tie an orange ribbon round the old oak tree

we’re gearing up to celebrate Harmony Day at the Gimcrack tomorrow. the D.O.N. took some great photos of patients with staff to put up on the notice board and if it wasn’t for that damned Privacy Act I could have shared the snap of Barnacle Bill (104 years old and still a functioning Justice of the Peace)  arm in arm with the punk rocker who works in the kitchen. you’ll just have to use your imagination.

 we’re having a special morning tea with cakes from as many different countries as possible and have stocked up on a good supply of orange lapel ribbons for inmates and visitors who want to participate in the shenanigans.

some patients have already been sporting their colours in a variety of ways. perhaps the most innovative of these was BP who scooped up three precut ribbons as he strolled past my desk. BP has been with us for about four months now and has not given me cause to blog about him before. but it’s the dark horse you have to watch out for……

today at lunchtime he ambled out of the lift and headed towards the centre of the dining room. once there, he loosened grip on his striped pyjama pants letting them fall to the floor. all three ribbons had been tied together and wound round the base of his more or less erect penis (the man is 83)  in the manner of a cock ring.

his “Happy Harmony Day” announcement only jolted a few inmates out of their stupor. they looked up long enough to check whether it meant more food or drugs then most resumed dribbling into their soup. a beribboned boner apparently doesn’t generate much interest when you wander into the designated dementia unit by mistake.

unfortunately nursemyra wasn’t in attendance during this impromptu display. but  Guiseppe was. and my trusty informant tells me that Dr. Do-Able can rely on backup if tomorrow’s Harmony Day celebrations require it

the romance of the battlefield

most of you non medical folk know the basic mechanism of conception right? erect male loads his gun, inserts the barrel in nearby female and fires off a round sending several hundred million soldiers into the battlefield.

but not all enlistees are equal. first we have the blockers, sluggardly little fellows with coiled tails and large heads, maybe even 3 or 4 heads. their job is simply to block the path taken by any other man’s sperm who may try and slip past. such things do happen. not at the Gimcrack of course.

the comparatively athletic killer sperm have a more lethal mission. they are not content to laze around the cervical couch like bags of sand. instead they roam the dance floor searching for infiltrators. any other sperm they encounter better be from the same gun or it’s open warfare. with head to head combat.

the generals of this army are of course the egg-getters. they do look very similar to their killing cousins but their heads are slightly more swollen. rank tends to have that effect. there’s only about 1 million of the egg-getters in any round of ammmunition. together with the killers they pour through the defences in waves, heading straight for the oviduct and cervical crypts where they settle down to await developments.

if the aforementioned female releases an egg anytime in the next few days our patient 4 star General makes his move. 9 months later you get a baby.

unless you’re a member of the good doctor’s fan club. there’s sex, violence and romance aplenty at the gimcrack but we’ve yet to celebrate a geriatric pregnancy. time will tell.

ambergrease

nursemyra thought she would stay home and cook tonight. I was very keen to make a rice pudding but somehow got waylaid.

First take the Guts of a young hog, and wash them very clean

this is the initial instruction in a recipe for ambergris pudding, obviously a popular aphrodisiac in the 16th century that could prove equally so at the Gimcrack. for the jugulaterly challenged among us, Urbain Dubois*  offered a more palatable apple dumpling that could be recreated without the need to unjoint a pig though I’m not sure how adept I’d be at soldering paste.

Yet it was A Learned Dissertation on the Dumpling (its Dignity, Antiquity and Excellence) that finally caught my eye. 18th century dumplings were wrapped around a variety of birds, all prepared in their own special way. Accomplisht Ladies or their servants were instructed to ‘lift that swan, rear that goose, unbrace that mallard, wing that partridge or allay that pheasant’

hmmm… sounds like a lot of work. and how catastrophic might it be if you accidently unbraced the partridge or winged the goose. could your goose still be cooked?

I made a very plain rice pudding with raisins soaked in walnut liquor. it’s aphrodisiacal qualities have yet to be ascertained but thankfully no musk deer were filleted in the process.

* Urbain Dubois? how cool were his parents?

bloodletting devices

my good friend over at the  http://www.tetherdcow.com/  has pointed nursemyra in the direction of the Museum of Questionable Medical Devices, thinking it would be right up my operating alley.

he thought right.

I don’t think I have anything to add.

ahemphasis

nursemyra has been out of the office. the gimcrack likes its staff to be up on all the latest medical procedures so I’ve been out the back of beyond doing a refresher course in advanced senior first aid.

the lecturer was a sombre Scot with a broad burr and a bad case of verbal dyslexia. at first I thought I was just having trouble with her accent when she informed us that the Heineken manoeuver was now out of favour. and when she referred to a popular postprandial chocolate as an after dinner minute… well anyone can make that mistake. they do only take a minute to consume.

but then the discussion veered towards a subject nursemyra is most interested in. Miss Scotland  revealed that an often overlooked sign when a male patient is having a stroke is the presence of an erection. though she didn’t actually say the word ‘erection’ instead referrring to it as suffering from ‘peripism’. maybe this is the moment before priapism sets in?

and if you’re erect before you stroke is that peristroika?

paparazzi ready

I came across an ad for Slimwaist in a magazine today. nursemyra had never heard of this product before but the headline “go from flab to fab in 55 minutes while watching tv” was eye catching enough to make me pause.

Adro, winner of The Biggest Loser 2006 endorses it whole heartedly “it will help you get back to the beach and back into that dress in no time at all”. a fine objective if you’re a woman I suppose but I hope Adro’s not going to be promoting it in a frock.

so how does it work? “it’s as simple as rubbing sunscreen and applying a glad wrap like film then letting your body’s reaction do the rest. In 55 minutes your waist will have shrunk by 1 to 3 centimetres. it works by using a perfect combination of essential oils. their almost magical effect will ease intestinal pressure from the inside, tonify your abdominal muscles and burn fat reserves from below the skin. your friends and your husband need it to look dazzling this summer”

well at $149.00 it’s a steal as for your hard earned cash you receive “the essential oil complex, the slimwaist special gel, an orange texture like skin gel and hypoallergenic film.”  so you rub in some magic oil, tie yourself up in gladwrap and settle down for an hour of The Footy Show. “And Voila your (sic) paparazzi-ready at the beach this summer”

that’s all well and good though it presumes (a) I have a husband and (b) I spend time on the beach waiting for the paparazzi to notice how tonified I am now that my intestinal pressure has been relieved by watching tv.

Adro? I want you to know I’m thinking it over. the gimcrack will get back to you. can we have a discount if we use our own gladwrap?

a well turned ankle

ever since starting this blog I’ve been worried that I’d run out of inmates antics to write about. but every day brings yet another tale to tell. today it’s all about the fashion.

Madame Crazy is still off her tree. for some reason the psychogeriatrician will only administer the antipsychotic injections once a fortnight. hey don’t look at me. I’m just the nurse. you think I wield the power?

so I walk in the front door this morning and what do I see? Madame Crazy wearing 3 baby doll nightdresses, a pair of opaque white pantyhose and brown high heels. the white/brown shoe/stocking combination on a pair of 78 year old legs was the visual equivalent of nails scraping down a blackboard. and three shorty nighties? I can’t even begin to tell you what searing pain that creates behind my eyeballs……

her walking frame produces a repetitive squealing sound as she leans forward, the nighties hiked up at the back. I can’t look. show me blood. show me broken bones. but please don’t show me Madame’s bare naked butt. the two male patients seated outside the elevator have no such qualms. they’ll be in a neck brace by lunchtime if they lean over any further. one of them produces a wolf whistle which turns into a coughing fit that’s starting to look like an angina attack. too much excitement for 9:00 am.

I make a detour into the admin office. there’s a new inmate arriving any minute and I need to collect keys, put some flowers in the room and chocolates on the pillow. Mr. Zee is right on time. he’s an otherwise healthy 82 year old with ankolysing spondylitis which mean he’s bent over in an s shape and can only look me in the eye by turning his head at a peculiar angle. not unlike the angle needed to look up Madame Crazy’s ‘eye’.

I help him with his luggage. for someone moving permanently into a new home, he’s brought a surprisingly small amount. the case unzips, the lid flips open and right on top is a pair of black leather pants. the man is 82 and he wears leather pants.

this is the moment that Madame Crazy chooses to stop near his open door. she’s still leaning forward. he’s still shaped like an s. their eyes lock. and suddenly three is way too many people in this corner of the Gimcrack. nursemyra slips the chocolate back off the pillow and into her pocket. I slink past the leather pants and out into the corridor.

behind me the squeaking resumes as Madame veers right. the last thing I see as the lift doors slide shut is a thick white ankle in a brown stilletto as she steps into room 917.

I don’t think he’ll miss the chocolate…

livestock

crazy old people often share the same obsessions. most of them obsess about money. Either they can’t find their wallets or their money has been stolen or they’re worrying about how to tip the chambermaid because they think they’re living in a hotel instead of a hospital. which would explain why some of them refer to the cleaner as the concierge.

another obsession is food. and the hoarding of food. and the hoarding of utensils to transport food around. which is why nursemyra does periodic room checks when the Food and Beverage Manager (even I think I’m working in a hotel sometimes – it’s catching) Kitchen Supervisor gives me an order for more cutlery.

the usual suspects hide forks in their fridges, spoons in their sporans and knives in their knishes. Tongs get hidden in the toilets. it’s amazing what you unearth when you do a room inspection. Porn, for example (and not just in the men’s rooms). but the biggest problem is fruit.

we serve fresh fruit after every meal and not all of it gets eaten straight away. so decaying apples and pears can be found on quite a few windowsills, usually decorated with 800 or so fruit flies. rotting fruit also attracts nursemyra’s pet hate, monsieur cockroach. of course the Gimcrack is regularly serviced by a licensed pest controller but they don’t enter guest’s suites patient’s rooms unless specifically requested to do so.

on friday I had occasion to call into Mr. Mac’s room. a quick scan revealed no filched cutlery and no mouldering fruit. Mr. Mac was sitting comfortably in his jason recliner, trousers rolled up and ankle deep in a bowl of dried beans. he was rolling the soles of his feet backwards and forwards over the hard pellets, extolling the virtues of this ritual, all part of his keep fit and keep the podiatrist at bay routine.

you know what’s coming next don’t you? heaving a satisfied sigh, Mr. Mac hauls himself out of the Jason and heads for the bathroom. nursemyra leans down to inspect the legumes which appear to be rolling around of their own volition. It’s not often I shriek. then again it’s not often you come across a bowl of toenail clippings, foot fungus, maggots, cockroaches and dried peas.

 Pea and ham soup is definitely OFF the menu.

not a cat post

we adopted a cat for the Gimcrack because the proximity of animals is supposed to be calming. Prince2* is the second such cat. Prince1** only lasted a couple of weeks. he said the job description was misleading and promptly decamped to the Catholics around the road (have I mentioned that the Gimcrack is operated by a religious organisation?) where the patients are more malleable.

It’s not usually nursemyra’s job to feed the livestock but Prince2 kept twining around my legs and loose fur doesn’t look good on fishnets. so I open a pack of Purina and notice he’s on the Advanced Hairball Control variety. this is news to nursemyra so I start reading the fine print. there are pictures on the back of the pack showing underfed, IDEAL and overfed cats (the capitilisation is theirs).

I recognise Prince2 in the last photo and check out his description. “Cat has no waist when viewed from above. Belly is rounded when viewed from the side. Decrease amount you are feeding. After 2 or 3 weeks, compare again. Adjust as necessary.”

If you swap the word “cat” for “transgendered patient X” this description could also apply to the Duc L’Orange. In the 8 weeks that Duc has been with us, we have all grown quite fond of her and her idiosyncracies. I have even stopped wanting to bake her an apple pie*** and not just because it will add to her expanding waistline.

Duc was born a man but thinks of herself as a woman. so she always wears a dress, nail polish and a feminine continence pad (just to help you out here, there are male and female pads and Duc still has male genitalia so her pads are unfortunately not so effective). She also has an enormous protruding belly which, in a dress, has the effect of ensuring she looks full term.

the other day she was in the elevator with one of our more short sighted patients. Duc occasionally has the disconcerting habit of breaking into repetitive moans and she chose the ride from level 9 down to the nurse’s station to indulge in this habit. when the doors parted on level 2 Madame Sight Impaired threw herself at nursemyra shrieking that her companion in the lift was about to give birth.

as a highly qualified medical professional I am reasonably assured this cannot be. but it may be time to add a little Purina to Duc’s diet coz she’s sporting one helluva hairball…

*not his real name

**maybe his real name

***sorry, this linked back to an earlier post which I have deleted

International Restraint Day

As you may recall from my earlier post, Madame Crazy has been spiralling out of control. Nursemyra and staff can take care of themselves but we need to protect the other patients so it’s become necessary to apply some chemical restraint.

Doctor Delicious obtained a guardianship order which came through today so Madame was lured away from the International Women’s Day Morning Tea and into the surgery with the  promise of a passport photograph (she is determined to purchase a ticket to the Canary Islands as soon as she can exchange her kettle and knitting needles for the appropriate wad of cash). This is the way her psychosis is operating at the moment. Hey if you’re going to go crazy, you may as well go the whole hog

Once she realised the jig was up it took four men to restrain her so Doc D. could get the needle in. Three male nurses and the maintenance supervisor drew the lucky straws for this gig. “So how’d it go?” I asked Mr. Maintenance as he exited the surgery.  “She called us all Liberal dogs for holding her down on International Women’s Day and demanded we fetch someone called Sylvia Pankhurst.”

Guess we got that halperidol just in time. We have a State Election happening here in a couple of weeks. I’d like to think that Madame Crazy will be well enough by then to vote against john howard’s teamster like the rest of us enlightened souls.

Otherwise it’s the Canary Islands here we come…