It just snapped!

Hand crafted from rip-stop nylon; 

Factory floor pickings, from the Balloon factory, 

Made a fantastic kite,

Run up on the sewing machine;

A last ditch attempt to take part
In 'family' oriented activity

An indian summer of a day.

Beautifully clear, kite flying perfection.

Happiness shared - a proper family outing.

Strains on the kite string, taught and singing

Flapping uncertainly and then soars,

Higher and higher.

A kite soaring free into the blue.

Freedom, until wound back in.

Wound back in and encased.

Ready for another sojourn.

But, instead it flies still whilst I walk.

Obedient on the lead behind me.

Until it meets its fate;

Becomes entangled in branches.

String becoming tighter still.

Until it just snapped!

A free kite now

Free, but completely alone.

1930's uniform . . .

Thought you may like to see a couple of 1930's uniform pictures. Grandma was issued with a book and her uniform permit, on successfully becoming a State Registered Nurse.

 "General Nursing Council for England and Wales - INSTRUCTIONS - with regard to Uniform and Badges which may be worn by Registered Nurses - 1931 - issue 4"

These uniforms have very detailed description, not least,  right

"The hem of the skirt must not be less than 8 inches and not more than 12 inches off the ground"

It's all in the uniform - or is it ?

I wonder how many of you will be able to relate to this, This blog post is about hiding behind a uniform.

Have you ever been in a situation where you hide behind a mask Be it uniform, make up or whatever? . . .

During my nurse training, as I mentioned before, I didn't really feel proud of my student's uniform; it wasn't exactly smart, didn't really inspire people to see the 'learner' stripes emblazoned on the paper cap, perched precariously on stray hair. 

However - once we passed our State Registration, it all changed, we got to wear the same crappy blue sack-like dress, but with a symbolic long white cap, up until our Registration papers came through, any way. Then we were, proper nurses, wearing proper uniform and expected to be accountable and professional. This transformation of uniform took on the white dress of the qualified nurse complete with the pale blue belt and the coveted silver buckle, later to become health and safety obsolete. As much as they were totally impractical and latterly outlawed for the purposes of moving and handling; they looked pretty good!

Me in full battledress!

The thing was, as much as this uniform evoked a lot of pride in me, it also scared me at first. Did I really own the privilege to wear this now ? Well yes, but was it really me underneath, and was I only masquerading in this uniform? Did it make me feel more professional, yes! Some days early on in my career, I felt as though someone else completely was on the ward, not me at all. I was 'hiding' beneath this professional veneer. Has anyone else ever felt like that and does it matter anyway?

Remembrance . . .

Lovingly . . .

His gentlest touch - reassures me.

'That' look beguiles me.

That 'moment' imprints on my memory.

His open arms, welcome me.

His wondrous touch - excites and delights me.

We love - rhythmically.
We touch, tempt, and caress ecstatically . . .

And slumber - blissfully!

A bit of a wobble . . .

During our Nursing training there were 4 main practical assessments we had to pass. One of which was the sterile dressing assessment. Now I thought I was reasonably good at this and seemed to get to grips fairly quickly with the whole routine. 20+ years ago his comprised of washing and drying the dressing trolley, when one was available that is, selecting all the necessary accoutrement's and performing a competent and safe dressing change using the 'forceps' technique, not glove technique as in today. Those plastic forceps could be little buggers. Especially if required to assist with removal of stitches. The suture thread used would often slip through the so- called toothed forceps and refuse to be held. Patient preparation was just as much as important in the assessment as the actual procedure; the 1980's had begun to accept that the patient played an important role now as an individual. 

In my practice run I had carried out the mock assessment with a Staff Nurse I really got on with and admired. I hadn't gone brilliantly to be honest. Nerves kicked in. The dressing pack was duly opened and tipped onto a beautifully clean trolley top only to skid right off it and onto the floor. SN said, that's why you should have a spare one underneath the trolley, just in case. Ah! note to self. Hands freshly washed I returned somewhat abashed to the trolley and started again. All went well this time, I'd have passed hands down. Little did I know what would happen on the day of the real assessment. . .

My patient was to be a lovely lady who needed removal of abdominal sutures following a hysterectomy. I knew the lady well, she was happy for me to do the procedure, knew it was an assessment and away we went. All was wonderful, until I took out the first couple of sutures and she started to cry. This was my chance to put my true bed-side manner into practice, but it also meant having to stop, hold her hand, comfort and wash hands all over again. Having assessed that she was not it pain, uncomfortable from my attempts to remove sutures; it became clear she was having her 'gynea-blues wobble'; the 'technical' term for a hormone induced post operative upset. She kept crying, her belly wobbled up and down and I could not complete the assessment. The poor lady was devastated, thinking I would not pass and it would be all her fault. All I wanted to do was give her a big hug and ditch the whole process. 

I did pass that assessment. Despite everything, the assessor saw enough to pass me on  safety and dexterity, plus added observed human element

Apologies to Messrs Gilbert and Sullivan & Grandma!

click here to hear the original version:

Three little maids from school - The Mikado 

A while ago now, I thought it might be fun to change the lyrics of this well known and loved piece of operetta from The Mikado. It just seemed to fit perfectly with 3 grumpy old women. 

It goes something like this . . .

Three grumpy old wom-en are we

Mis-rable as we can be

Filled to the brim with H-R-T

H--R--T!

Everything's an effort it's true

Can't touch my toes, how 'bout you?

I never could

So, tell me what's new!

Grumpy old women are we.

Grumpy old women,

Moods all vary

Poor old Hubbie's very wary

All of our hormones

In a quan-drary!

Grumpy old women are we.

Grumpy old women - are we!

Nothing worth watching on TV

Same old junk so why should we

Even pay our licence fee?

Grumpy old women are we

Went to my G.P. the other day

Usual problem? what did he say?

Keep taking the tablets and 'Go away'!

Grumpy old women are we!

Grumpy old women

Not so sprightly.

Grumpy old women don't do politely!

And a hot flush soaks through your nightie!

Grumpy old women are we! 

Grumpy old women - are we!