative, and beyond being disturbed and inconvenienced that's my problem. 

We should all donate to charity, be encouraged to give to those causes close to our respective hearts, wouldn't it be great if a donation could be deducted from every wage and forwarded directly to your particular worth cause.

Yet we know cats, kids and cancer would do very well and those less cute / sexy / fashionable (delete as necessary) causes would be almost ignored.

 

Anyway ... those scum bags trying to foist their joke books or rag mags onto you, even though they appear long out of university or more accurately recently out of prison. The jokes aren't funny and the actual cause dubious. I tend to say or imply in fewer words ...  "If I give you £1 will you piss off?"

Evangalists and street preachers; whilst I admire your conviction and desire to spread the word, but is this the most effective form of evangelism. Irrespective of religion or denomination I think all appear to be a fundamentalists.

 I've always believe the best form of true evangelism is by simply living your life and being an example day to day. Make a difference in society and your community, be different and you will prick people's interest about your reasons and motivation.

And I haven't even got on to market researchers, gypsies distributing lucky heather (at a cost) and those ladies who try to sign you up to catalogues!

Small Victories

I take great pride on those occasions when we manage to fill our blue wheelie bin right to the top, the success of recycling so much in a fortnight (two hundred and forty litres approximately). Utterly stupid 'cause in actual fact it is the complete opposite of success for the consumer (Rupert's), but more the success of consumerism and for packaging producers.

I guess true recycling success can only be measured by comparing what is placed in the recycling bin with what is placed in the green domestic bin. Minimal in both is the obvious consumer goal, but the furthest from the goal of the distributor. We need to consume less, be aware of waste, not just in terms of recycling but also food, energy and time.

It has led to the mental discussion of what is the best way to deal with used tissues; is it best to flush them, bin them or burn them (should you have the facility)? Google has up to now been unable to assist.

Iain Banks R.I.P. (16th February 1954 - 9th June 2013)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iain_Banks

 

Today marks the sad passing of the writer Ian Banks, his monochrome cover novels pretty much marked the 1990's and beyond for me. 

Despite liking sci fi films and television, I seem to struggle with it in writing. Despite Bank's 'Culture' novels being equally acclaimed in both literary and science fiction circles, they never touched me the way his straight fiction did. 

His later work didn't always grab me, entwined so significantly in my previous marriage perhaps? Even so I look forward to picking up 'The Quarry' next week, which focuses on the terminal illness of it's lead character from cancer. Largely written prior to his own diagnosis and now sadly published posthumously. 

Tonight I'll raise a decent malt in tribute and thanks ...