The engine of the house

Home again

Our washing machine had to be mended, and was away for two whole weeks.  It felt like the whole house was broken, and we somehow had to limp on as best we could without it.

I love the sounds of a washing machine - the quiet purr of the spin cycle, the rhythmic chug of the drain and rinse and the happy beeps that tell me when it has finished.  On a day off, when I am alone in the house, I love to hear the washing machine humming away in the background.  Everything seems calm and organised when the washing machine is on.

When the children were very small pre-schoolers, doing a load of washing became an all-morning activity as they helped to bring the washing downstairs, sort it, load it, tip in too much fabric softener, wait impatiently for the cycle to finish, pull all the wet washing out of the drum, and then hang it all up.  They loved the whole process.  I was reminded of this when I took two emergency loads of school uniform round to my sister-in-law's to wash last weekend. As I sat on her sofa drinking tea, my three year old nephew dashed in and out of the kitchen telling me how many minutes were left, letting out a whoop of excitement when it was finished, and then pulling it all out of the machine and into my waiting bag.

Now with a teenager and a nearly-teen at home, it's all about getting them to be responsible for their own laundry, and I say things like "well if you wanted that particular t-shirt clean for this evening, you should have put a load of washing on rather than waiting for me to do it".

It's a good thing I rather enjoy the process of laundry.  After two weeks without it, the machine has a vast mountain of clothes to get through now, and I am sorting, loading, hanging out and folding like a pro.  Maybe I could borrow my little nephew to come and give me a hand?

Friendship circles

On Friday afternoon I sat in the pub with my new nursing friends, drinking wine, swapping stories and laughing.  Every single one of the female nurses had painted her nails to celebrate the end of our first placement.  There were almost all the colours of the rainbow around that table.

On Saturday I met up with some blogging friends, who have become real-life friends over the past few years.  These ladies make me laugh and nod my head in agreement at almost everything they say.  Blogging ladies aren't shy about taking photographs, so I came away with a camera full of pictures and a tummy full of cake and coffee.  I also had a wonderful present of some little spring knits from Julie.  The nest and eggs matched my dress, which made me ridiculously happy.

A circular handknitted nest and eggs, from Julie

On Saturday evening I went to Hackney to catch up with old friends in the pub. We chatted, and people-watched, and felt like we'd lived in East London a long time (we have).  Beards and poets in a pub by the Pembury Estate - goodness me, how times are changing.

Today I napped in the sunshine, chatted to Graham and the children and walked round to my sister-in-law's house with two loads of clothes to wash, because our washing machine is broken.  She made me a cup of tea, and I sat on her sofa, cuddled my baby niece and chatted to my little nephew while the school uniform was cleaned.

One of the very nicest things about being middle aged are these multiple circles of friends you acquire.  They evolve out of jobs, children, family, University, and an unusual obsession with handknitted socks.  But however you find them, friends really are the best thing.

A circle of socks - the blogging ladies show off their new socks (made for us by Kristina, who is amazing)

 

The ultimate circular birthday cake, made - and styled - by Mrs M

Wearing nail varnish again

 

I have finished the first placement of my nursing course - 10 weeks working on the wards, under the supervision of qualified nurses.  I've now done 450 of the 2,400 hours required to qualify as a nurse.  It feels like a milestone.  

Inevitably there were challenging moments, but I truly loved it all, and met some lovely patients and inspiring nurses along the way.  This week I am on study leave, writing an essay, before going back to University next week.  It's a strange shift of perspective after doing such practical, physical work for the last ten weeks.  I'll be at University until the middle of May, when I go out on placement again.  I think this mixture of classroom learning and practical learning is one of the strengths of nursing education in the UK today - it makes for a stimulating and interesting course, and I think it will produce nurses who are practical but also thoughtful.  That's the sort of nurse I would want looking after me or my family.

I feel slightly jet-lagged after working long shifts and getting up at 5:20am on my work days.  It's lovely to now be able to lounge in bed in the mornings, wear my hair down, put nail varnish and my watch on again, and not be constantly washing and folding uniform.  I miss the people though, and am wondering how the patients I was looking after last week are getting on - have they gone home yet?

At least my essay distraction techniques have not been forgotten while I've been on placement - so far this morning I've washed the kitchen bin, made a batch of yogurt and now I'm blogging.  Happy times.

Essay time again

Nursing detritus

Removed from my uniform before I washed it this morning: 

• 1 pen eye torch
• 2 black biros
• 1 upside down watch
• 2 student epaulettes
• 1 name badge
• pot of lip balm
• tube of lavender handcream
• scissors
• Royal College of Nursing student essentials guide
• assorted hair grips
• 1 small notebook
• 2 rolls of surgical tape

 

 

10 things

• I'm very tired, with dark smudges of sleeplessness under my eyes.
• I went to Kew Gardens today, walked miles and made myself even more tired.  Then I took photos of myself against a wall of orchids.

   

• My desk is a mess, which is very un-Nancy-like.
• I made Graham an apple and almond crumble cake for his birthday today - it is very, very good.
•  My laptop died.  I bought a new laptop as soon as I could because I have essays looming.  I find it scary spending that much money in one go; I'd be rubbish at being really rich.
• All my iTunes playlists somehow got wiped when I moved iTunes over to my new laptop.  What I thought was a disaster has been rather liberating and I am enjoying wasting hours of my time putting together new playlists.
• I've nearly finished my placement at hospital, and once this essay is handed in I go back to University for a few months.  I've loved working on the wards but I am looking forward to getting back to the lecture theatres and seeing all my friends again.  I can also use it as a legitimate excuse to buy new stationery.
• Olivia's very long, dark, thick hair goes up in a bun for ballet twice a week.  I love her hair like this.  How many buns have I made in the last seven years she's been doing ballet?

 

• Cam is watching Big Bang Theory, via our Lovefilm subscription - he loves it.  I am getting sucked in, and love it too.
• I made a loaf of raisin bread today.  Just because.  I shall take a couple of buttered slices with me to work tomorrow. 

Day off

I have learnt since I started this work placement that days off are not actually days off - Graham calls them recovery days, which is more accurate.  If I work a couple of thirteen hour shifts in a row, then I spend most of the following day off napping and washing piles of uniform.  However, occasionally the shift pattern works in my favour and I have just one shift on, followed by a couple of recovery days .  Then the second one of those days becomes impressively full of possibilities as I am awake enough to leave the house, and do something interesting.

Today was one of those days.  I headed for the National Portrait Gallery, which always has new things to see, and is a delightful and not too busy treasure right in the middle of London.  I wanted to see the Taylor Wessing Photographic Portrait prize exhibition, which only has another 10 days or so left.  It was as good as I hoped it would be - the photo of Mo Farah was my favourite.

I prowled around the rest of the gallery, catching sight of the Kate portrait, swinging by the Tudors and the Stuarts and playing 'spot the women' in the Victorian galleries (other than Queen Victoria herself, there are not many).  One of the few I found was this one of Florence Nightingale.

After I was tired of wondering around, I retreated to the wonderful Digital Space on  a mezzanine in between the ground and first floors.  Here you can sit in comfy chairs and play with the gallery's Portrait Explorer software on large touch screens.  I had fun looking up the other portraits of Florence Nightingale, which the gallery holds but does not usually display.  There are 33 of them, and after looking through all of them I felt I had a much better idea of what Miss Nightingale looked like than I did after looking at just one portrait.  She had a very elegant, slim face, a determined mouth and rather captivating eyes.  I am not surprised she was a force to be reckoned with.

I left the National Portrait Gallery, and as I crossed the road heading for Embankment tube station I stopped to admire the large statue opposite me, which has long been one of my favourites in Central London. 

The statue is of Edith Cavell, another nurse who should really be as famous as Florence Nightingale.  In most hospitals today, you will still find a ward called Cavell Ward, after this legendary figure.  She was a great nurse, and a pioneering teacher of nurses, who was executed by the Germans during World War I for helping British and French soldiers escape from the Red Cross Hospital she was matron of, in German-occupied Brussels.  The National Portrait Gallery holds four portraits of Edith Cavell, none of which are currently on display, but all of which can be seen on Portrait Explorer here.

As I the tube rattled me home, I even travelled past the hospital where I am doing my placement, and I reflected that even on my days off I don't seem able to stray too far from nursing.

It's quilt time again

I don't have time to make quilts any more.  And yet mysteriously there appears to be another quilt-in-progress on the sofa this morning.

I have been yearning for a Kantha type quilt for ages, and last night I just snapped and  pulled out my sewing machine, grabbed a fairly random selection of fabrics off my shelf, and began cutting and sewing.

Kantha quilts are traditional Bengali quilts, made from large blocks of bright sari fabric, stitched together with tight rows of running stitch and other embroidered motifs.  They're all about colour and embroidery.  They are also made without wadding - just from layers of cotton cloth.  This is one of the reasons I wanted to make one, because even though I used the lightest wadding I could find for my quilt, it is still too warm on top of a duvet.

My new Kantha quilt is simply a top pieced from a mixture of vintage and quilting cottons, and a back of plain, unbleached calico.  No wadding in the middle at all. I sewed the top and back right-sides-together and left a gap for turning, so there is no need for binding either.  The top is nice and bright and true to the Kantha style in shades of pink and blue, but I left the back deliberately plain because I think when all th embroidery is done, it will show off the stitching beautifully.  Plus I love the way that plain calico shrinks and puckers when it is washed - it will really add to the wrinkly, faded feel of my quilt.

I have no doubt at all that I will spend years doing all the embroidery; the quilt is massive.  But I can use use it in the meantime, because it doesn't need binding and there are no pins in it.  I spread it out over my side of the bed last night, and I wasn't too warm at all.  It made me smile this morning too, when I woke up to to rain and wind lashing against the windows but sunny pink fabric spread out over me, as if spring was already here.

Winter fairisle hat

The temperature, even in inner London, was minus two at half-past eight this morning when I took Olivia to school.  If I'd been working I would have left the house at ten past six, when I suspect it would have been even colder.  It is even getting a little bit too cold for my liking now.

But of course the redeeming feature of this teeth-shuddering weather is that I can layer myself up in shawls, hats and armwarmers until I look like a woolen Mrs Tiggywinkle.  Last night I came home from work to find a parcel from my Mum containing the most wonderful hat which she had knitted for me.

Tired eyes, happy smile, new hat.

It is a slouchy fairisle beanie hat, knitted from Kate Davies's Tantallon pattern, with a few size modifications.  You can see all the details on my Mum's Ravelry page, here.  The extra rows make it more of a slouchy shape, which I love.  It is incredibly warm, and comfortable, and I don't think you're going to see me wearing anything else on my head for a very long time.

I bought Mum Kate Davies's new book, The Colours of Shetland, for Christmas.  I love every single pattern in there, and even if you weren't going to knit anything from it, the book would be worth buying for the glorious photos alone.  I've not attempted any fairisle knitting myself yet.  It baffles me in the way that sock knitting once did; but I got the hang of that, and now love making socks, so perhaps it won't be too much longer before I give fairisle a go.

For now though, I need to curl up on the sofa with my new hat on, a shawl around my shoulders and a quilt over my knees and have a nap.  All this caring for other people is quite exhausting.

Domestic handover

One of my favourite parts of each shift I do at the hospital is the first and last 30 minutes, when we hand over responsibility for the patients to or from the next shift.  It goes something like this:

"In Bed 1 we have A, a lady admitted yesterday following a fall at home.  Her sodium levels are low, she has diabetes, and we need to monitor her fluid balance very carefully today.  She is restricted to 500mL fluid intake a day and someone needs to bleep the pharmacist because we're running low on the anticoagulants she has been prescribed.  The physio's coming to see her later because she's rather unsteady when she walks.

In Bed 2 we have B, a gentleman transferred from ITU yesterday following abdominal surgery.  He has very high blood pressure, and desaturated overnight.  The on-call Doctor came out at 2am and prescribed anti-hypertensive medication.  He is receiving IV antibiotics."

I love this part of the day because it is fascinating.  Each patient is a complex person with many needs and problems that need to be solved.  The handover sets the agenda for the day.  We find out who is deteriorating and what the plan is for them, who can go home today, who is going for an X-ray or an MRI scan, and who is due to come in.

There's still masses of terminology I am not sure of, but I'm picking it up steadily.  In a year or two's time, I'll be the one giving the handover.

Graham and I now have a similar sort of domestic handover when I'm about to embark on a couple of days of long shifts, or I'm about to have a couple of days off at home.  It goes something like this:

"We caught another mouse in the trap behind the cooker last night, but I haven't emptied the trap yet.  Olivia came home from school today with a note about a school trip next week; I've marked it on the calendar, and she'll need three quid spending money.  Cam's done his maths homework, but still has geography to do.  The chickens have eaten all those cabbage leaves and you owe me fifty quid because I had to put petrol in the car this evening."

"I made cinnamon buns, they're in the Union Jack tin on top of the fridge, and there are only three left"

I like this domestic handover as much as I do the nursing one.  It helps me concentrate on one role at a time - either I am at home and I know what is going on, or I am at work and someone else knows what's going on and I don't need to worry about it.  I am starting to realise that I can't (and shouldn't) be trying to do everything.  It's a wonderful thing to be able to hand the domestic sphere over to someone else for a couple of days, while I make sure I understand the difference between MRI, MRSA and MIBG.

(...and I do: MRI is magnetic resonance imaging - a 3D image inside the body; MRSA is methicillin-resistant staphylococcus aureus - an antibiotic resistant infection; and MIBG is metaiodobenzylguanidine - a radioactive chemical used to treat certain types of cancer)

Book collections

I realised a few days after Christmas, that I've had my Kindle for a year now - it was a Christmas present from Graham last year.  I keep my ebooks organised into folders: To Read, Currently Reading and Finished.  My Finished folder had 71 books in it on Boxing Day, so that is how many ebooks I read last year.  On top of that there were quite a few paperbacks - and plenty of textbooks - which I read too.

It surprised me to find out how much I read.  I think that was a pretty normal year for me - I've probably read close to a hundred books in total, or roughly two a week.  Many of them were quick trashy reads, and many more were well-crafted, intelligent books.  I'm quite eclectic in my tastes.  A quick flick through my Finished folder reminds me that some of the highlights in 2012 were:

• Sound of a wild snail eating by Elizabeth Tova Bailey
• The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
• The Partridge and the Pelican by Rachel Crowther
• The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh
• Jackdaws by Ken Follett
• Ed King by David Guterson
• If Nobody Speaks of Remakable Things by Jon McGregor
• The Kashmir Shawl by Rosie Thomas
• Almost French by Sarah Turnbull

This afternoon I spent time with new cookbooks - some received for Christmas, and some recent purchases which I hadn't had time to rummage through properly.

All four books are now begging for me to make things from them.  My menu plan for the next couple of weeks is filling up nicely.

But the one book I've failed to make any headway with today, is my reflective journal.  A notebook (a lovely Rob Ryan notebook no less) in which I am meant to be reflecting on a regular basis about my experiences on placement.

A great deal of the writing we do on our nursing course is reflective - exploring what happened, how we reacted or behaved, and what we would do differently next time.    We have to write reflective essays, as well as writing reflective pieces in our portfolio of experience, and keeping a reflective journal.

I am finding it ridiculously difficult - ridiculous mainly because I love blogging, and it struck me quite early on that blogging is a form of reflective writing.  I can see how reflective writing would be useful for my studies too - there is so much to take in, and so much that is emotional and challenging on the wards, that it would be good to get everything down on paper and make sense of it.  I often end a shift feeling like I need a pensieve like Albus Dumbledore's, into which I could dump all my thoughts and experiences until I was ready to make sense of them.

So I'm not sure why I have not got the hang of reflection yet.  I have this little textbook to help me, which is brilliant, and I shall keep trying.  Just as soon as I've spent a little bit longer with Hugh, Nigel and the others.