(…all hail wireless internet connections…)
It’s been so very long since my last update, that I must extend my deepest apologies... I have been to three different clients and had a VERY tough time with each (including the lack of internet, which was I fear, the most depressing part of the ordeal!) So much has happened that it is just impossible to tell you everything, so I shall do my best to give you the highlights!
The first client I went to was based in London, in the Isle of Dogs. Now, I have always wanted to go to the Isle of Dogs, just to say that I have been there. Well, I HAVE BEEN THERE!!!!! I was briefed about his case and told that he required two PA’s. I felt the excitement rise within me, as it had been such a long time since I last worked with another PA. This meant that I would have some time off, that I would be able to communicate with someone who is going through the same things as I am and that I could re-group (so to speak). I took the train into London, followed by the underground. Let’s stop there for a minute. I just LOVE taking the tube. It always amuses me. For those of you who have never had the fortune of travelling on these underground trains (although, most of the rail is above ground – that’s another lesson I’m afraid!), let me explain.
The tube is a rapid transit system for people to use when travelling within London and the surrounding areas. It consists of eleven main lines (I’m sure you’ve heard of the Circle line, the District line, the Northern line and the Hammersmith and City line) and ferries approximately 3.4 million people per day (averaged from the people it carries per year…) – thank goodness for public transport… can you imagine all these people driving? Anyway, there are trains departing every four minutes or so for the same destination (I’m sure you know what I mean –> one circle line train arrives/departs every four minutes, same for district line, same for northern line etc). This means that if you miss the train, you can catch another train to the same destination in exactly 3 minutes and 59 seconds (or 4 minutes and 3 seconds if there is a delay <tee hee>).
I love arriving at the tube, putting my suitcase down and looking around me. There is ALWAYS one individual who will come flying down the stairs (the whites of their eyes bulging, coat flailing in the mass panic and hair ruffled), see the train doors shutting, and make a dart for the nearest carriage. Now, I know that the doors are unforgiving, and once they close, the train moves off to the next destination… I always look up at the board which states when the next train is due, and smile. The tube arrives, and crowds pour in and out. I generally get swept up into the carriage (minding the gap) by the crowd. I then brace myself for our take-off (which is rather literal, I’m afraid!) That’s when the urge strikes me most. I look at the people on the train (who NEVER look back). I just want to break out into song or kiss the person next to me, just to see what would happen… No sooner have you stepped onto the tube, is it at an end (and I have yet to pull some random move on an unsuspecting individual…)
Okay, enough of a diversion, let’s get back to my story.
After the tube journey, I climbed on board the DLR which took me to Canary Wharf. It was long, but fun. Unfortunately, that is where it ended. I managed to find the clients home, ring the doorbell, introduce myself to the client, get the client water and still NOT meet the PA handing over to me. The house was an absolute pigsty. The PA who I was to be working with had no concept of hygiene and was exceptionally lazy (so much for working with someone). Let me give you a few highlights, shall I?
The day I arrived at the client’s home, I was not given a handover as the other PA was anxious to catch her flight to Spain (but did manage to say ‘GOOD LUCK’ as she left – I should have known…) I introduced myself to the client who immediately threw me into work (explaining how sick and tired he felt). I took it all in my stride (smile and nod, smile and nod). The other PA (who I would be working with) told me (in his broken English – oh veih!) that it was the clients’ birthday and that I would be going with him to work and then out to celebrate (even though my client was feeling ill). I thought this a little strange, but again, took this in my stride, as ‘the client knows best’.
Around 15h40 the client ventured out to work (and to my surprise, he worked at a very notable news network company). I felt that excitement creeping back up again. We arrived at his desk when we were asked to go to the kitchen (as some people in the office had clubbed together to buy a cake). My client said to wait ten minutes as he was busy finishing off an important email. The gentleman accepted this and left. Twenty minutes later, he returned and asked my client, again, to please accompany him to the kitchen. My client told him in no uncertain terms that he was not going to the kitchen and would not consider doing so, so if they wanted to celebrate his birthday, they were to do so at his desk. The gentleman looked from me to the client and back as he was being reprimanded. I felt myself shrinking as his forked tongue continued on.
The gentleman left and, to my surprise, returned with cake in hand and friends in toe. I admired the perseverance. They all gathered around my clients desk and began singing ‘happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…’ My client: continued to work (dictating to his computer). I shrank back into my seat and smiled awkwardly.
After work, my client went to the pub. To cut a long story short - by the end of the day, I had walked back to the clients house (20 minutes away), retrieved a manual wheelchair, a mobile hoist, a sling and various paraphernalia necessary to hoist the client from his electric wheelchair to his manual wheelchair at the PUB (as he felt unable to drive home and did not trust either of his two PA’s to drive him home). Everyone stared. You must at this point imagine wheeling a crane (which requires a rather large turning circle) into a small crowded pub, into the furthermost corner. I was not impressed. His friends were all trying to help (again, imagine giving a running car to a bunch of children…) The scene was one of total chaos. The only good thing that came from it was a business card from a Paralympics organiser (who was under the impression that moving and handling people with high-level spinal injuries was as easy as 1-2-3). We caught a black cab home and then the fun began.
That night, the next day and night I spent awake. I called in a million different district nurses and several incompetent doctors. I had taken my clients blood pressure, temperature, breathes per minute, urine output and fluid intake every two hours. I was shattered. The other PA was well rested and underfoot at every opportunity. We called the emergency services who told us that my client was not high on the priority list (at this point, please understand that urine input was approximately four litres, output was 40ml in over six-ten hours, the clients BP was high, his temperature was a good old 39 degrees Celsius… but he was not high on the priority list!) Needless to say, I finally convinced is brother (who is a medical student) that we needed to rush him in to A&E on my third day there (where we were told that he had a severe infection and was dehydrated – I hesitate to add ‘I told you so’ to the end of that). The next week was spent in the Royal London Hospital. I was on night shift (for which I was rather grateful – as this meant he was asleep most of the time). During his waking hours, my client phoned pretty much everyone he knew and told them that he had nearly died from multiple organ failure and septicaemia. I did not have enough energy to sigh, but I could probably have had a go at suffocation (if only it was legal)… After his stint in hospital, my client went home. He spent a day recovering (ordering me to empty his leg bag every ten minutes – and no, I’m not joking), then went back to work. By this stage, I had had enough of the other PA’s nonsense. I had had enough of the client. I was beyond tired. I had just had enough. Luckily, the assignment came to an end.
Now for the two MAIN highlights of my stint in London.
Highlight one:
I got to see my DADDY, who was there for a conference (coincidentally right around the corner from the Royal London Hospital). I was working the night shift with this client (as i said), so was lucky enough to be off an entire day and spend it with him. I really LOVED every minute. For those of you who know both of us, you can imagine the conversation (uh-huh’s and mmm-hmm’s and an hour later we were all caught up!) Not that that stopped us spending the day together. I regaled stories about Sherelyn’s recent arrival (with stories such as her drinking two litres of concentrated orange squash and commenting that she ‘thought it was a bit strong’… and her multitude of walks into Kings Heath to use the internet for an hour in the public library). Unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and it saw us part company at the tube station. This was the hardest part for me (harder than leaving home the first time round). I hugged him goodbye, but did not want to let go. I could feel my heart in my throat, aching. The tube ride back was lonely. I had no spontaneous urges. I was sad and alone among strangers.
Highlight two:
I now have a bean-to-cup coffee machine (I swear, it IS a necessity!)
Following this exciting assignment, I had three days rest and was sent back to Lincolnshire. When I say rest, I mean, paying bills, catching up on groceries, visiting Tony in hospital, running around like a headless chicken, cleaning my flat (you get the gist of it...)
So, Lincolnshire...
If you remember, I had just been there on emergency assignment (called out just after, but whilst still at, Blakesley Hall in Birmingham). Anyway, I arrived at the client ready to roll. I walked in and greeted the client. Before he greeted me, he said that in the time I was there, they would be moving home (and that they waited for me to come back before they did so because: ‘we could not see ourselves doing it with any other PA…’). When I say my heart fell into my shoes, I am not kidding. I looked around me and NOTHING, absolutely NOTHING had begun being packed into boxes (who do you think they were expecting was going to be given that honour?)
I fell into the routine immediately (as the PA prior to me had neglected some of the ‘jobs’ we were tasked with). The clients partner had taught me the last time I was there what she expected, and whilst it was excessive, it was just about do-able. The third day I was there, at 08h30, the clients partner walked into the kitchen and asked me if I had done the morning cleaning. I said I had. She proceeded to wipe her finger over the cooker hood, the ledge on the fridge/freezer ice dispenser and move the dogs beds and then tell me that ‘it did not look like it’. Now, any of you that know me, know that my reaction was of cool, calm, collectedness. I listened as she ‘told me off’ (as the English like to say). I could not stop myself laughing aloud as I asked her if she was kidding (in that rather sarcastic, serious tone). She began to yell at me, saying that she couldn’t deal with my *nonsense* (in some choice vocabulary) and stormed out the room to get my twenty year old client. My client came in and after much ranting and raving and reprimanding, gave me an ultimatum. Either I do the cleaning their way OR I leave. You can guess which option I was going to take. I took two hours to cool down enough to be able to calmly and logically phone Active to tell them what had happened and that I was seriously considering leaving. I said that I would do them a favour and stay for my assignment, but that they had better sort this nonsense out (…what a sucker am I, huh??? what are the chances they are going to have resolved any of it???…) It may sound like I’m being silly whistle blowing, but let me tell you what I had already done that day:
- Swept the kitchen floor
- Disinfected the kitchen floor
- Disinfected the kitchen counters
- Buffed the kitchen counters
- Wiped down and buffed the appliances
- Disinfected the cupboards and buffed them
- Cleaned up the dogs wee, put down another inko pad
- Vacuumed the house (guest room, study, hall, their room, walk in closet, my room)
- Washed the bathroom floor
- Disinfected the bath, basin and shower
- Cleaned the toilet
- Done the ironing
- Completed clients morning routine
- Put on a load of washing
- Hung out a load of washing
- Put on a load of towels in the dryer
- Folded a set of towels from the dryer
And then, to be told that I am lazy...
The day before this, I had performed the same routine (the only difference was that that afternoon, I accompanied the client to their new home and had dusted, polished, vacuumed ten different rooms and washed all outside window ledges).
LAZY.
Needless to say, I had two weeks of HELL. The clients partner made me do so much cleaning that I could not remember what sitting down felt like until I collapsed into bed at night. I can’t tell you how ridiculously insignificant and useless I felt as a glorified maid.
The beginning of the second week saw me phone Shaun’s soon-to-be boss on Shaun’s behalf. I sent him an email asking when it would be convenient to call him, and proceeded to do so at the arranged time the following day. I don’t think he saw me coming. By the end of the conversation, there was a plan of action in place, I had relieved some of my frustration and it seemed that things would finally start to sort themselves out. We planned a meeting for the following week. This brought me some much needed happiness.
Near the end of my assignment, I helped the client move home. It was extremely HARD work (considering that I did most of it, and still did all the cleaning and assisting the client). I was so relieved when we got to the new house because the floors were covered in boxes and so did not require too much attention. As all this had not been enough, they then proceeded to get me to build a dog run (‘as this is what the client would do for me if he were able bodied…’) I was exhausted. I was angry. I felt useless and hopeless. I decided that I needed some time off.
The Friday before my assignment ended, I received a phone call from Active. They informed me that I would be spending one night at home and then travel to London to the RNOH (Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital) where I would be staying for a week and then moving with the client into their new flat for two weeks. I was miffed.
I’m such a sucker.
I left this assignment on the Monday at 14h30, arrived home at 17h00. I read my email and was told that Shaun had received the letter necessary for him to apply for his visa. I so desperately wanted my sister to be home so that I could get excited with someone. I cooked dinner, put some music on and ate. I burst into tears. All the stress, anger, frustration and emotion poured out of my soul. Just as quickly as it started, it stopped. I thought how stupid I must have looked, how silly I sound when I cry... I thought about my tears, I analysed why I cried. I so wished someone could give me a hug. I became excited when I received a text message from my mother asking if she could phone. I was excited. I spoke to her for ages, I was so grateful for the contact. I spoke to her and my father for ages. I drove whilst I spoke (and whilst my TomTom directed me), I spoke all the way to the ward to see Tony. I thoroughly enjoyed it and I did not want to say goodbye. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. I said bye and then went in to see Hilary and Tony. I left the hospital at 21h30 and picked up the phone to call Shaun. I was reminded not to take anyone for granted. I began my drive home. Nearing home, I had the urge to eat MacDonald's... (yes, dad, round is a shape...and you will be glad to hear that I’m winning the battle against anorexia!) I said goodbye to Shaun when I got to the drive thru. I ordered my cheeseburger and chocolate milkshake and at it. Shaun phone me back and accompanied me all the way back home and into bed. It was just what I needed.
Tuesday morning arrived. It was pouring with rain. I ordered a taxi for 09h00 and ran a bath. I got in the bath and SOAKED. It was deliciously awesome. I caught my taxi to the train station and several trains and busses later was at the Royal National Orthopaedic Hospital in London.
To say that my first week sucked, is an understatement. I was receiving handover from a group of nurses and assistants who were so fond of the client (him having been in the hospital for nearly a year) that they saw me as a threat, as someone taking a family member from them. I hesitate to say I felt as though I was the Grim Reaper in the flesh… They were hard work.
Although, it was not all doom and gloom, this is where I shall start.
My first night at the hospital was spent in communal lodgings, called the ‘Kitchen Block’ (named as such because it was above a restaurant – how original). It was nice. Just a bed in a room with a basin and cupboard, overlooking the hospital gardens. My second night was spent with the client in the Graham Hill Unit (which is a mock-home, imitating what it would be like at home). The following six nights were spent in a communal block called Eastgate House. It was AWFUL. It smelled damp, it was kitted out in hospital linen (the standard blanket and sheet), and it was growing (I shan’t elaborate any more than that). It did NOT have double glazing, nor was it heated. I spent the first night there shivering, hopping in and out of bed gradually putting more clothes on (you can just imagine what I looked like). A few nights passed and I thought it would be a good idea to start off with all my clothes on. I zipped up my coat and hopped into bed. A few hours later, I was awoken by a profuse quantity of sweat… Turns out this was not the way to do it. To top off all the poor sleep I was getting, there was not a shop nearby, nor was there any food available to me. I got grumpier and grumpier as the days passed (Mum would tell you it was because I was not eating, I’m not so sure). In addition to this, my client barely spoke to me (only because he was severely influenced by the staff around him). However, in my usual fashion, my last days there were spent helping myself to food on the ward, helping myself to blankets and ignoring staff when it suited me (with the usual smiling and nodding).
As for the highlight in this first week…
I met a guy in the hospital, Dave, who did all the stunts for Daniel Radcliffe (whom you all know to be Harry Potter), and his girlfriend, Gemma, who was the body-double for Luna Lovegood. The Friday before my client went home, we went to a private screening (at Warner Brothers, in London) of the new Harry Potter Movie (which was released late the following week). To say it was awesome would be to overrate the film, but to underrate the experience. There was an open bar, a small cinema and a guard with night vision goggles… it was rather cool, if I say so myself.
The following two weeks flew by. I set the client up at home. It was REALLY rewarding. I helped his progress, I helped him flourish, I helped him cope. I enjoyed it more than I had thought I would. He inspired me, reminded me why I love my job. He had a very strong social support network, so I was really only needed in the morning and at night (I use the term ‘night’ loosely, but I could not say: ‘I was really only needed in the morning and again in the morning’, could I?). This meant that I was left with a lot of free time, to do with as I pleased. I visited St Paul’s Cathedral, the local coffee shops, Leather Lane (a market street), Exmouth Market (another market street), Paperchase (a stationery shop – well, one of the largest stationery shops in the UK!!!!), several clothing shops and only ever bought coffee… It was rather nice. The client allowed me to have my own routine. I started to feel alive again. Our evenings were spent separately, him with his friends, me with my NVQ. Occasionally, my hard work was interrupted by the fire alarms (each alarm was linked throughout the house), which was so sensitive, it went off when a slice of toast was made (NOTE: a naturally sensitive smoke alarm with a heat sensor, above the cooker, is not a good idea. This idea worsens when it is linked to each sensor in every room of the house. These two facts combined with a group of teenagers who consistently get the munchies at 03h00 whilst you are asleep is potentially life threatening).
This problem was slightly overcome, by the group one evening, following the continuous sounding of the alarm as they cooked. Can you spot the potential problem?
Yes, you’re right, my client was down one pair of socks to wear.
I found myself able to let go, to relax and gain some perspective…
…UNTIL…
Shaun phone me one evening to let me know that he would be flying to the United Kingdom on 16 August, and landing in Birmingham on the 17th. He asked what I would be doing around then… Relaxation over, perspective gone, stress up, excitement riding in. I hung up the phone and rang my sister and my parents to let them know. It was all too surreal. The last few days in London went by in a flurry. I left London and headed back home for a few nights.
Sherelyn suggested I catch the buses home from the station, instead of the taxi I was planning on catching. She said that it had been drizzling lightly the whole morning, so I would be safe enough. I took her advice. We planned that she would meet me at the bus stop and walk home with me. By the time I stepped off the bus closest to home, the heavens had opened and we experienced Sherelyn’s version of drizzle. My version: torrential drizzle… It was ridiculous. We got to the flat soaked (even though Sherelyn had come very well prepared to the bus stop – umbrellas, dry macs for my suitcase… rather suspicious for someone who said it was drizzling lightly). We had planned to go out shopping, but resorted to Chinese take away and a few glasses of wine in the flat with music and constant chatter. We got into bed the next morning (having planned to go into Birmingham before I went to Biggleswade to meet Shaun's boss). Needless to say, this was called off when the alarm clock buzzed four hours into our sleep.
I eventually got out of bed and dressed to go and meet Shaun’s boss. One hundred miles later, I had arrived (in the pouring rain) and was hurried into a four-hour meeting. It was nice. Sherelyn had, in the meantime, left for her first client. The following days at home were spent keeping busy (so busy that I did not have time to think about Shaun’s imminent arrival). They were a blur of dinners out, visits to hospital and shopping for nothing.
I left for my current location by car (which took me an hour to find, not because I went wrong, but because they live on a little country lane with one entrance, in Tamworth). I walked through the door to find that once again, I was not to receive handover. I was miffed. The client does not and has not spoken to me (his age does not allow for this… teenagers… <sigh> )Although, this has not been detrimental at all, as I have been VERY productive. He has required very little attention, which has meant I have managed to complete all eight modules of my NVQ (and submitted them all at once, just for a laugh), and arranged my life (…again…)
Now, I find myself constantly thinking: ‘this time next week… six days to go… five days to go… four days to go…’ I’m driving myself scatty.
Smile and nod.
