An agonising hour of pointless attempts to explain how to put the mask on correctly... and one therefore cold coffee with disgusting tasting meds later. 30-day countdown for "Patrick has a PEG inserted" set to zero yesterday. If the nurse had read my instructions instead of making me re-explain the same shit every time I sat down, like some teenager in love... my nursing service would have trained new staff, or at least trained them. as promised... this wouldn't have happened.
I start to get direct and grumpy in such situations. Now it's just "Wait..." and I send the carer the relevant section of the instructions from my blog as a link via WhatsApp. Since all other methods have failed, I now hope for a "learning effect to avoid further personal embarrassment". At the latest, when I send the link to "Emergency signs of respiratory distress" for the third time, hopefully something will click.
And even as I write these lines, the third keeper in a row is seamlessly joining in. Mask drama number three this week. And it's only Tuesday afternoon. Half the mask is missing. Why do I always notice this when I try to put on my mask? And of course it happens on a day when I'm already struggling to breathe, because the last two night services unfortunately didn't hear their own alarm clocks again, so I wasn't put into bed regularly and therefore have a lot of mucus. How nice that this night service, of all people, asked me why I don't have a PEG. Wuhsahhh. My answer:
Maybe I should send this very post out next.
If that doesn't have any effect either, I'll give up. Haha, no, you can't give up. I have more staying power. Wink smiley.
