Glasgow Royal Infirmary, young drunk lad, face slashed (bottle/knife?) skin flapping, pinned down by police and porters, “get tae fk, get aff me ya bastards!” blood spraying up the curtains, on the docs white coat. “Keep still!!”
My job, apply pressure, fingers close to needle, thick black silk, try not to get stitched to mental boy, no plastic surgeon, no operating theatre. Finally another ‘Glasgow smile’ done.
Many nurses prefer the night shift, patients tucked up in bed, less people, less paperwork, no auditors, no practice drills. Suits the night owls perfectly, torture for early birds like me who love to sleep.
My first proper job, 1986, was staff nurse in a receiving medical ward (strokes, hear failure, diabetes, cancer, death) the night shift roster seven on, seven off for six weeks.
An hour into the shift a Nursing Officer did ‘rounds’ expecting to hear all patient names and diagnoses from memory, no paper cheat sheet allowed.
Miss M, tall, big-bosomed, terrifying, never cracked a smile. Patient name forgotten, deafening silence. Quick-witted buddies told of inventing names or bursting into hysterical giggles, I quaked in my shoes. 😩😆
At this point in my life I was short of money, needed extra for holidays, clothes, rent/mortgage. Extra agency shifts on top of my full-time hours helped. I was young, energetic, brave, up for anything.
Waiting at bus shelters in the rain, catching public transport across the city, listening to tapes on my Sony Walkman, morose songs to match my having-to-stay-awake-all-night mood. REM’s 🎶 ehhhvry body huuuurts, ehhhvry body cries 🎶 a favourite.
Often a challenge getting home without incident, falling asleep on buses or trains, missing stop,s waking up drooling, disorientated.
Or driving (boyfriends car,) so sleepy i’d have the windows down, slapping my face, pinching my cheeks, sometimes having to pull over for a short nap. Arriving home exhausted, crawling into bed, asleep instantly to be woken at 11am, dog barking, phone ringing. Aaargh! I’d turn into crazy lady.
Every nurse has memories ( good and bad) of particular situations and people. That Glasgow Infirmary agency shift I’ll never forget.
Next the private aged care residence in Edinburgh, getting off the bus to wet pavement, crunching up a gravel driveway in the dark, large Wuthering Heights-type building, dark wood-panelling inside, brown tiled floors, the desperate-to-leave day nurse giving handover.
Quick orientation, up and down stairs, along rabbit-warren corridors, “fire extinguishers here,” keys handed over, sinking realisation, I was the only qualified nurse on the premises.
Turned out the permanent auxiliary staff basically ran the place, fabulous motherly women, clocking my deer in headlights expression, “c’moan hen” one came with me on drug – rounds, confirming ID’s of the auld sleepy faces.
Settling everyone, helping toilet, change incontinence pads, check skin, apply barrier cream, position pillows, make all residents as comfortable as possible.
The nursing care familiar, surroundings creepy, answering call bells, imagining Mrs Danvers appearing, candle in hand or grinning Jack Nicholson from The Shining, knife in hand. Instead I’d find a wee Scottish granny in her nightie wanting to go to the loo!
Before long (thank gawd) birds were tweeting, delivery lorries rumbling past and my fabulous buddies put knitting bags away before last rounds. We checked all the precious aulds were present and correct, in bed not on the floor, god forbid!
Next shift, a neurosurgical unit, patients post surgery, brain tumours, blood clots removed, still at risk of swelling and bleeding. The nurses job, hourly observations looking for early signs of these complications.
Next shift, a neurosurgical unit, patients post surgery, brain tumours, blood clots removed, still at risk of swelling and bleeding. The nurses job, hourly observations looking for early signs of these complications.
That night all patients were stable but sitting at that dimly-lit nurses station between rounds i could not keep my eyes open. Didnt want to be that agency nurse who snoozed on the job so i stayed on my feet, paced and paced, round and round, up and down.
Next, the beautiful palliative care unit helping folks to a peaceful death. The nurses welcoming, warm, friendly, lovely to work with and learn from, felt like i was doing the most important work in the world that night.
Patients tended, morphine and sedatives dispensed, beds set up in a day room with blankets and pillows (for us!) on my break i was instructed to sleep. Heaven! So sensible, should be mandatory for all who work in the middle of the night.
Over at the Childrens Hospital a different story, staff sighing, tutting and eye-rolling barely acknowledging my presence all night, “hope they’re being nicer to the sick bairns?” I thought, surely they’d prefer an agency nurse than manage one down?
A toddler admitted in the early hours with a scary asthma attack then transferred to paediatric intensive care confirmed looking after sick bairns wasn’t my thing.
My last memory from 1994, midwifing on the ground floor Antenatal ward of a large Edinburgh Maternity Hospital. 3am-ish, two of us found a group of young dads-to-be at the open french doors of the inside court yard chatting and smoking with their pregnant, drug addicted “burds” 😩 😆 missing them! “Jist leavin nuurse!”
They left in peace, the locks changed asap. When Train Spotting was released in 1996 I recognised the Rentboy, Spud, Begbie and Sickboy types from that night.
End of night shift, day light always comes, the army of tip toeing, torch-wielding nurses head home.
Many of my colleagues enjoy nights, “sleep is for the weak” types, who somehow survive on a few hours. Me, I turn into cranky zombie lady. Night duty, no thanks.
Lindsey Crossan Registered Nurse/Midwife
Leave a Reply