Actually you should be beaten for that
Previous issues
Week 23: Care Officers
Week 20: MDK assessor
Week 19: Care service
Sodala. Always into the good parlour. It's been a long time since I've been so motivated to get worked up in public. But although I have enough other things on the screen, which I had even already announced, we are starting today with a completely different topic. A lot of strange things have been happening in wound care over the last few days. I mean, we know that my nurses are notoriously incapable of working professionally, of reading and writing a documentation and unfortunately the handover doesn't work either. That is, if there is a handover at all. All too often, someone is so late that unfortunately it is no longer possible to pass on how my health is doing. Even writing it down on my large stand-up display only leads to it being read, but deliberately and intentionally ignored several times in just a single week.
I don't have my own post on it yet. That's why you can find the summary directly at my new place 2. You read correctly. This thing violates about every basic rule of nursing. And repeatedly, by a variety of different caregivers, against explicit medical advice. With the consequence of the proven deterioration of my health.
What has to go for this is the incident where my carer says in the morning that his coffee and his cigarette are more important than my morning coffee. Don't you believe me? Then read it. Right here. I don't hold grudges.
- Cover me up, strip me completely naked and „clean“ me in bed with surface disinfectant, then soap me from head to toe. And let me freeze for two hours until the washing is ready. More on this? You can find it here: Basic care
- You still remember my Nail fold inflammation? It felt like months ago. It was during my sister's last visit to Germany. And she comes to see me - Yippieh! ? - is coming to visit me again next week. She'll be amazed when she sees this next week. It was almost better after my doctor said, please do not put anything on it. Just disinfect and leave it alone. Um, leave alone and trust the doctor, my nurses can't do that. Well, apart from the sort who, even after explicit reforestation, hardly complies with the request to store me properly at night.
Story to follow. A little teaser. Ploughman A has independently decided to stop disinfecting. Wait a minute? Yes, the same carer has just squeezed out pus. Strange things have been happening since he was forced to work for me by his PDl for days, completely exhausted and not at all receptive. I really - really really - think he has post-COVID. Carer B smeared Lavanid on him without any orders and without asking me. Carer C picked at it. Carer D removed the scab, even though the doctor specifically said we weren't allowed to do that. Carer E tells me that everything has healed perfectly and that I shouldn't tell my doctor about it. It can't really be that I'm supposedly in pain.
I inform my nurses and still inform my doctor. He comes by immediately. Inflammation again. Pus. Blood. Some contaminated ointment residue. Swab taken from the skin and sent to the lab. Thank you. To the whole team. - To serve up one of the most implausible old wives' tales I've ever heard to a surprise visitor who enters the flat with his own key on a Saturday morning. Of course he didn't drink the can of Jackie Coke. Some completely retarded person threw it in the rubbish and now the whole flat smells of it. He took it out of the rubbish to rinse it out. More on this? You can find it here: The insensitive sick person.
- „I need a little whisky from you now.“ (he said, ignoring my dimenti and emptying the bottle by the end of the service) More on this? You can find it here: Inventory Olé
- Leaving me in the shit for over an hour, because night duty comes shortly and I'm so stressed that my own coffee is more important. I would have loved to use the time to clean myself up, because my three friends who are visiting are having dinner in the dining room. I really don't need to have my ass wiped when my friends are sitting next to me. Read more? You can find it here: Shift, change.
- Finding a syringe filled with cloudy liquid by the sink and wanting to give it to me via the PEG without knowing whether it is a tablet, cleaning agent or something else.
- The MDK assessor comes to the conclusion that no care-relevant issues are to be expected with my ALS. I have this in writing.
- I would have to have a PEG inserted. Because then I could be mobilised in a wheelchair and pushed out onto the balcony, because living in bed has no quality of life. That's what I was told by the care counsellor at my care service. You can find the whole story „O'zapft ïs!“ here here. Be that as it may, this is not only presumptuous and impertinent, but, as I said at the time and as I have living proof today that I have a PEG, it is factually wrong. The opposite is the case. Since the PEG, it has become impossible for me to get up because of the pain. But what do I know? It's only my body.
- „With that powder you call ice cream, you need a straw to drink it.“ (this was about the crushed ice I bought for my carers for the premium brand drinks and alcoholic beverages I also bought for my carers)
- „I never took anything home, just empty bottles for crafting.“ (apart from the fact that empty bottles are also my property, no one drank from them except you, you idiot) More on this? You can find it here: Inventory Olé
