Nurse: The jar need not be full!

Here is a good Governmental initiative. Never let it be known that positivity is not absent from me on Mondays. I made the appointment last week for a one and half hour of a thorough assessment for any future home-care. A triumphant government must have announced it some time ago, but I never heard about it. It is for those that turn seventy-five. They must keep a tab on all of us. No birthday cake though. Just the possibility of subsidised grab rails in the bathroom or electronic ejection elevated toilet seat. Can you imagine the feeling of elation being lifted and ejected from the toilet seat? What next?

The appointment was for 2pm on Monday. After duly showering,  some sprucing and copious anti deodorant H and I arrived. I was curious and was given a synopses of the procedure. My state of health, both mental and physical would now be taken under the loupe.  I was at fever pitch and alertness. A squirrel taking command of his booty of hazelnuts could not be a better example. Finally a reward for all those years of Kipfler spuds, herrings, sardines, numerous curry dishes, the occasional pork sausage and butter-milk would be brought to fruition as proven by this extensive investigation and following rapport. It would all come out now.

I was met by a friendly nurse with a Latvian or Estonian look. Blue eyes and blond with a mid-fifties age as indicated by the creases around her friendly mouth and alert eyes. Someone who had gone through some living, carrying the evidence with aplomb and courage.  “Do you think you could do a pee or would you first like a coffee or glass of water,” she asked looking at me all blue-eyed and with some ease? She knew some man might get a bit ruffled by that, and clamp up their urinary tract. She was generous and professional, giving me a way out in case of embarrassment, related to shrinking man when anything is mentioned to their impedimenta of an organ that has other function as well as for manically going up and down.  Not me though. “I’ll do my best”,  I’ll do it now, if you don’t mind.”   “Where is the toilet”? I took the initiative. Very often a ploy of the somewhat insecure. Especially some men.

I had noticed she had snapped on some plastic gloves and gave me a little clear plastic jar with a yellow lid, a plastic envelope and showed me the toilet. “You don’t have to fill it right up”, she said. As if I could not!  I dribbled a bit in the jar and perused the level as if on a scientific journey. I judged it not enough, and put a bit more in, surprised at my agility above the narrow bottle and also the ability to stop and start at will. It isn’t always like that getting up in the middle of the night when the procedure seems not always as spontaneous as it once was… I came back as soon as I could. I did not want to give the impression I was struggling in that section and lose points on my rapport.  One never knows with urine and stools. I noticed she was testing it with some little strip afterwards above the sink. I suppose the PH. I used to do the same on our farm swimming pool water.

She explained all the other things we would go through and held up the first part of the test in the form of a large lettered  laminated sign ‘close your eyes’. I duly closed my eyes. “Very good”, nurse said. I was beaming. “Can you tell me the day, month and year?” Again, 10/10. And so it went on. “I will say three words and please repeat”. “Apple, table and chair.” I duly repeated. After a few minutes again, can you recall the three words? I thought deeply, but managed another faultless reply.

“Can you now fold a piece of paper, hold it in both hands and put it on the floor in front of your feet”. I did it in record time but hoped the fold length-wise instead of across would not be rated against me. I need not fear. “Excellent she said. You have no trouble following instructions”.

When talking to the doctor afterwards he asked for Helvi to be present. What would we do if I ever got an accident or physical affliction and quality of life would be almost non- existent ? I was given a rather cheerless list of option of procedures just to keep me alive. What would I choose? A pipe in my chest to breath and food through my nose.?

No thank you. No keeping alive just for the sake of it. If I am no longer aware of being alive, don’t inflict life when it is not really there anymore.

He said also, and that is what I really loved hearing. You do not even have a hint of Alzheimer. Full marks, he added.

A great afternoon. It will be H’s turn in a couple of months.

Tags: Stool culture