An agonising hour of pointless attempts to explain how to put the mask on correctly... and therefore a cold coffee with disgusting-tasting medication later. 30-day countdown for „Patrick has a PEG inserted“ set to zero yesterday. If the carer had read my instructions instead of making me explain the same shit every time I sat down like some infatuated teenager... my nursing service would have trained new staff or at least given them an induction as promised... that wouldn't have happened.
I'm starting to get direct and grumpy in situations like this. Lately, it's just „Wait...“ and I send the carer the relevant section of the instructions from my blog as a link via WhatsApp. As all other methods have failed, I'm now hoping 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, it will hopefully click at some point.
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.
