Perhaps it was a visit, perhaps it was an email, perhaps it was my low mood but after not having written for an age here I am when I should be trawling through indeed.
A visit yesterday, how I sound burnt out, the reflective practice pieces popped back into the bag unread, how that evaluation hides the experiences, the knowing. How does this relate to the now I ask myself as I look at the way forward, recognition of the unavailability of a hoped for sign off. The advise to avoid more negativity for my own mental health looms large as I consider the experiences of applying for jobs. Have a positive mindset it will get you through, we’re told as I read the words of people harmed by so called help.
She’s awaiting blood test results they say by way of reassurance as I watch the slow but getting faster decline, the oedema now up to knees, the pressure sore on the ear, the lack of holistic assessment, nutritional needs filled by sandwiches, sandwiches, fucking sandwiches, a life of sandwiches, I don’t have anything against sandwiches, I quite like a sandwich. Who is asking the surprise question, no she won’t be here in a year if things continue as they are. But my qualification both visible and invisible. Who’s even noticing the need for advance planning? They didn’t listen to our concerns about going back home and as we watch, helpless and ignored the needs go unmet. Perhaps it’s all going on behind the scenes…
It’s the sense of hopelessness, the damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Take her to A&E, I ponder the question and wonder if she’d go, what is the benefit of going and spending the night there, what with the queue, what is best for her in this moment based on past experience. She’s feeling the same, looks dreadful, declining each time I see her. Wait until the morning, uneasy if it’s the right choice
Deal with your trauma and that whole being listened to thing will like magic disappear. Yeah right. While we watch the orchestrated trauma past our door, further a field. I can’t watch it, watch it on repeat, can’t watch it. I sympathise, yep. That rings true
You’ve clearly got enough CPD, it’s just the practice hours you don’t have. What counts as practice hours; not the moaning and complaining at injustice, that’s for sure, not the sign posting and support, the lifts and listening ear. Not the writing, Not the Nursing job interviews for 12hr shifts that I’ve said I will not do.
Oh I prefer the (tea) earn says the 3 times qualified Nurse, why not come and volunteer? You could volunteer at the street bus? My sardonic laughter silent in response. She has no idea of the history there. All those involved moved on retired or promoted, my role forgotten and hushed up?
What next, what next, know what you want to do? I don’t. Feeling broken and discarded by a system and colleagues who didn’t care, colleagues who say how they have been there, just quiet acceptance of being treated like single use plastic. You are very articulate, I’m told. I have no response. I’m reminded of something Natalie Bleu said about how boxers once they come to the end of their career, injured aren’t well supported…
Go home and write some more emails, a half hearted attempt to join a webinar, the window shut down unwritten at the end of the day when the computer is shut off, tired, so tired. Knowing what I could do, what difference it could make, torn and torn, shredded, ongoingly shredded.
It’s half term, perhaps a break will bring a fresh perspective, rest and surge, that poetry evening…plant some trees