24 Feb 2008

Post Number 19: Agency Monkeys

The problem with writing so much down is that sooner or later you are bound to encounter writers block. I reckon it’s a particular problem when telling a true story. Once it’s told, it’s told.
Now that I think about it, I probably could have been more floral and descriptive, even added the odd slight embellishment but when you’re desperate to get as much typed as quickly as possible and you have my sorts of disabilities when inputting (ie fatigue, partial sight and having to type with one finger) then you can’t be @rsed to do more than is required. I’ve thought of something else to add and I’m concerned that This blog is becoming dominated by tales of woe. I’ll give you an example of how energy is at a premium. Since I’ve been in hospital one of the things that has frustrated me most is constantly having to repeat myself. Clearly intelligence or having English as a first language is not a requirement when selecting caring staff (particularly agency care staff) This morning when I asked the agency carer ‘to get the call-bell from the edge of the sink and put it back next to my bed, please so that I could call someone to get my wheelchair after I’d finished dressing myself on mybed. At this she disappeared into my bathroom and re-appeared carrying my laundry bin. I mean how do you confuse ‘laundry bin’ with Call-bell’ and what possible use would I have for a laundry bin after my shower. This sort of thing has happened countless times.My voice isn’t perfect but it us pretty clear.It’s just atotal lack of common sense and the ability for abstract thought! God only knows how people who can’t speak cope when dealing with, no there’s no other word for it ‘imbeciles.. Iam so looking forward to being able to sift out imbeciles when I get out of institutions because I will be able to interview potential carers.
Another thing that you are unable to do in hospitals is choose who your fellow convalescees are. Those of you who have generously and patiently read all this blog will remember my description of ‘yardieboy’.
I am now pretty scared that him or his mates may hand me out some ‘justice’ ‘Jamaican style’ after me and him almost came to blows a couple of days ago. ] I went into the kitchen for lunch and enquired immediately @what’s that disgusting smell?’ Yardieboy replied ‘smoked fish and rice and peas, do ya get what I’m saying?’. I replied I understood you fine, I just don’t like the smell’ He instantly said ‘well f**k you and started to make for me in his wheelchair untilone of the other patients told him to calm down. No wonder I’m feeling so fed up here. The good staff are hardly on and seem to be replaced by agency eejits and I feel vulnerable to harm at the hands of other patients. My only outlet is this blog. Moving to Oxshott will be a big relief!

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