Justice in a jug. Watery justice.

There is a female bay on one of the surgical wards in our hospital. 6 beds, 6 women. Usually this is fine, people get on well, they chat, they eat, they sleep, they get better and, eventually, they go home. Sometimes, however, there can be problems.

2 nights ago, one of the patients, Doris, an elderly lady with dementia, spent the night shrieking, and making a fuss. This has an impact on everyone in the bay; no one had much sleep that night.

All the livelong night

This weekend, I worked the Freudianly named “graveyard shift” at Chesterfield hospital. Three nights, 9pm until 9am, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.

Whilst a great time to get some real hands-on experience, there is a key problem in working nights. It goes thus:

Day Nine – Too lazy to be a slob

Last night was a tiring, long, unsatisfying night, after we got halfway up the mountain, carrying tents, blankets, food, saucepans, etc, etc; when Mohau got called by his angry girlfriend, and we came back down. On the long walk home, I was feeling a bit depressed, as you might understand.

So this morning, I decided to have a massive lie-in. Sleep as long as I want, write off the whole day if necessary. 8:30. That was it. The latest my body could stay asleep for. To my internal clock, still adjusting from the 2 hour difference, I would still say that is around 7:30 in equivalence. Rubbish – I’m clearly getting far too mature for all this lazing around and doing nothing. I blame all the cups of tea I’m drinking out here.