Posts Tagged ‘Nurse’

Hospital and an Oxycodone led recovery.

February 28, 2017




You know how it is. The days have been reasonable. A blissful uneventful period of stability and quiet confidence. Normality is stable as it is supposed to be. The only spoke was a return to a backache. The last time I had this was in November the 9th, 2015. The date of a packet of six pain killer tablets told me so.  I had four left. Over the last few days I took 3 of those and thought it prudent to go to the local public hospital to get another few of those tablets. They really helped last time. I kept this last tablet up my sleeve in case the pain became so bad that walking to the hospital would be out of the question.

We live almost next to not one but two hospitals. One is public, and abutted to it, and part of it is a private hospital. The difference is that the public one is a bit add hoc with all sorts of strange additions cemented on to the original one. It can be a bit of a challenge at first to find ‘Emergency’. Someone has thought of gluing down plastic feet guiding patients to the different sections. There are confusing ramps and doors held open by bricks.

The private hospital is simple, modern and has no odd additions. The brickwork is tuck pointed and there is an outdoor café with a healthy Coke  sandwich- board on the pavement. Each hospital have their own parking allotments. The public has Ford trucks, Holden utes and Toyota panel vans. The private have Audis and Mercedes, and whiffs of perfumes and polished shoes.

After showering I took myself to the hospital. It was 11 o’clock and the sky overcast. It had rained but the birds were happy. Lots of screeching white cockatoos. Within minutes triage nurse had taken my particulars including pulse and history. I proudly showed my packet holding still the one Oxycodone tablet dating to 2015. No drug addict here.

‘Please take seat back in the waiting room’, she said, smiling. ‘Doctor will see you SOON.’ The waiting room just had a young girl holding up her hand with her spare hand. Her palm had a bandage. After waiting for two hours I noticed that in the office opposite where I was sitting, there was a coming and going of many nurses. There was a lot of jollity and loud positive laughter.

However, sitting for such a long time took its toll. Previously I would be in and out within an hour. Two hours and just one girl? I went into a convivial and accommodating mood. It must be a few severe cases of ambulances bringing in terminally damaged patients, I thought. Doctors are flat out dealing with damaged ones. What is a backache compared with smashed head and broken bones? Normality doesn’t live in the Casualty departments of hospitals.

After almost three hours I was finally seen to. One of the jolly and laughing nurses asked again the extent of my injuries. She did notice my awkwardness in getting off the chair and limping behind her to yet another chair. I’ll fix you up first she said, and left. She came back with a poly styrene cup with water and a smaller clear plastic cup holding a variety of different shaped tables. I rummaged around the tablets trying to understand what I was supposed to do. ‘Which one do you want me to take?’ There were at least 15 tablets. ‘Take the lot,’ she commanded. ‘What, the lot?’ ‘Yes, she said, they are Nurovan, Panadol, Hedanol, Paracetamol, and some others, take the lot.’ I had trouble fitting them all in my mouth. May I chew them, I mumbled politely?’  ‘Yes, chew them, she said.’ Was this my lunch?

I was so amazed. I felt like leaving a tip. Nurse left after telling me she was going to see doctor for a prescription for the more stronger pain killer. She assured me I would soon be feeling better. I assumed they would be the Oxycodone, as before. But, who should walk in but Helvi, my wife. I thought I was seeing an angel. Turns out she got worried. There was no one in the waiting room. She asked the staff where a Mr Oosterman might be. She was taken to her husband. By the time she got to me all pain had floated and I was flying. I managed to tell her about the cupful of tablets. Almost asked her for a dance.

She too was amazed.

Getting down to Earth

February 2, 2017


With the heat of the last few days in retreat, I’ll try and revive a few more words. Words tend to wilt with anything over 26c. If not wilt, melt. Like butterfly into buterfy or wedding into bedding. Letters faint, drop off. In the meantime. Let me recall some of the last few days. Of course, the minimum requirements during heat are plenty of electric fans. The double glazing is fine when the nights cool off. Eventually everything gets hot and an itchiness develops to just survive breathing in and out.

One of the advantages of large shopping malls or even small ones is that they are air-conditioned. Dire warnings for elderly to stay well hydrated, avoid sun sugar seek shelter, stay calm. It wasn’t helped reading more people die of heat than drownings. We sought refuge in Aldi, just sauntering around the oranges and broccolini. It is amazing though that the the big ones such as Woolworth and Coles that advertise on the Telly, are losing custom. You won’t see Aldi on TV. Yet Aldi is taking away shoppers in droves from the big supermarkets. It are the Mercedes and BMW’s that now glide in and out of Aldi’s parking stations.

Svelte bouffant blonde ladies carefully going over the specials, bending over sweet potatoes, fingering the carrots that one is likely to encounter at Aldi now. Men in Country Road shirts, camouflaged shorts with many pockets lingering around the tool section, contemplating sets of spanners or paper shredders. It is so relaxing. An escape from heat. I wonder if taking a couple of easy fold-out chairs into the air-conditioned splendour of Aldi would be objected to? I mean a couple of oldies just taking it easy?

During one hot night. I took to extremes. A fold-out bed under the fan. Desperate measure.  The fold-out bed is about twenty centimetres above floor level. Pretty handy, I thought. A bit like going back to my camping days. But, again for each progressive move forward, a punitive counter move. With the much lower centre of gravity I could not get up when a call of nature beckoned. Let me tell you. Getting older is in direct proportion to toilet breaks. The less years ahead the more toilet breaks are engaged in. After a few attempts in trying to get up by using available leverage I found out my limitations.  Sitting up was achieved but not actually standing up. I felt helpless. I needed nurse. I considered just letting it just flow all out. Who cares?

The mind gets active in emergencies. I thought that if I rolled out onto the floor first I might just be able to get up by the help of the coffee table next to the bed. I managed to do just that. I first dropped my feet on the floor, followed by legs, than my torso, chest accompanied by neck and attached head. I rolled over and by arching my knees managed to get enough off myself  from the tiled floor to reach the top of the coffee table. The rest was easily managed. I felt so proud. Almost did a Tarzan’s jungle call but thought it would alarm Helvi. She slept well elevated above ground level in our communal bed. I went to the toilet triumphantly.

Another handy hint during the present heat-wave is for the elderly to seek shelter in the local hospital. We are living right next to not one but two hospitals.  A public hospital and a private one. The Public hospital use blue-tack and sticky -tape while the Private hospital  gives you a free pen to sign over your wallet.  One could just find some excuse or ailment and take a comfy chair in the emergency department. They often have lots of magazines. Many waiting patients can be engaged with comparing levels of ailments or the latest government pension cut backs. The wait for triage nurse always a thing to look forward to. Her soft caring hands wrapping the different bodily measurements equipment around your arms. I tell you, it is not a bad option.

Think about it!

A senior’s joy with NZ Maori Nurse. Sex over five or 6/5!

June 27, 2016



As foreshadowed last week, the eye test for keeping my driver’s license was today at 2 pm. I took a shower and quickly ate some smoked salmon on wholemeal sandwiches. We went shopping with the obligatory Milo walk before the appointment at the medical centre. Helvi is not so keen on smoked salmon, or anything smoked really. It came to a head, when still living in Holland, and I took a bunch of smoked baby-eels to bed for snacking, while watching Sargent Bilko, or perhaps it was ‘I love Lucy.’

Those shows would be impossible to watch now. Humour has shifted up a couple of gears since then, and now seems so much more cynical, more trying to get laughter out of the misery of others. Mind you, perhaps most humour is based on the misfortunes of others. I mean slipping over a banana skin could be painful.

At 1.30 pm Helvi asked me if I would like her to come too. I certainly would. She took a newspaper and her puzzle book and we both drove to Moss-Vale where my medical centre resides. During the trip Helvi thought it was hot in the car. I said ‘feel free to turn down the heater.’ It is one of those marital routines whereby the same issues are being played  knowing full well the results. Helvi never touches any knobs or switches in the car. She pretends not even knowing the difference between the brake or the steering wheel. She gave up driving many years ago. She prefers reading or talking. I don’t mind that but sometimes wish she would not ask for a four letter word starting with F when I am driving precariously wedged in between two road trains.

I was a bit concerned but had practised in front of the mirror holding my hand alternatively in front of both eyes. It is a very old mirror with gold leaf ornate frame. This ornate framed piece held a bevelled mirror in Holland yet a plain glass mirror after shipped over to Australia by boat. We were dudded by the removalist who must have broken the bevelled mirror and replaced it with a plain sheet of mirror-glass. We did not notice till some time after.

After arrival, I was to wait for the Nurse to do the eye-test after which Dr Sparks would do the rest and test other abilities to keep driving. Mainly a matter for dizzy-spells ,fainting, suicidal thoughts or preferences, alcoholism, sleeping disorders with last of all, any marital whiplash.

They must have phoned up Nurse. I noticed a tall woman walking in soon after. She was nicely dressed in a long woollen skirt and blue loose fitting jacket with a hoodie. Within a minute she came out of her office and called for Gerard. I duly got up swiftly, even jauntily, and walked in after her, noticing she was shapely with dark her. She had taken her jacket off which I noticed hanging over her chair. She gave me a lovely smile and told me to move the chair a bit closer to the eye chart. ‘We just going to do your eyes’, she said, smiling again. The way she pronounced ‘eyes’ told me she was New Zealander and Maori.

I really liked her and she kept reassuring me. Even without the uniform, she was an eye test’s dream come true. I lost all my resolve to cheat and spy through my hands. It felt like a betrayal. I was wearing glasses. My driver’s license show a photo without wearing them. She kindly asked me if I wore them while driving. I answered that I normally don’t. They are bi-vocals and seem to distort vison. Well, she said; ‘we will do them with and without glasses’. ‘Whatever comes out the better of the two, we shall use.’ She was so lovely. The perfect nurse. She made it sound like a nurse handing out a bed-pan with the élan of a barista serving a black coffee with a croissant. I could not have been luckier.

It must have given me a rush of blood to my head, especially my eyes, and they went straight into top-gear. A kind of tumescence but for sight instead of sex.

My right (crook) eye was given 6/12 and my left ( the good eye) 6/5. Both eyes WITHOUT glasses 6/5. She said, ‘sex over five. You have done well Gerard.’