parting is such sweet sorrow

due to a well deserved 2 week break from nursing, I haven't really had any incidents to write about, so today I will post a story I wrote last year. enjoy. or don't, because i don't care either way.

Parting is such sweet sorrow
All good things and bad things come to an end. Everything has some sort of finale and it leaves one with a variety of mixed feelings. Four months have passed and the new semester draws near and therefore a new ward. I leave my old fogies and meet new ones. I can’t say I do this with a particularly heavy feeling in my heart. In fact I don’t. I recall in my first year I was so happy to leave that first ever wretched ward that I skipped down the corridor of the hospital with joy screaming “I’m free! I’m free! Woo hoo!” No kidding. Little did I know that an even worse ward was waiting for me, but back then I was a novice and knew little better. Now I have a better idea of what can or cannot be in store for me therefore I leave with caution, rather than jubilee.
However, I must say my last day at this ward was quite eventful. I had a very interesting send off indeed. Incidents were occurring non-stop, from the moment I walked in to the moment I kissed those wretched walls goodbye. Well, I did not actually kiss them because that would be suicide due to the amount of bacteria which has certainly accumulated there over the years but no worries because it was my last day. I was noticing how some of my patients progressed, but a good number regressed and it is almost depressing.
For example, Rosaria. When she arrived, she was alive and kicking, really great. She was talkative, lively and good natured. Then the regression took over. She stopped eating, stopped getting out of bed. She basically just stopped. And of course, because she refuses to get out of bed, just guess what she has now? Your friends and mine: bedsores! Deep, oozing, cavernous bedsores covering her ass and back! The smell is horrendous; the image of decomposing skin makes one want to vomit! The worst part is she brought it all upon herself. Not to mention, she now spends her whole day shouting and screaming about how she wishes to die. Well, on my last day, her wish finally came true and I felt so incredibly sorry and I felt like it was not fair. But it is. Death is very fair. We are born, we live and we die. It’s the timing which isn’t sometimes.
I was ecstatic about leaving behind one particular diploma student. She would get on my last nerve. She is short and ugly and she stinks. Her hair is poorly dyed and is the colour of straw and has the same texture, with a thick line of dandruff surrounding her side-parting. Jane and I christened her E.T. She even talks like E.T. Hell, I just wish she’d go home! The most disgusting thing about her are her hands. The tops are dry and peeling and red and the dried up flakes are simply caked with fungal infection. We told her over and over to go to a dermatologist but she refuses to listen. So fine, have disgusting infected hands; suit your bloody, fungus-filled self. She also would always make this tremendous effort to speak to me in English. I told her many, many times that I can understand Maltese perfectly but still, she insisted. Her broken English would irritate me. Very much. She only seemed to understand and be able to say one word; “eugh, that’s disgaaaaaaaasting!” whenever I would help her bathe patients she would just stand there, arms folded saying “disgaaaaasting” (disgusting) at intervals. YOU STUPID WITCH! WHY DID YOU GET INTO NURSING IF EVERYTHING MAKES YOU SICK?! YOU IDIOTIC TWERP! AND ITS DISGUSTING NOT DISGAAAAASTING IGNORAMOUS! YES, ITS DISGUSTING, LIKE YOUR HAIR! EVER HEARD OF HEAD AND SHOULDERS OR DO YOU TAKE PRIDE IN BEING THE SNOWFLAKE KID?!!! FUCKING HELL! AND FIX THE CRUD GROWING ON YOUR HANDS, BECAUSE THAT’S DISGAAAASTING TOO!
I was certainly glad to get away from her.
Unfortunately, on leaving this Ward I also had to get rid of Jane because she was transported to a different ward. We are both acting as apprentices to the BSc fourth years, because their practical exam is so difficult that it is impossible for them to do it on their own, therefore the tutors assign a younger student to help them out during their practical. What fun. Its not like the fourth years are bitchy or anything. They are not. They are simply very neurotic and on a power trip to make sure that you do everything perfectly. That’s right, its hell on earth. Oh well, when I’m in my fourth year, I will make it a point to inflict the same punishment on the poor victim who happens to come under my wing. I can’t wait. I hope I get someone I dislike so I can make her suffer.
Someone I know who won’t be missed is Catherine. She is 82 and has an amputated leg which makes her believe that she is very special. She has this nasty obsession with her toe-nails and whenever she sees me she makes me cut them. Yuck. They will be yellow and curly and smell of turd. Not to mention hard. Apart from having to scrape the grey gunk from underneath each nail, I have to saw through them using a blunt pair of nail scissors which is no easy task when your nails are so hard that you can put the makers of steel toe boots out of business. It took me on average half an hour to get through her foot. I just thank the Lord she did only indeed have one foot.
My next ward is orthopaedics. I wonder what will be in store for me over there. I wonder if it will be grotesque women, horny men dying for a bed bath or students who act like they own the hospital. I just hope it will be colourful and inspirational. I owe it to my readers ;-)