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Monthly Archives: April 2013

What have I done to you?

Why am I in your delusion? Why did you turn up to my workplace and start yelling abuse at me?

You aren’t a nurse, you have no idea what I do. I was busy. I can’t be every where at the same time.

Who gives you a right, to call my house and start abusing me on the phone calling me selfish and selfless, and that we will never work together. Firstly we were never working together in the first place. Secondly you aren’t even a nurse. Thirdly you are a bully to the residents.

My mother always said, never involve my children, well guess what, you just did.

Yes you have a mental illness, but no it dosen’t mean that you can abuse and harrass me. I would rather watch you get help.

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Night shift and the past week has really screwed with my body clock but it has also given me really weird, realistic dreams. And the dream I had this afternoon has really screwed with my thought pattern.

My dream was about my upcoming travels, I am hoping to au pair in Spain but after calling the Spanish embassy this afternoon, turns out my chance of au pairing isn’t going to work seeming I am an Australian citizen and the Schengan visa is for only 90 days and I will be there for more than 90 days and it is not classifed as a working holiday to be an au pair. So in my dream I ended up working in the UK which is something I don’t want to do, also in my dream I stopped my nursing degree to become a naturopath.

Now I am tempted to get a UK working visa and work for 2 years there and then come back and study naturopathy but I’m also still wanting to be a nurse I think. I enjoy helping people. I feel lost. I don’t know what to do. What is my sub conscious trying to tell me? Am I just growing up too quickly and freaking out that I could be a registered nurse in 2 years or do I want to study to be a naturopath.

What do I do, I wish someone could just tell me what to do? I’m freaking out just a little bit.

Like a mother whose child won’t eat or drink or has a bump and takes them straight to the doctor. I’m sitting right here at the vets with my cat.
He got into a bit of a fight and is limping and has a weeping wound from his shoulder. So here I am with not a crying baby but a crying cat and it breaks my heart. His sad and I’m sad that my baby is sad and also freaking out because the vet bills are so expensive.
But like a mother is to her child, ill fix him and give him the best of care just please god don’t give him surgery. For the benefit of his and my mental psych and for my back pocket.

I screwed things up again. But lets back track to last night when these shenanigans unfolded.
I was preparing for a night out when bass player I boy I was seeing during my thing Canadian messaged me going “hey how are you? Just so you know I met someone last week and am taking her to the party tonight.” My reaction good for you, do I care, I have been trying to distance myself from you after you pretty much declared your love for me 2 dates in, and me being me not being honest how I felt.
So that was that incident done.
Here we are dancing now at our dodgy local pub, a pub my friend and I hadn’t been to in ages, a pub where we were feeling old and surrounded by people underage. She decides we should check in. Check in on Facebook and bam get a few likes from friends judging our silliness and one like from fellow douche bag motorbike guy. He can’t try crawling back into my life after he disappeared and try get into contact. Well I must’ve been pretty drunk because I entered a conversation with him and he had the nerve to say I haven’t heard from you in ages. I was not going to be someone who keeps harrasing you after you didn’t a reply.
And my consequence now my mind is fucked. Good job me.

My friendship with my tonsils ended last Tuesday. I had them removed because I was getting way too many infections, plus I don’t want an infection while I’m overseas, so I decided to depart with them.

Me being a nursing student and a bit of a freak, I did ask my surgeon if I was allowed to keep them in a jar as a souvenir. He said no, because turns out they had an infection and bits of food plus it’s a biohazard.

They also must have put me on good happy drugs, as I was not the grumpy, bitchy patient that I usually am. My mum was surprised and even my dad when he came to visit me a few hours later. I miss those happy drugs, because right now my throat kills like a bitch and pain killers aren’t really helping.

But a downer and it’s making it hard on the recovery side is my diabetes. Being diabetic, I technically have to eat or my sugars get screwed up. They had been travelling alright, a bit on the low side until last night. I decided to try and eat a burger because I was on a low food binge and eating bread helps get rid of the scabs. I drive to Hungry Jacks, get home and start to eat, when all of a sudden I told my sister that something wasn’t right and went to the toilet to try and vomit (now I’m not a person to vomit, I’m more of a spitter). I told my sister to get my blood sugar machine thinking maybe that I am having a bad low, no turns out it was a BGL of 21. I have been 21 before and haven’t felt that bad so I got the ketone strips out, ketones 3.2. Oh no!!!! What am I going to do? It’s just me and my sister at home, so I told my sister to call my grandma and I call the hospital. I’m feeling a bit woozy and sweaty so I’m on the floor of the bathroom talking to the diabetic registrar, explain how I was 4 days post op, going good but feeling shiity, and now I have 3.2 ketones, what do I do. He told me to bolus (which of course I had done), wait an hour and then call up again.

Grandma comes, I’m still lying on the floor, we watch TV for an hour and test my BGL again. BAM its up to 25.4 mmol, Ketones atleast have gone down. I called the registrar again told her I was still feeling shitty, still had a bit of ketones. So she (because turns out I was speaking to the peads registrar before) said best thing to do is come to hospital to have some potassium and fluids and check the throat.

Off we go, my grandma,me and my sister (She hates hospitals, but because I didn’t know what was going to happen, she had to be dragged along) to hospital. We get to emergency and there is a massive line. I start to feel woozy again, so I test my sugars and it has dropped to 20mmol now, finally get called up and start telling my story when I had to tell the triage nurse that I had to stop talking because if I was to continue, I was about to pass out. She took me in, I continued my story while she was taking my BP. While I was speaking she kept telling me to wiggle my toes, and she also kept swapping arms. Then she got up calmly and paged for a bed. I asked her what was wrong, before once again stating that I was about to pass out and she said nothing was wrong, but I could tell, perhaps it’s that nurses instinct we get so I asked my BP. It was 70/75 so very low. Here I was lying on a bed in triage because I had low BP and I was going into DKA. Because triage is so small and it was busy my grandma and sister got asked to wait outside, until I got put into a cubicle. First cubicle I was in was fine, was there for a few minutes, then I got moved to another cubicle where they gave me some fluids and then I got moved again. It was a bit like musical beds because the next room I got moved into turned out to be the psych room. I was lying on the bed, the room was empty, there was no suction, no oxygen, no buzzer and my sister was leaning on a foam mattress. So my sister asked the nurse if we were in the crazy persons room, he said yes, then started to walk out but turned around and said don’t worry you’re not crazy, we just don’t have enough room. We had a bit of a giggle. I got moved for a last time to a recliner chair where my sister and I just played the game of guess how long till my fluids run out. It was a bit of fun, but hey she did get her homework done.

So a few hours later and a few arterial blood gases later, turns out my ketones had cleared, I had no infection in my tonsils and I just wanted to escape from hospital. So I did.

Saturday night well spent.