Rob and I have given a home to many animals over the years, I was once accosted by a stranger at the local IGA, “ah you’re from the Noahs Ark house, so many animals in pairs at your place!” At one point it was true!
2 Italian Grey hounds (tiny) 2 sheep (fat) 2 geese 2 turkeys Multiple bantam chooks Oh and a friendly peacock
Our own petting zoo.
Peacock (long gone) had a distinctive raucous call which Rob found charming, me not so much. It would often fly up on the deck, display its magnificent feathers then shit on the handrails and would often (unfortunately) strut up the animal-hating neighbours driveway and shit on theirs too.
Along with the petting zoo we managed everyday life, work, home, acreage, little kids and with no family nearby the chaos was all ours (both sets of grandparents spent many long holidays with us, always such a wrench when they left😩😔)
I’ve always been a bit of a tree hugger, love the rainforest, the eucalyptusy smells, the birdsong, the silence.
Neighbours within poking distance is not my preference, i love people but like choosing when I interact and Rob, well he prefers animals! 😆
I’m used to the drive home from work, nose to tail traffic, petrol fumes, tradies driving up my arse. All worth it 40 minutes later when I park under the tree in front of the house, swing the car door open, feel my nervous system go aaaaaah soon as feet touch the ground.
Moving entire countries, buying land, building a home together was a challenge, many “aah, that’s what we should have done” moments since.
When bodies falter, nurses have a ringside seat, give care to all, to strangers. Who will the strangers be? Someone’s mum, auntie, brother, cousin, sister, uncle, granny, grandpa. They never know.
This shift begins with bedside handover.
First patient, large ovarian cancer removed the day before. Eye contact, smile, ID check, note her skin colour, facial expression, position in the bed, moving, scared to move?
Large wound, clear waterproof dressing. Intact, bleeding, ooze, gape? Check.
Aim by shift end? Each woman, clinically stable, pain-free, clean, cocooned, fresh sheets, feeling cared for.**
Into the fray to a chorus of alarms, to call bells, pain relief needed, to retching, a bag full of vomit and a new admission wheeling up the corridor.
Immediate fires tended, they start proper, no sitting, treading a constant path. Bed, treatment room, nurses station, linen trolley, pan room, back.
First observations. Blood pumping effectively, oxygenating tissues? Heart racing or too slow? Breaths a minute? Too warm, too cold? Pain out of 10?
Next medications, hone in, focused concentration amidst chaos, scrutinising poly-pharmacy multiple charts, no short cuts, ever, no accidental deaths, please. Can you imagine?
Then showering, multiple drips, drains, catheters in tow, major physical manoeuvre for both patient and nurse. Quick is key.
Adorn in clean hospital gown, final push back across floor to freshly made bed, to opioid pain control, to sleep. Scan again, quick recce, everything in place? Move on.
One patient, one episode of care. Things can and do go wrong.
Constant interruptions. Insensible losses of time. Drugs not available. Equipment malfunctions. Doctors uncontactable. BP’s Crash. Temps soar. Blood pours in rivers. Bodies collapse to the floor.
And human factors? Extra time needed, pain crisis, crying, hyperventilating, relatives spewing anger, nurse in the firing line. Emotional energy needed huge, boundaries a must, we’re not repositories for peoples pain, won’t tolerate disrespect.
End of shift, notes done, we huddle, check in, satisfied, patients as planned ** or commiserate, stretched too thin, patients stable, safe. At whose cost?
We learn not to blame ourselves, work in a 24/7 team, so handover, go home, rest, re-energise, ready for the next .
Great Auntie Jean was a “Call The Midwife” helping women birth at home, day and night in 1950’s Greenock, Scotland.
Three of dads’ sisters were nurses and my own mum a community district nurse. Watching her leave home of a morning in standard navy dress, hat and coat, huge nylon bag over her shoulder full of mysterious dressings and paraphernalia, I knew I wanted to keep up the family tradition.
Arriving in Oz I joined an agency needing a salary as soon as possible.
First shift was a morning on the postnatal floor of a large public tertiary hospital, an old building, no AC, stinking hot 35-degree day, white dress and tights clinging, sweat trickling down my back, working under the whir of multiple fans.
