So I'm here, I'm alive and I'm absolutely in love with Vienna!
It's a beautiful place, so full of history, art, culture and music all in a chocolate box setting. Every time you turn a corner there is another lovely building with such delicate decoration it looks like someone made it out of sugar icing. I wander around in a sort of daze most of the time, goggling at this gorgeous fresco or that Baroque church or this huge monument.
There are so many museums and galleries that I'm not sure a year is long enough to appreciate them all (especially when you bear in mind I'm supposed to be studying here, not just drifting around with my head in the clouds) but I'm definitely going to give it a try! Not only is there a plethora of museums and galleries, they have some of the most democratic theatres and opera houses as well, with a standing ticket costing only 2 Euros. Yes, you might well be stood on your feet for 3 hours with only a 15 minute interval but where else in the world do you get to see Jose Carreras singing Verdi with one of the best orchestras in the world, the Vienna Philharmonic?
Not only is Vienna itself amazing but I am really looking forward to studying here - the registration system is a nightmare, the course booklet virtually unnavigable and the German department vague to say the least... but it'll be an experience. I have already taken part in a language course over here and could not have wished for a better teacher. He took us all around Vienna, to a Heuriger, to Prater, on a town tour and then for breakfast at Cafe Central on the last day. Not only did he go out of his way to show us Vienna in all its glory, he was an excellent teacher too.
Anyway, I am now running out of synonyms for beautiful and lovely so I will say farewell... hopefully I'll be able to paste up a few pictures in my next post.
'Til next time,
Liv xxx
Showing posts with label information. Show all posts
Showing posts with label information. Show all posts
Tuesday, 30 September 2008
Tuesday, 22 July 2008
A little lost...
A lot of the residents at the Care Home have some form of memory loss, be it short-term (ie. they forget that they have sent their favourite blouse to the wash and thus can’t find it) or full-on Alzheimer’s Disease (AD), consisting of mood swings, aggressive behaviour, serious confusion and ultimately loss of bodily functions and death. We fortunately have no residents with AD this severe as they would need more care than we can give them but we do have some residents with progressive memory loss. It can be very upsetting for these people; imagine not being able to remember the last time you ate, drank, washed, or went to the toilet. Imagine this combined with a constantly changing group of HCAs who whisk in and out of your room like small tornadoes with meals, tablets, washing and bedding, saying ‘Do you want to go on the commode?’, and ‘Would you like to have a wash before we put you in your nightie?’ even though you don’t even remember having lunch and is it really 7:30pm already?
It must be very distressing at times and with the best will in the world, we HCAs are not always as understanding as perhaps we should be. I try to see things from their point of view and listen closely to what they are saying so I can help them if I can but when you’ve people to feed, wash and dress in the morning for example, trying to explain patiently to an angry resident who can’t find their favourite blouse that they asked for it to be washed the day before can be a very frustrating task.
I have compiled a few incidents from the last few days and weeks which prompted me to write this post below.
#1. Stealing
Some of the residents with more severe memory loss misplace items and cannot remember where they put them, as you would expect. The trouble starts, however, when they begin to believe that someone has stolen whatever it is they are looking for. For example there is Gerry in room 12 downstairs. He refuses all care from the staff – he always refuses a wash and help with changing his clothes which means he can end up staying in one set of clothes 24 hours a day over a period of days until the District Nurse and one of the SHCAs manage when changing the dressings on his legs to distract him with their chatter for long enough to give him a good scrub and change his clothes. Despite this, he is generally courteous to the staff and a happy person. However, a few days ago I went to ask if he would like to come to the dining room for lunch (sometimes he does, other times he doesn’t) and I found him grumbling to himself. On asking him what the matter was, he said he couldn’t find his best slippers – one of ‘you lot’ (meaning the staff) had pinched them and nothing I could say would change his mind. In the end I had to leave him turning his wardrobe out as I was afraid that if I tried to convince him of our innocence any further he would file a complaint against me for either bullying or stealing.
Another time I heard one of the residents, Joan, saying to another that money was being stolen from her room – you could see the ears of every HCA in the vicinity perk up as that is the kind of thing which makes us extremely wary of going into a resident’s room alone – but the other resident gave her short shrift and told her to make absolutely certain that she hadn’t just misplaced it before she started pointing the finger. As it happened she had put her money in her knicker drawer so it would be kept safe and had forgotten. You could hear the sigh of relief whistle around the staff room when this was announced.
#2. ‘Visions’
A strange title but an apt one. The above mentioned lady, Joan, charged me with abuse in a roundabout way last week because I had apparently gone into her room and told her that I could see into the future and that she was going to die soon. Obviously this was complete nonsense; firstly, I have never claimed to have second sight (nor would I want it if it were ever a possibility) and secondly, I would never ever tell anyone that I had foreseen their death (even if I had been so unfortunate as to foresee such a thing). Despite the obvious ludicrousness of it all, I was called into the Matron’s office and asked about it. I was utterly speechless at first; I must admit I wondered for a moment if she was playing a joke on me. But when she called the secretary in as a witness to what I said, I realised she was being completely serious and I found myself having to explain that I had never told Joan anything of the sort and even if I could see into the future I was hardly going to tell people when they were going to die soon. However, I did track down what the source of the problem was; as I had been getting Joan ready for bed, there was a programme about ghosts and haunted houses on the TV. There was a man on who could supposedly speak with the ‘spirit world’ and we began talking about that and foreseeing the future, etcetera etcetera. Her memory loss and frequent depressive episodes as a result of a brain haemorrhage meant that she had forgotten the TV programme entirely and had pieced together what she remembered of our conversation into something which had no resemblance to it at all in my eyes, but which to her was the absolute truth. I could tell Matron put little stock by this but had to follow it though as the HCA she had told HAD to report it. Abuse is a very grey area within Care but even the merest whiff of it must be reported just in case. It reminded me that you have to be very careful what you say and how you say it with people.
#3. Losing yourself
One of the most upsetting aspects of memory loss for the staff especially is seeing residents lose all memory of themselves. Seeing someone who only needed assistance with putting on their socks and shoes of a morning deteriorate to a bedridden shell of their former self can be disheartening and distressing. Ina is a good example of this; last summer I remember her as a quietly spoken but interesting woman in an electric wheelchair who needed assistance with the commode and that was pretty much it. Now, after 5 TIAs, she is almost entirely bedridden and can do very little, if nothing, for herself. She has an ulcer on her right heel, another one burgeoning on her left heel and is on a 2 hour tilt chart. Her legs are contracting and her neck is stiffening in one position. She is often very sleepy and slow; doing her menus takes 20 minutes at least and feeding her some soup and sandwiches can take up to an hour which is obviously very problematic when it comes to caring for the other residents. I find dealing with her quite saddening; I remember her when her mobility was her only setback. That quiet but kind person is still in there; she is just a little lost.
Fred was another example of this; he had AD but it progressed very slowly; last summer he could get around in his wheelchair and was a very nice chap to talk to, although he kept himself to himself. A week before I returned to the Care Home he took 3 tumbles in 2 days. He was put in bed with cotsides and went from lucid but bedridden to palliative care within 3 weeks. Feeding him became increasingly difficult – initially he would forget to chew but would do when prompted by the HCA. In the last week or two when asked to open his mouth, he would just purse his lips and suck up miniscule amounts of food off the tip of the spoon. Giving him a drink was nigh on impossible as you couldn’t get him to loosen his jaw enough to get even a straw in. One teatime I was trying to feed him and in between little sucks off the tip of the spoon, he murmured in a surprised tone that he had never been in a room with a woman alone before and he didn’t know what to do. It occurred to me that possibly the only woman he had ever been ‘alone in a room with’ in that way (ie. in a bedroom) was his late wife; maybe he was, as his memory deteriorated, fusing that memory with the fact that I was a lone female voice chattering to him whilst giving him his tea in his bedroom. I found this quite upsetting. Once again the person he had been was obviously still in there as he was piecing together memories from decades back, but he was also losing his grip on life. He died only a few days later of pneumonia.
Until next time,
Liv xxx
It must be very distressing at times and with the best will in the world, we HCAs are not always as understanding as perhaps we should be. I try to see things from their point of view and listen closely to what they are saying so I can help them if I can but when you’ve people to feed, wash and dress in the morning for example, trying to explain patiently to an angry resident who can’t find their favourite blouse that they asked for it to be washed the day before can be a very frustrating task.
I have compiled a few incidents from the last few days and weeks which prompted me to write this post below.
#1. Stealing
Some of the residents with more severe memory loss misplace items and cannot remember where they put them, as you would expect. The trouble starts, however, when they begin to believe that someone has stolen whatever it is they are looking for. For example there is Gerry in room 12 downstairs. He refuses all care from the staff – he always refuses a wash and help with changing his clothes which means he can end up staying in one set of clothes 24 hours a day over a period of days until the District Nurse and one of the SHCAs manage when changing the dressings on his legs to distract him with their chatter for long enough to give him a good scrub and change his clothes. Despite this, he is generally courteous to the staff and a happy person. However, a few days ago I went to ask if he would like to come to the dining room for lunch (sometimes he does, other times he doesn’t) and I found him grumbling to himself. On asking him what the matter was, he said he couldn’t find his best slippers – one of ‘you lot’ (meaning the staff) had pinched them and nothing I could say would change his mind. In the end I had to leave him turning his wardrobe out as I was afraid that if I tried to convince him of our innocence any further he would file a complaint against me for either bullying or stealing.
Another time I heard one of the residents, Joan, saying to another that money was being stolen from her room – you could see the ears of every HCA in the vicinity perk up as that is the kind of thing which makes us extremely wary of going into a resident’s room alone – but the other resident gave her short shrift and told her to make absolutely certain that she hadn’t just misplaced it before she started pointing the finger. As it happened she had put her money in her knicker drawer so it would be kept safe and had forgotten. You could hear the sigh of relief whistle around the staff room when this was announced.
#2. ‘Visions’
A strange title but an apt one. The above mentioned lady, Joan, charged me with abuse in a roundabout way last week because I had apparently gone into her room and told her that I could see into the future and that she was going to die soon. Obviously this was complete nonsense; firstly, I have never claimed to have second sight (nor would I want it if it were ever a possibility) and secondly, I would never ever tell anyone that I had foreseen their death (even if I had been so unfortunate as to foresee such a thing). Despite the obvious ludicrousness of it all, I was called into the Matron’s office and asked about it. I was utterly speechless at first; I must admit I wondered for a moment if she was playing a joke on me. But when she called the secretary in as a witness to what I said, I realised she was being completely serious and I found myself having to explain that I had never told Joan anything of the sort and even if I could see into the future I was hardly going to tell people when they were going to die soon. However, I did track down what the source of the problem was; as I had been getting Joan ready for bed, there was a programme about ghosts and haunted houses on the TV. There was a man on who could supposedly speak with the ‘spirit world’ and we began talking about that and foreseeing the future, etcetera etcetera. Her memory loss and frequent depressive episodes as a result of a brain haemorrhage meant that she had forgotten the TV programme entirely and had pieced together what she remembered of our conversation into something which had no resemblance to it at all in my eyes, but which to her was the absolute truth. I could tell Matron put little stock by this but had to follow it though as the HCA she had told HAD to report it. Abuse is a very grey area within Care but even the merest whiff of it must be reported just in case. It reminded me that you have to be very careful what you say and how you say it with people.
#3. Losing yourself
One of the most upsetting aspects of memory loss for the staff especially is seeing residents lose all memory of themselves. Seeing someone who only needed assistance with putting on their socks and shoes of a morning deteriorate to a bedridden shell of their former self can be disheartening and distressing. Ina is a good example of this; last summer I remember her as a quietly spoken but interesting woman in an electric wheelchair who needed assistance with the commode and that was pretty much it. Now, after 5 TIAs, she is almost entirely bedridden and can do very little, if nothing, for herself. She has an ulcer on her right heel, another one burgeoning on her left heel and is on a 2 hour tilt chart. Her legs are contracting and her neck is stiffening in one position. She is often very sleepy and slow; doing her menus takes 20 minutes at least and feeding her some soup and sandwiches can take up to an hour which is obviously very problematic when it comes to caring for the other residents. I find dealing with her quite saddening; I remember her when her mobility was her only setback. That quiet but kind person is still in there; she is just a little lost.
Fred was another example of this; he had AD but it progressed very slowly; last summer he could get around in his wheelchair and was a very nice chap to talk to, although he kept himself to himself. A week before I returned to the Care Home he took 3 tumbles in 2 days. He was put in bed with cotsides and went from lucid but bedridden to palliative care within 3 weeks. Feeding him became increasingly difficult – initially he would forget to chew but would do when prompted by the HCA. In the last week or two when asked to open his mouth, he would just purse his lips and suck up miniscule amounts of food off the tip of the spoon. Giving him a drink was nigh on impossible as you couldn’t get him to loosen his jaw enough to get even a straw in. One teatime I was trying to feed him and in between little sucks off the tip of the spoon, he murmured in a surprised tone that he had never been in a room with a woman alone before and he didn’t know what to do. It occurred to me that possibly the only woman he had ever been ‘alone in a room with’ in that way (ie. in a bedroom) was his late wife; maybe he was, as his memory deteriorated, fusing that memory with the fact that I was a lone female voice chattering to him whilst giving him his tea in his bedroom. I found this quite upsetting. Once again the person he had been was obviously still in there as he was piecing together memories from decades back, but he was also losing his grip on life. He died only a few days later of pneumonia.
Until next time,
Liv xxx
Friday, 11 July 2008
Playing with my camera...
We went on holiday to Wales last week and I had a fab time playing with my camera :) Here are some of the best results!
'Til next time,
Vienna xxx
Saturday, 5 July 2008
Stoopid
I feel extremely stupid and furious with myself. Despite being as organised as possible with regard to my year abroad, I still made one huge mistake - I thought the deadline for my ERASMUS Certificate was the 31st of July when it was actually the 1st. Hence a major panic a week last Wednesday and my calling and emailing everyone I could think of to organise getting it there in time. Just goes to show that you should always trust your instincts - something, and I am not entirely sure what even now, made me check my profile on the University of Vienna website to see if there had been any updates and so on. It was there I found out the deadline - I had completely missed the deadline written on pretty much every other piece of paper that the University of Vienna sent me! Somehow the lumpy grey matter which passes as my brain had missed this.
So I'm royally p-ed off with myself, something not helped by the fact I got a very pointed and derogatory email from the ERASMUS Co-ordinator at the University of B. basically telling me they were very disappointed with me and that the paperwork etc. is all my responsibility. As I was on holiday in Wales last week, I didn't read the email until today when we got home - so now they probably think I'm lazy AND and idiot. I sent them back an email explaining how it was all my own silly fault and that I had done as much as possible to organise the posting of the form before she even got my first email about possibly missing the deadline.
So I feel stupid.
Very stupid and quite upset.
This thing called growing up is really hard at times.
Vienna xxx
So I'm royally p-ed off with myself, something not helped by the fact I got a very pointed and derogatory email from the ERASMUS Co-ordinator at the University of B. basically telling me they were very disappointed with me and that the paperwork etc. is all my responsibility. As I was on holiday in Wales last week, I didn't read the email until today when we got home - so now they probably think I'm lazy AND and idiot. I sent them back an email explaining how it was all my own silly fault and that I had done as much as possible to organise the posting of the form before she even got my first email about possibly missing the deadline.
So I feel stupid.
Very stupid and quite upset.
This thing called growing up is really hard at times.
Vienna xxx
Thursday, 26 June 2008
Locking Horns
Jan has suffered a stroke and thus her left side has very restricted movement. She can speak but it is sometimes confused and difficult to understand. However, as far I know she is compos mentis and can make herself understood. She is wheelchair-bound as you would expect and needs a lot of assistance. She is petite, slim and is still quite attractive; she has big blue eyes and high cheekbones. Her hair is grey but quite well cut. She dresses as nicely as her condition allows and often wears pretty black slips and underskirts.
However, despite all this, and the possibility of her mental health being compromised by her stroke, she is one of the most argumentative, difficult people I have EVER met. Take Tuesday evening for example; I was asked to get her ready for bed. The Nurse twinkled at me over her glasses and said in a slightly pointed way that she would just be next door getting Miss King ready for bed and changing her dressings should I need her.
I toileted her first and that went well as I had done it before and knew the way she liked things to be done. The trouble started when I began to get her undressed. She first kept saying ‘down, down DOWN!’ when she really meant for me to pull her knickers up until she had undressed and changed her top half. I appreciated this was obviously confusion as a result of her stroke and just smiled and apologised for misunderstanding. I then took her shoes and stockings off; as directed I put her shoes in the wardrobe at the back.
‘Back?’ Jan said, narrowing her eyes at me.
‘Yes, I put them at the back Jan.’
‘Hmph. Cloths.’ She said next, pointing at the two blue cloths on her wheelchair. She does not like wearing a pad and so the cloths are a precautionary measure. I picked them up and put them on the floor, thinking she would want them washed.
‘No!’ Jan snapped at me, hitting me on the arm with her good hand. I looked at her in surprise; I had not expected to be hit for something as small as that.
‘Jan, do not hit me, please. How would you like it if I turned around and hit you for no good reason?’ I said firmly as I picked up the blue cloths off the floor and held them out to her.
‘NO!’ She screeched at me hitting the cloths out of my hand and scratching me – I’m not sure if it was intentional or not.
‘Jan! You’re not helping matters by hitting, scratching and shouting at me. Please don’t do it again. We get on much better if you just point at what you want me to put away.’ I said quietly, trying to calm her down and temper my irritation.
‘Where is Hannah?! Where?!’ Jan glared at me with unveiled dislike as I picked up the blue cloths again and put them near the door. Hannah is another of the Carer’s who Jan has taken a liking to.
‘Hannah is on her break, Jan, so you’ve got me.’ I smiled encouragingly, trying to make her smile with me.
‘I want Hannah!’ Jan shouted at me, stamping her good foot and nearly sliding off the commode. I rushed forwards and caught her to make sure she didn’t fall.
‘HOLD ME!’ Shouted Jan down my ear, gripping the collar of my uniform and a good handful of my hair too. ‘HOLD ME UP!’
‘Jan, what do you think I’m doing?!’ I said through gritted teeth, my irritation getting the better of me. ‘Let go of my uniform and I’ll help you back onto the commode.’
She eventually did, with much grumbling and whinging, as if her falling off the commode was somehow all my doing. Once she was settled back on the commode and I had tied my hair up again, she stared at me again and said imperiously,
‘Armchair.’
I thought she meant that her nightclothes were on the armchair and so I went to look.
‘ARMCHAIR!’ She screeched, pointing at it, as if I would understand what she meant by her force of effort.
‘What about the armchair, Jan?’ I said as evenly as I could whilst biting the inside of my cheek. Her lack of basic manners such as saying please and thank you is something which rankles with the entire staff.
‘ARRRRMCHAAAAIR!!!’ Jan shrieked, stabbing her finger towards the armchair again, glaring at me with intense dislike. ‘I WANT HANNAAAAAH!’
‘Look, we’re not getting anywhere here. Do NOT shriek at me like that, you wouldn’t like it if I did it to you.’ I said curtly, my patience wearing thin.
‘ARMCHAIR!’ She shrieked again, completely disregarding everything I said. At this point I had just about had enough of her shrieks, anger and rude orders so I announced to her utter astonishment,
‘I’m going to go away for ten minutes and when I come back I hope we can start again without you shouting at me. You certainly would not like it if I did it to you, so I don’t see why I have to put up with you doing it to me.’
I then gave her the bell and left the room to find the Nurse outside looking at me over her glasses with a small smile. ‘I see you and Jan have locked horns. What was the problem?’
‘She kept shouting 'armchair' – I thought she meant her nightdress was on the chair and when I couldn’t work out what she wanted she began to shriek at me... Hannah told me to leave her for ten minutes when she gets like that as it only goes from bad to worse, and she said we don’t have to put up with it as she is pretty compos mentis and knows what she is doing...’
Despite this, I still felt guilty for losing my temper and walking out. I wondered if that was akin to abuse as I had pretty much abandoned her, albeit with her bell and an assurance that I would come back.
‘Don’t look so anxious; all of the new Carers end up getting into a mess with Jan. Even her own daughter loses her temper with her almost every time she visits. You’re not alone. Hannah is pretty much the only one who can get on with her and that’s because she takes absolutely no nonsense from her.’ The Nurse twinkled at me kindly over her spectacles again. ‘When she says ‘Armchair’ she wants you to hang all her clothes over the back of it. You need two new blue cloths for her wheelchair and to take the old ones to the laundry, same with her knickers. When you go back in go and put the light on immediately and close the curtains. Close the bathroom door... oh, and get the cream out of her bedside drawer for her joints. Make sure she can see you put it back in precisely the same place you got it from. Let her choose her own nightie...’ The Nurse looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘No I think that’s it. Not much to remember. Oh and if she demands that you close the door of the gentleman opposite, tell her that if she doesn’t want to see into his room, she can shut her own door.’
At that moment Jan’s bell went off. Both the Nurse and I looked at it for a moment and then the Nurse said with an encouraging smile,
‘Call if you need me, I’m right next door.’
So I trudged off with a sinking feeling in my stomach as despite what the Nurse had said, I still felt as if my telling her off could be construed in some way as abuse. I felt very exposed and inexperienced; last summer I had had a complaint filed against another Carer (who has since left) and myself and certainly did not what that to happen again. I felt utterly awful when I was told off by the Nurse in Charge as I did not really know what I had done wrong. When I went to apologise to the lady in question, she said I had not done anything wrong, it was the other girl who was very rough and rude but because we were putting her into bed together, the complaint had to be filed against both of us. The fear of reprimand still makes me anxious even today.
Jan eyed me warily as I entered and switched off her bell.
‘Shall we try again Jan?’ I said quietly as I set about closing the curtains and turning on the lamp.
Stony silence.
I placed her clothes on the bed so I didn’t have to keep bending down to retrieve them.
‘Armchair!’ Jan snapped, but with less force than previously. I think I had surprised her somewhat when I felt her to argue with herself.
‘I know Jan. I’m just folding them.’ I said a little tiredly.
The rest of the night time routine passed off without event, apart from when I couldn’t find her cream and she began to lose her temper; disaster was averted when I found it under her handkerchiefs. The kindly Nurse came in to dress the blood blisters on Jan’s legs and we tucked her into bed.
‘Thank you.’ Jan said, looking at me. I could not help my eyebrow flicking up in surprise but she seemed to mean it.
‘That’s ok Jan. Night.’
The Nurse and I left, switching off the light and leaving the door open as she likes it. Five minutes later, her bell went. The Nurse went to see what she wanted as I tidied the sluice and piled the bedpans and commode pots. I kept one ear open in case I could hear what Jan wanted.
‘DOOR!’ I heard the faint screech echoing down the corridor.
‘Jan, if you don’t want to see into his room, ask us to shut your door. If he wants his door open, he can have it open!’ I heard the Nurse’s voice grow a little louder as she left Jan’s room.
‘DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR! DOOR!’
‘I said NO. I am NOT asking him to shut his door as he has the freedom to have his door open if he wants to. I will, however, shut yours if you want me to.’
Stony Silence.
‘What’s it to be Jan?’
Something mumbled which I could not understand.
‘Goodnight then.’
I stuck my head out of the door as the Nurse passed to go to the Nurses Station. ‘She wanted his door closing then?’
‘Yeah.’ She twinkled at me over her glasses again and winked. ‘Just got to give her as good as you get.’
However, despite all this, and the possibility of her mental health being compromised by her stroke, she is one of the most argumentative, difficult people I have EVER met. Take Tuesday evening for example; I was asked to get her ready for bed. The Nurse twinkled at me over her glasses and said in a slightly pointed way that she would just be next door getting Miss King ready for bed and changing her dressings should I need her.
I toileted her first and that went well as I had done it before and knew the way she liked things to be done. The trouble started when I began to get her undressed. She first kept saying ‘down, down DOWN!’ when she really meant for me to pull her knickers up until she had undressed and changed her top half. I appreciated this was obviously confusion as a result of her stroke and just smiled and apologised for misunderstanding. I then took her shoes and stockings off; as directed I put her shoes in the wardrobe at the back.
‘Back?’ Jan said, narrowing her eyes at me.
‘Yes, I put them at the back Jan.’
‘Hmph. Cloths.’ She said next, pointing at the two blue cloths on her wheelchair. She does not like wearing a pad and so the cloths are a precautionary measure. I picked them up and put them on the floor, thinking she would want them washed.
‘No!’ Jan snapped at me, hitting me on the arm with her good hand. I looked at her in surprise; I had not expected to be hit for something as small as that.
‘Jan, do not hit me, please. How would you like it if I turned around and hit you for no good reason?’ I said firmly as I picked up the blue cloths off the floor and held them out to her.
‘NO!’ She screeched at me hitting the cloths out of my hand and scratching me – I’m not sure if it was intentional or not.
‘Jan! You’re not helping matters by hitting, scratching and shouting at me. Please don’t do it again. We get on much better if you just point at what you want me to put away.’ I said quietly, trying to calm her down and temper my irritation.
‘Where is Hannah?! Where?!’ Jan glared at me with unveiled dislike as I picked up the blue cloths again and put them near the door. Hannah is another of the Carer’s who Jan has taken a liking to.
‘Hannah is on her break, Jan, so you’ve got me.’ I smiled encouragingly, trying to make her smile with me.
‘I want Hannah!’ Jan shouted at me, stamping her good foot and nearly sliding off the commode. I rushed forwards and caught her to make sure she didn’t fall.
‘HOLD ME!’ Shouted Jan down my ear, gripping the collar of my uniform and a good handful of my hair too. ‘HOLD ME UP!’
‘Jan, what do you think I’m doing?!’ I said through gritted teeth, my irritation getting the better of me. ‘Let go of my uniform and I’ll help you back onto the commode.’
She eventually did, with much grumbling and whinging, as if her falling off the commode was somehow all my doing. Once she was settled back on the commode and I had tied my hair up again, she stared at me again and said imperiously,
‘Armchair.’
I thought she meant that her nightclothes were on the armchair and so I went to look.
‘ARMCHAIR!’ She screeched, pointing at it, as if I would understand what she meant by her force of effort.
‘What about the armchair, Jan?’ I said as evenly as I could whilst biting the inside of my cheek. Her lack of basic manners such as saying please and thank you is something which rankles with the entire staff.
‘ARRRRMCHAAAAIR!!!’ Jan shrieked, stabbing her finger towards the armchair again, glaring at me with intense dislike. ‘I WANT HANNAAAAAH!’
‘Look, we’re not getting anywhere here. Do NOT shriek at me like that, you wouldn’t like it if I did it to you.’ I said curtly, my patience wearing thin.
‘ARMCHAIR!’ She shrieked again, completely disregarding everything I said. At this point I had just about had enough of her shrieks, anger and rude orders so I announced to her utter astonishment,
‘I’m going to go away for ten minutes and when I come back I hope we can start again without you shouting at me. You certainly would not like it if I did it to you, so I don’t see why I have to put up with you doing it to me.’
I then gave her the bell and left the room to find the Nurse outside looking at me over her glasses with a small smile. ‘I see you and Jan have locked horns. What was the problem?’
‘She kept shouting 'armchair' – I thought she meant her nightdress was on the chair and when I couldn’t work out what she wanted she began to shriek at me... Hannah told me to leave her for ten minutes when she gets like that as it only goes from bad to worse, and she said we don’t have to put up with it as she is pretty compos mentis and knows what she is doing...’
Despite this, I still felt guilty for losing my temper and walking out. I wondered if that was akin to abuse as I had pretty much abandoned her, albeit with her bell and an assurance that I would come back.
‘Don’t look so anxious; all of the new Carers end up getting into a mess with Jan. Even her own daughter loses her temper with her almost every time she visits. You’re not alone. Hannah is pretty much the only one who can get on with her and that’s because she takes absolutely no nonsense from her.’ The Nurse twinkled at me kindly over her spectacles again. ‘When she says ‘Armchair’ she wants you to hang all her clothes over the back of it. You need two new blue cloths for her wheelchair and to take the old ones to the laundry, same with her knickers. When you go back in go and put the light on immediately and close the curtains. Close the bathroom door... oh, and get the cream out of her bedside drawer for her joints. Make sure she can see you put it back in precisely the same place you got it from. Let her choose her own nightie...’ The Nurse looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘No I think that’s it. Not much to remember. Oh and if she demands that you close the door of the gentleman opposite, tell her that if she doesn’t want to see into his room, she can shut her own door.’
At that moment Jan’s bell went off. Both the Nurse and I looked at it for a moment and then the Nurse said with an encouraging smile,
‘Call if you need me, I’m right next door.’
So I trudged off with a sinking feeling in my stomach as despite what the Nurse had said, I still felt as if my telling her off could be construed in some way as abuse. I felt very exposed and inexperienced; last summer I had had a complaint filed against another Carer (who has since left) and myself and certainly did not what that to happen again. I felt utterly awful when I was told off by the Nurse in Charge as I did not really know what I had done wrong. When I went to apologise to the lady in question, she said I had not done anything wrong, it was the other girl who was very rough and rude but because we were putting her into bed together, the complaint had to be filed against both of us. The fear of reprimand still makes me anxious even today.
Jan eyed me warily as I entered and switched off her bell.
‘Shall we try again Jan?’ I said quietly as I set about closing the curtains and turning on the lamp.
Stony silence.
I placed her clothes on the bed so I didn’t have to keep bending down to retrieve them.
‘Armchair!’ Jan snapped, but with less force than previously. I think I had surprised her somewhat when I felt her to argue with herself.
‘I know Jan. I’m just folding them.’ I said a little tiredly.
The rest of the night time routine passed off without event, apart from when I couldn’t find her cream and she began to lose her temper; disaster was averted when I found it under her handkerchiefs. The kindly Nurse came in to dress the blood blisters on Jan’s legs and we tucked her into bed.
‘Thank you.’ Jan said, looking at me. I could not help my eyebrow flicking up in surprise but she seemed to mean it.
‘That’s ok Jan. Night.’
The Nurse and I left, switching off the light and leaving the door open as she likes it. Five minutes later, her bell went. The Nurse went to see what she wanted as I tidied the sluice and piled the bedpans and commode pots. I kept one ear open in case I could hear what Jan wanted.
‘DOOR!’ I heard the faint screech echoing down the corridor.
‘Jan, if you don’t want to see into his room, ask us to shut your door. If he wants his door open, he can have it open!’ I heard the Nurse’s voice grow a little louder as she left Jan’s room.
‘DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR! DOOR!’
‘I said NO. I am NOT asking him to shut his door as he has the freedom to have his door open if he wants to. I will, however, shut yours if you want me to.’
Stony Silence.
‘What’s it to be Jan?’
Something mumbled which I could not understand.
‘Goodnight then.’
I stuck my head out of the door as the Nurse passed to go to the Nurses Station. ‘She wanted his door closing then?’
‘Yeah.’ She twinkled at me over her glasses again and winked. ‘Just got to give her as good as you get.’
Monday, 9 June 2008
Memories
Here are a few memories from the time I worked at the Care Home for about 2 months last summer:
#1. The man in Room 40 had Stage 1 diabetes. He was bedridden and as a result, had the most awful ulcer on the heel of his right foot. The smell is unforgettable - once you've smelt rotting flesh, you never ever forget it. Even now when I walk into the room of a resident who has a bedsore I can tell without being told. The first time I walked into his room I was nearly sick - you may think I am overreacting and was offensive to the poor man but I am honestly not and i was not. I have a very strong stomach and have been brought up well - it was just an instinctive reaction to the smell which assaulted me as I entered his room. The GP came about 3 weeks after I arrived to have a look at it before deciding that he should be taken to hospital. I caught a glimpse as he took the dressing off; it was green and grey. Gangrene was setting in, if it hadn't already. He didn't return from the hospital.
#2. Hilda was a looker when she was young - the photographs on the walls show a dark-haired woman with pouty full lips and a stunning figure. She looked as if she may have had some Romany blood in her, so dark was her hair and so exotic her looks. The woman wriggling around in the bed beside me as I tried to comb the knots from her wiry salt and pepper hair beared very little resemblance to the woman in the photos. Her skin, once smooth and golden, was wrinkled and liver-spotted, crabbed with age. Her lovely figure had gone to leave a skinny frame covered in muscle from her constant moving. Her nails are yellowed and long; she wouldn't let me cut them. Hilda had severe dementia, too severe for a residential home where we couldn't always keep an eye on her when she was in her chair or bed. She took a tumble once or twice, luckily not out of bed as far as I know. Her constant shouting and chattering annoyed the other residents. But her eyes, the eyes which were dark and gentle in the photographs, were still glowing; it somehow made the hits and kicks a little less painful. I'll always remember her eyes.
#3. Marjorie had had numerous strokes and was a result was twisted and cramped up. She snapped her jaw together constantly. Feeding her was a nightmare as one false move meant she clamped the teaspoon between her gums (her front teeth on the top and bottom were gone) and blood began to pour. It took good timing and a lot of perseverence to ensure you didn't hurt her. One time I misjudged where the teaspoon was and blood went everywhere. As I looked at Marjorie's face I could see the pain there but also her inability to express it. I said I was very sorry and went to get the Duty Nurse who said it would heal quickly and not to worry. After that I was wary of feeding Marjorie in case she was fearful of me or I hurt her again. But a few days later I had to feed her as we had an admission and all the more experienced HCAs and SHCAs were tied up weighing them and so on. It was a surprise to find that when I chattered whilst feeding her, she responded to my rhetorical question about opening the window with a loud, somewhat uncontrolled but definitely coherent 'Yes'. I had been told that there is often still a 'person' inside of a stroke victim but this was the first time I had been shown it. It made me rather ashamed of my attitude before and since then I have tried to talk with victims of this horrible affliction or put music or the radio on for them to listen to.
#4. June had and still has a voice which makes me giggle, rude and unprofessional as that is. It reminds me of Pinky and Perky mixed with the Crazy Frog. I never really found it particulalry amusing until Kay and I had to bath her one day. June hates having a bath, having her hair washed and especially hates having her nails cut - she has quite severe dementia and is bedridden as well as confused. On the day in question she was causing a right fuss, squeaking and shouting at us as we soaped and rinsed her. Then I had to wash her hair - I told her I was going to do lather her hair when suddenly water began flying everywhere as June managed to pull the shower attachment from Kay's hand and began swinging it around her head like a lasso. Any attempt to get close to her meant getting drenched or a bash on the head. Her high squeaky yelps of 'No! No! No!' merely added to the scene of Kay and I ducking and diving as we tried to grab the showerhead. The cherry on top came when Matron, who was in her office with the door shut came to see what all the ruckus was about and was greeted when she entered the bathroom with a huge shriek of horror from June and shower of water in the face. She might have dementia but she is a good aim, our June... The memory of this makes me giggle whenever I heard her voice.
More memories to come at a later date!
'Til next time,
Vienna xxx
#1. The man in Room 40 had Stage 1 diabetes. He was bedridden and as a result, had the most awful ulcer on the heel of his right foot. The smell is unforgettable - once you've smelt rotting flesh, you never ever forget it. Even now when I walk into the room of a resident who has a bedsore I can tell without being told. The first time I walked into his room I was nearly sick - you may think I am overreacting and was offensive to the poor man but I am honestly not and i was not. I have a very strong stomach and have been brought up well - it was just an instinctive reaction to the smell which assaulted me as I entered his room. The GP came about 3 weeks after I arrived to have a look at it before deciding that he should be taken to hospital. I caught a glimpse as he took the dressing off; it was green and grey. Gangrene was setting in, if it hadn't already. He didn't return from the hospital.
#2. Hilda was a looker when she was young - the photographs on the walls show a dark-haired woman with pouty full lips and a stunning figure. She looked as if she may have had some Romany blood in her, so dark was her hair and so exotic her looks. The woman wriggling around in the bed beside me as I tried to comb the knots from her wiry salt and pepper hair beared very little resemblance to the woman in the photos. Her skin, once smooth and golden, was wrinkled and liver-spotted, crabbed with age. Her lovely figure had gone to leave a skinny frame covered in muscle from her constant moving. Her nails are yellowed and long; she wouldn't let me cut them. Hilda had severe dementia, too severe for a residential home where we couldn't always keep an eye on her when she was in her chair or bed. She took a tumble once or twice, luckily not out of bed as far as I know. Her constant shouting and chattering annoyed the other residents. But her eyes, the eyes which were dark and gentle in the photographs, were still glowing; it somehow made the hits and kicks a little less painful. I'll always remember her eyes.
#3. Marjorie had had numerous strokes and was a result was twisted and cramped up. She snapped her jaw together constantly. Feeding her was a nightmare as one false move meant she clamped the teaspoon between her gums (her front teeth on the top and bottom were gone) and blood began to pour. It took good timing and a lot of perseverence to ensure you didn't hurt her. One time I misjudged where the teaspoon was and blood went everywhere. As I looked at Marjorie's face I could see the pain there but also her inability to express it. I said I was very sorry and went to get the Duty Nurse who said it would heal quickly and not to worry. After that I was wary of feeding Marjorie in case she was fearful of me or I hurt her again. But a few days later I had to feed her as we had an admission and all the more experienced HCAs and SHCAs were tied up weighing them and so on. It was a surprise to find that when I chattered whilst feeding her, she responded to my rhetorical question about opening the window with a loud, somewhat uncontrolled but definitely coherent 'Yes'. I had been told that there is often still a 'person' inside of a stroke victim but this was the first time I had been shown it. It made me rather ashamed of my attitude before and since then I have tried to talk with victims of this horrible affliction or put music or the radio on for them to listen to.
#4. June had and still has a voice which makes me giggle, rude and unprofessional as that is. It reminds me of Pinky and Perky mixed with the Crazy Frog. I never really found it particulalry amusing until Kay and I had to bath her one day. June hates having a bath, having her hair washed and especially hates having her nails cut - she has quite severe dementia and is bedridden as well as confused. On the day in question she was causing a right fuss, squeaking and shouting at us as we soaped and rinsed her. Then I had to wash her hair - I told her I was going to do lather her hair when suddenly water began flying everywhere as June managed to pull the shower attachment from Kay's hand and began swinging it around her head like a lasso. Any attempt to get close to her meant getting drenched or a bash on the head. Her high squeaky yelps of 'No! No! No!' merely added to the scene of Kay and I ducking and diving as we tried to grab the showerhead. The cherry on top came when Matron, who was in her office with the door shut came to see what all the ruckus was about and was greeted when she entered the bathroom with a huge shriek of horror from June and shower of water in the face. She might have dementia but she is a good aim, our June... The memory of this makes me giggle whenever I heard her voice.
More memories to come at a later date!
'Til next time,
Vienna xxx
Thursday, 5 June 2008
Back to Work!
I returned to the Care Home as a Healthcare Assistant yesterday after a break of about 9 months and was surprised at how much everything had changed. Naturally some of the residents and patients had passed on as is only natural but it doesn’t stop you from missing them, especially the ones who were understanding and helpful when a completely new Healthcare Assistant (HCA or Grey) was thrust into their midst with very little idea of what they were doing. There are also changes to the staff, most of which are welcome. I felt quite out of place last summer as I was one of the youngest members of staff there but as the Matron has taken on 2 or 3 new HCA’s of about my age, some of whom I knew from school, I feel already as if I’m settling in once again. Also some of the more unfeeling and careless HCAs have moved on or been told to move on.
My blog about the Care Home might turn out to be a series of thoughts and memories from throughout my working day or from over a few days if it is very quiet. Firstly I’ll explain something of the layout of the Care Home, the hierarchy, and what I and the other HCA’s do.
The Care Home is a ‘U’ shape, has two floors, a nice, sheltered courtyard and two or three bungalows for those who are semi-residential. The top floor is an almost exact replica of the ground floor bar the kitchen, laundry and staff room meaning there are more rooms upstairs than downstairs. When I talk of where I am working, ‘Upstairs’ means I am working with the nursing care residents and those with more serious health issues and working ‘Downstairs’ means I am working with those who need residential care.
The dining rooms are at one end of the ‘U’, at the first corner are disabled toilets, equidistant on the bottom of the ‘U’ are two bathrooms, at the second corner is a sun lounge with comfy chairs and a television (and a budgie!) and then at the other end of the ‘U’ are the Suites which usually contain two beds so couples can sleep in the same room. The manner in which I have described this suggests that the Care Home has been well designed and on the face of it, it seems to be so. However, the architect had obviously never been in a care home before or he would have doubled the width of every corridor and made the majority of the rooms bar the Suites at least half as big again. The rooms are nowhere near large enough to fit in a bed, two HCA’s, a comfy chair, wardrobe AND a hoist (and sometimes a Nurse if they are dressing bedsores) so the hoist has to be left in the corridor where it takes up the entire width of the corridor and any passing resident/Nurse/HCA/Visitor risks cracking their nut on it when they squeeze by until we have strapped the resident into the harness. All hell breaks loose when you’ve got someone trying to do the tea trolley, the Housekeeping staff trying to vacuum and people to hoist into or out of bed.
To add to the fun and games, most of the beds have air-flow mattresses and lifting mechanisms which mean that there is all manner of cables and boxes underneath the beds; getting the hoists under the beds without hitting one of these requires precision steering and timing. If you do happen to hit on one of these which is extremely likely given the circumstances, you either reverse, get down on your hands and knees and guide the hoist in or if you think you’ve only come up against cables, give the hoist a hefty shove and hope there isn’t the crunch of shattering plastic as you hit the lifting mechanism and that your partner HCA is strong enough to stop the resident from crashing into the wardrobe or wall. This sounds extremely haphazard and dangerous for the residents, some of whom have very delicate skin and bruise easily; that would be because it is.
As for the hierarchy, that is quite simple to explain. Matron runs the Care Home from the top; she or he is usually a Nurse with a wealth of experience under their belt. Then there is the Nursing staff – they are also Nurses but possibly not as experienced as Matron. I believe (I’m not certain as I’ve never shadowed one throughout the day) they dole out the high dosage morphine etcetera (I think they can also prescribe?), change dressings and obviously are extremely useful should a patient take a turn for the worse. If they are the type, they also get stuck in with the Senior Healthcare Assistants (SHCAs or Reds) and HCAs. Then we have the SHCAs who direct us gofers, give out prescriptions and organise the general running of the Care Home. The HCAs do everything that a resident cannot manage – wash them, dress them, feed them if they cannot manage, toilet them and so on.
The last Matron we had was both loved and hated by the staff as she was both strict (sometimes too strict) and also a barrel of laughs. I liked her a lot; she was a tough woman who brooked no nonsense and wasn’t above getting her uniform out and getting stuck in but she could also lose her temper quickly and point the finger easily. That said she would apologise when things had calmed down but naturally it didn’t always settle the ruffled feather of the staff who could remember the days of the previous Matron who, from what I can gather, couldn’t really be bothered and felt hard done by when they were given a dressing down by the new Matron. It shouldn’t have caused a problem but I believe the fact that she was black occasionally didn’t help. This area is predominantly white and anyone of another ethnicity who moves in causes a not always pleasant stir.
She moved onto another Care Home to work as a sort of ‘trouble-shooter’ after I left as she had done a such good job at my Care Home. The new Matron seems quite similar to the last one; strict, smart and not averse to getting stuck in. I like her initially although she needs to work on how she talks to people on the phone!
I’ve written much more than I intended and I doubt much of it will be of interest but I thought it might be a good idea to clear up some of the basic aspects of my work and workplace before I begin to write about what actually happens.
‘Til next time,
Vienna
My blog about the Care Home might turn out to be a series of thoughts and memories from throughout my working day or from over a few days if it is very quiet. Firstly I’ll explain something of the layout of the Care Home, the hierarchy, and what I and the other HCA’s do.
The Care Home is a ‘U’ shape, has two floors, a nice, sheltered courtyard and two or three bungalows for those who are semi-residential. The top floor is an almost exact replica of the ground floor bar the kitchen, laundry and staff room meaning there are more rooms upstairs than downstairs. When I talk of where I am working, ‘Upstairs’ means I am working with the nursing care residents and those with more serious health issues and working ‘Downstairs’ means I am working with those who need residential care.
The dining rooms are at one end of the ‘U’, at the first corner are disabled toilets, equidistant on the bottom of the ‘U’ are two bathrooms, at the second corner is a sun lounge with comfy chairs and a television (and a budgie!) and then at the other end of the ‘U’ are the Suites which usually contain two beds so couples can sleep in the same room. The manner in which I have described this suggests that the Care Home has been well designed and on the face of it, it seems to be so. However, the architect had obviously never been in a care home before or he would have doubled the width of every corridor and made the majority of the rooms bar the Suites at least half as big again. The rooms are nowhere near large enough to fit in a bed, two HCA’s, a comfy chair, wardrobe AND a hoist (and sometimes a Nurse if they are dressing bedsores) so the hoist has to be left in the corridor where it takes up the entire width of the corridor and any passing resident/Nurse/HCA/Visitor risks cracking their nut on it when they squeeze by until we have strapped the resident into the harness. All hell breaks loose when you’ve got someone trying to do the tea trolley, the Housekeeping staff trying to vacuum and people to hoist into or out of bed.
To add to the fun and games, most of the beds have air-flow mattresses and lifting mechanisms which mean that there is all manner of cables and boxes underneath the beds; getting the hoists under the beds without hitting one of these requires precision steering and timing. If you do happen to hit on one of these which is extremely likely given the circumstances, you either reverse, get down on your hands and knees and guide the hoist in or if you think you’ve only come up against cables, give the hoist a hefty shove and hope there isn’t the crunch of shattering plastic as you hit the lifting mechanism and that your partner HCA is strong enough to stop the resident from crashing into the wardrobe or wall. This sounds extremely haphazard and dangerous for the residents, some of whom have very delicate skin and bruise easily; that would be because it is.
As for the hierarchy, that is quite simple to explain. Matron runs the Care Home from the top; she or he is usually a Nurse with a wealth of experience under their belt. Then there is the Nursing staff – they are also Nurses but possibly not as experienced as Matron. I believe (I’m not certain as I’ve never shadowed one throughout the day) they dole out the high dosage morphine etcetera (I think they can also prescribe?), change dressings and obviously are extremely useful should a patient take a turn for the worse. If they are the type, they also get stuck in with the Senior Healthcare Assistants (SHCAs or Reds) and HCAs. Then we have the SHCAs who direct us gofers, give out prescriptions and organise the general running of the Care Home. The HCAs do everything that a resident cannot manage – wash them, dress them, feed them if they cannot manage, toilet them and so on.
The last Matron we had was both loved and hated by the staff as she was both strict (sometimes too strict) and also a barrel of laughs. I liked her a lot; she was a tough woman who brooked no nonsense and wasn’t above getting her uniform out and getting stuck in but she could also lose her temper quickly and point the finger easily. That said she would apologise when things had calmed down but naturally it didn’t always settle the ruffled feather of the staff who could remember the days of the previous Matron who, from what I can gather, couldn’t really be bothered and felt hard done by when they were given a dressing down by the new Matron. It shouldn’t have caused a problem but I believe the fact that she was black occasionally didn’t help. This area is predominantly white and anyone of another ethnicity who moves in causes a not always pleasant stir.
She moved onto another Care Home to work as a sort of ‘trouble-shooter’ after I left as she had done a such good job at my Care Home. The new Matron seems quite similar to the last one; strict, smart and not averse to getting stuck in. I like her initially although she needs to work on how she talks to people on the phone!
I’ve written much more than I intended and I doubt much of it will be of interest but I thought it might be a good idea to clear up some of the basic aspects of my work and workplace before I begin to write about what actually happens.
‘Til next time,
Vienna
Saturday, 17 May 2008
Editing out nonsensical rubbish...
I've decided that I've taken to posting inane drivel and so I'm recifying the problem! I'll start posting more interesting and relevant things soon. I start work at the Care Home again tomorrow so I may post something about that in the near future.
The blossom tree in our garden at University is looking beautiful at the moment :)
'Til next time,
Vienna xxx
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
Wo Zhonggou hua shi bu
Which means, despite the lack of accents, "my chinese is bad" and just how bad it is was demonstrated today in my Mandarin Chinese written exam (As well as German I do 20 credits of Ab Initio Chinese - it's compulsory for Single Honours students to do 20 credits in a subject outside of their main subject area). For those who aren't sure about the manner in which Mandarin Chinese is composed:
- there are the characters, the ones people have made into tattoos etc. These are extremely hard to remember accurately as each character is made up of oraticals of which there are too many to remember. There is the symbols for a woman, a man, a knife, a fire etc... but these do not always refer to the actual meaning of the character as each character can have various meanings. Many are so similar that it is very hard to differentiate between them. Apparently if you learn 500 of the 2000 characters, you'll be alright.
- then there is the anglicised version of the character known as 'pinyin'. Each character has an anglicised word attributed to it, which, like the characters, may have many different meanings.
- There are five different accents within the language: The raised tone, the low tone, the neutral tone, the undulating tone and the one I can never remember which looks like a German umlaut (not often used). These aren't the official names for the accents by the way. Each accent can give the word a different meaning. For example, 'ma' with a raised tone at the end of a sentence indicates a question. A neutral tone indicates 'mother'.
So perhaps you can appreciate how confusing and difficult Chinese has the potential to be. And, good lord above, did we suddenly appreciate today just how confusing and difficult it is. I opened my exam paper to give it a read through and truly thought for a moment I had been given the wrong one. We had been informed that we needed to learn about 20 common characters, which I had, and of which about 3 were of use. I REALLY struggled, to the point that I left the examination room with a tension headache and a sinking feeling in my stomach. Luckily my speaking exam and the continuous assessments had gone well so all hope is not lost. However, my entire average will be dragged down by this. I'm feeling really quite annoyed and forlorn as I feel as if I should have revised harder and we were led to believe it wouldn't be as hard as that.
Oh dear.
I'm now worrying about all my other exams and it is not a nice feeling. I just know that this particular exam couldn't have gone much worse and I'm not in a state of mild panic about the others I have already done and have yet to do.
Eeek.
You may not see me for the next week as I'll have my nose to the grindstone so hard that it'll be red and raw by the end.
Zai qian
Vienna xxx
Saturday, 3 May 2008
Vienna waits for you...
Slow down, you crazy child
you're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart, tell me
Why are you still so afraid?
Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You'd better cool it off
before you burn it out
You've got so much to do and
Only so many hours in a day
But you know that when the truth is told...
That you can get what you want
or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even
Get halfway through
When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?
So... welcome. A pretentious start but it is fitting, I think. I am a second year Student of German at the University of B. and will be spending my compulsory Year Abroad (henceforth refered to as 'Year Abroad') in Vienna, Austria, hence the title of this blog, post and the naff Billy Joel reference at the start of the post.
I am going to attempt to add to this blog frequently as I hope to use it as a sort of diary of my (mis)adventures whilst abroad. I'd like to look back and reminisce! If it is useful to any other students planning their year abroad next year, so much the better :o)
I probably wont update much over the next few months (until September when I fly out to attend their Language Course) bar whining about paperwork, my lack of language skills and how unbelieveably excited I am about it all. You may want to skim read for a few weeks. You have been warned.
Until next time, Auf Wiedersehen...
you're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart, tell me
Why are you still so afraid?
Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You'd better cool it off
before you burn it out
You've got so much to do and
Only so many hours in a day
But you know that when the truth is told...
That you can get what you want
or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even
Get halfway through
When will you realize, Vienna waits for you?
So... welcome. A pretentious start but it is fitting, I think. I am a second year Student of German at the University of B. and will be spending my compulsory Year Abroad (henceforth refered to as 'Year Abroad') in Vienna, Austria, hence the title of this blog, post and the naff Billy Joel reference at the start of the post.
I am going to attempt to add to this blog frequently as I hope to use it as a sort of diary of my (mis)adventures whilst abroad. I'd like to look back and reminisce! If it is useful to any other students planning their year abroad next year, so much the better :o)
I probably wont update much over the next few months (until September when I fly out to attend their Language Course) bar whining about paperwork, my lack of language skills and how unbelieveably excited I am about it all. You may want to skim read for a few weeks. You have been warned.
Until next time, Auf Wiedersehen...
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