I don’t think the universe wants me to sleep this week.
Sunday night I’m pretty sure I got one of my antidepressants stuck in my gullet – well fun. If you’re wondering what it feels like I would describe it as a burning golf ball in the middle of your chest with waves of fire, gas and muscle spasms from your stomach upwards trying to dislodge it.
1 star - wouldn’t recommend.
I had swallowed and was now impaled on my own fiery sword of hurriedness. Basically I suddenly remembered I needed to take it just as I was drifting off to sleep, I leant over to the beside table, grabbed one and knocked it down.
Now being a nurse I should really know better than trying to swallow a pill whilst horizontal but we make the worst patients. Despite being pretty sure it was the tablet – it was only after I’d diagnosed and ruled out a cardiac event, AAA, pancreatitis, cholesytitis, and CORONA...
Anyways after about 4 pints of water, a glass of milk, 2 omeprazole and 2 rennies- it went down and the heartburn settled enough for me to sleep
What an idiot.
Which leads me perfectly onto night two and my son Jude.
He was so adamant he wasn’t tired he thought it appropriate to scream....
“I’M NOT TIRED”
....like tiny banshee, repeatedly until about 1am - which was really fun. Ideal when you’re up at 6am for a 13 hour shift.
Thank the lord Dan is such a lovely human and managed the small annoying beast, so I could grasp a few hours of shut eye before my shift. I often wonder how single parents do it alone, it’s hard enough work with the two of us, I’m not sure I’d cope without Dan by my side.
Yesterday I was on another new ward I’d never been on. It’s getting pretty tiresome perpetually being the newbie.
There’s this weird toss up in my brain between wanting to be helpful and go where I’m needed and feeling a bit insecure and isolated. None of these people know my history and the undercurrent of anxiety that still remains for me.
It has certainly been a learning curve and an efficient way of getting to know the hospital. Each ward has its own way of operating, whilst challenging to adapt it has given me an invaluable insights into the Trust.
There have been days where I have managed to overcome personal obstacles which has been a great confidence boost.
Sometimes it might be something that seems so routine but you build it up in your mind into a stupidly dangerous rope bridge, over a mile high canyon, leading to a mountain that takes approximately a year to climb.
For me one of this arduous journeys was cannulation. Now as an A&E nurse this is something you could literally do with your eyes closed. Someone comes in with a broken nail and you whack one in “just in case”. One of the first signs I was unwell last year, was when I had a panic attack doing someone’s cannula.
I wish I had realised and broached the issue then so it didn’t escalate – but I didn’t really recognise it as a sign of what was to come.
I was about to cannulate a patient one day and the emergency bell rang. Now I don’t know if you’ve ever seen that happen before but every man and his dog basically drops tools and runs to the noise. So I released the patient from the grip of my tourniquet and scarpered to the sound like the “hero” I apparently am.
At this time I had not long started my Advanced Practice Masters and I felt something change in me when approaching this ‘emergency’.
One day I would be responsible for leading the response to situations like this – and I mentally shat myself.
Now obviously this thought process took place whilst I’m running to a tiny ward next door, dodging at least 20 people in the corridor along with their adages, baggage and relatives. Kind of like a weird episode of Takeshis Castle in fast forward and without Craig Charles in my earhole.
Anyways we got there and the patient had fainted, but was now conscious and breathing so panic over.
Well it should have been anyway.
I got back to cannulate the patient I’d ran out on, but I felt weird. Panicky, shaky, sweaty, racing heart, awkward – and by that I mean sort of jittery and couldn’t relax to communicate normally with the patient. So I made my excuses about missing equipment and asked the nurse in charge if I could step outside and someone else do the cannula.
After cooling down and having some time to gather myself – I still felt anxious but I kind of swallowed it down and cracked on. Which clearly wasn’t the best plan, cause not only did I end up eventually suicidal- but it gave me a bit of a cannula phobia. So that became a task I would avoid because it brought on similar feelings, and rather than address it I fobbed it off or blamed it on being tired etc.
Coming back to work this was still something which held anxiety for me, when I had my training a couple of weeks ago I had a flash of it when we walked in and I saw the cannulas.
Now I have spoken about fear before and how it can dominate your life, and I’m determined to not let it taint my future.
So I overrode those feelings and stuck out the session, what I found was that actually it was like riding a bike – especially when you’re practicing on a what is essentially a toy arm. Although this went OK and I felt it all came back to me, I still actively avoided doing it – until Monday.
I was on a ward which is linked with mine – so I know some of the staff and felt comfortable and confident which obviously helped. I was asked by an ACP who I had met previously at University if I could cannulate this patient.
There was an element of saving face as this ACP knew I was on the masters and I felt there would be an expectation for me to not be phased by something like cannulating. However, I flapped a bit, and said I was in the middle of something and I would do it if I had the time to get round to it.
Now that was true – I was giving some medications which were essential, but so was this cannula for the patient because they weren’t drinking and needed IV fluids. So I gave myself an internal talking to and started to prep.
I think physically prepping for something that makes you anxious, is just as important as mental prep. They kind of work together. I was running through the procedure in my head to make sure I had all the kit, for me I want to sit and concentrate without going back and forth to get stuff I’ve forgotten.
Anyways I went for it, the patient was great, it went in first time despite on initially inspection being the type of cannulation any healthcare worker dreads. When they have clearly been a patient for a while had a few previous blood tests/cannulas, possible sites are limited and they were elderly which makes things more difficult usually. But like I said – it all floods back – and although the arm was more human with its slightly challenging features – I bloody managed it.
That small achievement gave me the biggest chuffties since I last used the word in 2005.
Actually I probably should say second after Jude being born.
Awks.
But in all seriousness, for me it is so important to take notice in these small moments because they actually end up having a big impact on your life. When you revel in minor achievements – the bigger ones seem much more possible.