Nibi's 'shit on own face' story reminds me
that everyone who works in care or nursing eventually gets covered in something. Blood's the least of our worries - looks sort of heroic. Shit'n'sick, on the other hand, just invite derision.

On my first day in a new job, I was helping to change some particularly messy shit-up bed sheets, in my lovely crisp white tunic.

I was hoping not to have to wash it right away, maybe wear it for another day, but that idea was scuppered when I got home and noticed the huge streak of diarrhoea covering half my back. Bastards'd let me walk around all day like that.

Another day, I noticed that the curtains had been drawn for a long time around a bed. Looking inside, I found my mate stood beside the bed, covered in sick, next an obviously dead woman propped up on pillows.

Mate had drawn the curtains as the patient felt sick: the patient had then turned towards her, vomited all over her and suddenly died, and the call bell was broken so Mate'd had to stand there until someone came by.

I collapsed on the bed, trying hard to stop myself from both laughing hysterically (other patients were listening) and peeing my pants.
Mate had to wait, indignantly, for quite a while next to the corpse until I was composed enough to fetch her a towel to wipe herself down enough for a dignified exit.

Another time, the same mate and I were getting an elderly lady ready for bed. She said to Mate, 'Would you pop this in the fridge for me, please?' and passed her a KitKat wrapper.

Mate said 'Of course!', took it and looked - it was a TURD. She shrieked 'It's a turd!' and started waving it around, looking for somewhere to dump it.

I was by then of course hanging cross-legged onto the sink in the corner. No help whatever.

I could go on, but it's teatime.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Wed 27 Jan 2010, 19:26, Reply)