The first month is done, eleven more to go...

I’ve been here in this hospital in Glasgow a month. Its pay day and my first month’s wage is in the bank. My feet tell me I earned every penny. And there was plenty that wasn’t paid for. The pay slip says 40 hour weeks. Really?

Spoke with the Glasgow Herald health correspondent today, Helen Puttick-had to shout as I had gone for coffee in the Beanscene. Bad idea to go, didn’t relax me at all. I am so shattered the only option is to sleep. But I am at that stage of tiredness where sleep does not come and I feel sick and dizzy. Today in between patients I thought I was going to faint. Maybe there’s a bug going around. The other JHO felt ill too. I had hot flushes.
But there was no time to reflect. The list of jobs was growing and my most treasured asset in the form of my SHO was away with migraine. It was all down to me. Triumph with the venflons, even managed to get one into Mr. H! My heart sink venflon patient. My first. I am actually quite enjoying doing them. Just a couple of weeks ago I was terrified and all fingers and thumbs. The feeling of satisfaction when you see that flashback of blood, as you withdraw the needle is better then any other. And when the saline flush goes through easily without squirting back in your face that’s just the jackpot. Not such a joyous moment though if you see a lump of skin forming just above the venflon sight. It means it’s in the wrong place. There have been occasions when I managed to squirt the patient too, with the saline flush, so I now advice them to look away.

Had the added joy of getting blood out of Mr C without the normal problems. Numerous attempts and clotting syringes. He is rather large patient and 30 plus stone. Getting venous access has been my nemesis. If I had all day to do it that’s fine, although the poor man then has to endure multiple needle stabs. But with the central line which basically goes in through the veins in the neck, getting that essential blood is just a question of opening taps and letting it flow. Yes, come to mama.

I managed to pray in the chapel on the way back from radiology, and clerking in ERCP patients in another ward across the way. There was another Muslim worshipper in the Chapel today. So I am not the only one! Certainly different from the little community of Muslims we had at Ninewells Hospital, Dundee. I remember hearing the bleeps of male doctors’ going off as they prayed and then answering the page and discussing patients with nurses. To my inexperienced eye, it looked dead impressive and important. I live in fear of mine going off now I have one. I am growing to hate the stupid little things that we wear attached to belts and waistbands. Those innocuous little black boxes rule our lives. I am going to have to stop. It’s all getting blurry.