Well, I knew it wouldn’t last. I can’t stop myself (I think it is too far embedded into my genes), I am going to have to moan about the weather! Yes, I should be grateful that we have seen quite a bit of sunshine, and that it is lovely and hot. The problem is, we are not used to it!
Yesterday was the hottest day of the year so far here in good old England, but luckily I didn’t have to work so could wear what I wanted and also do what I wanted. Last night, however, the temperature did not decrease by much and it was stifling hot and muggy. I ended up trying to sleep with the fan whirring on full blast and an ice pack! Bearing in mind, I am also at ‘that age’ when ladies get a little more flushed at certain times! I thought I was going to spontaneously combust!
This morning dawns another hot day, but cooler as it was only 28 Celsius (about 82 Fahrenheit). I reluctantly donned my thick cotton uniform and tights, plus clumpy shoes and bloody stupid belt to go to work.
As I walked onto the ward the heat hit me like a slap in the face! Great, putting on latex gloves and plastic aprons is going to make a lovely addition to my already boiled body (thank God the patients allowed us to open the windows so we could let a bit of (hot) air in!
Luckily for me I had to go off the ward for my annual top up resus training, in a room with air conditioning! Bliss! Well it was for 5 minutes until we had to pummel the dummy back to life with frantic CPR. Pretty exhausting stuff.
Anyway, I hot-foot it back to the ward for another face smacking dose of heat, only to discover the boss wants to take some photos as we all have to have our pictures up on the board outside the ward (presumably to terrify those not too ill to care)! At first I was a bit put out as I thought it would be better off being taken first thing in the morning but in this heat it makes no difference anyway.
So imagine this, a relative comes to see their poorly elderly relative, decides to have a look at which staff may happen to be looking after them, and sees my picture. Ruddy faced, ghastly grimace (we were told to smile) hair plastered to the head, and sweat dripping. Professional is not the word!
You’d run a bloody mile, talking your relative with you!