søndag den 7. juli 2013

The final countdown.

The day is finally here...my very last night here in Eastbourne. Now I have an intense day of packing a head of me, I reckon there will be tears and frustrated sounds coming from my room throughout today. It's a day that I've dreaded, but also looked forward to, because it meant that I was close to going home.

So now the question is really; "to leave or not to leave any shoes behind?"

-xoxo-

fredag den 5. juli 2013

At the end of the road.

I cannot believe that I've already been here three months, well, technically my three month anniversary is tomorrow, but today I finished my internship at Eastbourne District General Hospital. Some weeks flew by, while other just stood still - it's been an enriching experience, despite a few bumps in the road, but that is to be expected. 

I feel a wee-bit empty at the moment, I still cannot believe it's over and done with, something that has been so important to me, and something that's always been on my mind...now I can reminisce about it and be reliefed that I made it. That I did it! 

I've seen so many different procedures, got to spend time with specialist nurses and just broaden my horizone. I've honed my communiciation skills, and my clinical practice. I feel very fortunate to have been a member of the staff on Hailsham 4 and on CCU, both wards have been amazing and I've learnt a lot.

One can argue that working only three days one week and two days the other week, would give me a lot of spare time. Well, it has to some extent - but until you have actually worked 12 hour shifts...three days in a row, you don't get to argue at all! I really cannot recommend 12 hour shifts, it's very irresponsible and unlikely that one can stay at his/hers a-game for 12 hours. I think it's easier to "burn out" when you work 12 hour shifts, rather than the 8 hour shifts that I've grown accustomed to back home.

Soon I go home and the question "Wasn't it just awesome?" will arise...and I can honestly say that it was and has been an awesome experience, one that I wouldn't want to be without. You learn a great deal about yourself...all the things you thought you had figured out about your character both professional and personal will be shaken up a bit. It's difficulte to explain what it's like to just put down roots in a comepletely foreign country, where there's only you and your travel buddy, you're really on your own...but that shouldn't be perceived as an obstacle, it'll give you tools and prepare you for similar events in the future.

So my advice is to do it! It's a leap of faith, but most things in life are - the outcome will be amazing and you'll experience so much, in the end it's all worth it, and you can always look back and say that you've done something that was so amazing that it stuck with you forever.

Those were my final words of wisdom - I will make one final blog post, but it's safe to say, that it will be different from this one, seeing that it will be done, not because it's mandetory, but because I feel like it, or I don't really feel like it, but you catch my drift! ;)

-xoxo-


tirsdag den 25. juni 2013

Cardiac Rehab Workout - who needs to exercise after this?

Last Wednesday I got the pleasure of spending time with one of the cardiac rehab nurses, who not only taught me about the diversity in this particular field, but also let me participate with the patients at their weekly workout at the hospital gym.

Cardiac rehabilitaion is offered to a specifc group that involves, people who have cardiac history. This includes MI's, heart failure, post angioplasty, post CABG, post TAVI, post ICD and stable angina, I know there're lot of fancy abbreviations, but if I were to spell 'em out for you, you wouldn't learn anything and besides, google exists for this very purpose!
There are workouts four times a week, split into two categories. There's exercise with moderate intensity twice a week, this is for the "better" patients, they might be slightly younger that you'd expect for people with cardiac history - these are more or so fit enough to endure one hour of moderate intensity exercise. Then there's the low intensity exercise group, which is also twice a week, and the average age in this group would be around 75-80. This was on of the groups that I got the pleasure of participating in.

So I show up for my appointment with the nurse, dressed in scrubs, because I simply couldn't be bothered with putting on actual and comfortable workout clothes. The room is near the physio department, and it's basically one big gym room with everything apart from a treadmill. There are only two ladies in this class, the rest are male. Each of them get a belt that monitors and records their heart rates, and they get their BP's done prior to the exercises. They all have a target heart rate, that they should try to aim for, while they exercise. 
They have a card attached to their clothes that tells them which exercises, they are to do and in what order to do them in. The music is put on and the whistle goes of - now you have two minutes to do whatever is written on your card, then the whistle will sound and then you move on to the next exercise for two minutes, and so forth. I also got a card of my own, my card was identic to one of the other participants, who was this 80 year old gentleman, with whom I bonded with instantly. We would actually compete against each other or so he would say, especially when we did the walking exercise. He'd also refuse to start the exercises until he'd heard the whistle, to preserve his strenght he said, but we both knew better.
So there I was, doing cardiac rehab workout and actually having so much fun, being the semi-old age of 22, I actually broke out a sweat, this was obviously because I was chatting with my old chap and not because I'm slightly out of shape! ;)

-xoxo-

tirsdag den 11. juni 2013

ECG's are my life.

So I'm halfway through my internship on CCU, in three weeks I will have to depart with Cardiology, which has grown on me even more.
I've already seen so many procedures, I've worked in recovery and I've spend time with the cardiac triage nurse. So I'll definitely be able to take a whole lot with me from this amazing experience, which it truely has been on CCU.

My mentor is only a few years older than me, and we're getting along just fine. Apart from the double-team care that we provide, we also find the time to gush and lush over a certain actor from a TV show that we're both obsessed with. However, it's not just fun and giggles all the time, she also finds the time to grill me on ECG's (that's what you get for mouthing off that you already know how to read 'em bloody things!) and teach me different arrhythmias, such as The Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome - you have to look this one up, despite this condition being very serious if it presents itself, it is one heck of a cool syndrome.
I'm so going to be a brain trust on ECG's.

I have yet to follow other specialist nurses, but I still have time for that and more importantly my mentor makes me take the time in order to see as much as possible.
I hope that the following three weeks will be equally as amazing and eduactional as the prior weeks have been. I'm sure I will be grilled more intensively and I look forward to that, especially if one of the subjects is previously mentioned actor and his fab abs.

-xoxo-

søndag den 2. juni 2013

First week after the swap - cliff notes version.

So I've done my first week at the medical ward...I usually make the three dots for dramatic effect and trust me, they're very much needed in this particular post. I was supposed to stay at a medical ward that primarily dealt with cardiac patients, however, my second day in - I was transferred to a Coronary Care Unit, which is only for cardiac patients. To my teacher, who definitely will be reading this, I swear I was not the problem, I did nothing wrong! To the rest of you, suffice to say that the horror stories I'd heard were far more livid than I thought. I will not get into what the problem or actually this should be in plural, since there were multiple problems was/were, since that would be pointless, so I would just say that I'm ecstatic with this transfer and I cannot wait to really throw myself at cardiology and the hunky doctors!

I've spent two days at the CCU and I'm loving it! I've seen several different procedures already and I feel like this could turn into the bestest experience ever! So far I've seen a PCI operation, loop recorders being inserted, several pacemaker operations, one bi-ventricular defibrilator  inserted, one Angio operation and "a live one", which is having a patient brought up to the ward, who was in the middle of a heart attack, so that the PCI was urgent, they don't call them "live ones", I do, they call them "primaries". That particular procedure was amazing, because the other ones are elective, but this one - he came in, they had to clear the schedule and get in there and fix the problem quickly. The patient was a young man, in his early 50s - the surprising part was that he didn't look as if he was in the middle of a heart attack, apparently having a heart attack becomes you. After the doctors managed to evacuate the clot, they showed it to me - they actually used the word "big" to describe it, which it wasn't - not to me, but if you imagine the smaller arteries that are usually very narrow, then I guess that this particular clot could be described as being a big one...

I'm excited to see what the following weeks will bring, hopefully a lot of educational experiences and a lot of very advanced procedures, that in the end will help me to put into words what exactly I've gained from my going abroad. I mean, they already told me that they wanted to hire me, so I got of to a great start, eh? Let the good times roll, and how about that bottle of Dom Perignon, I think it's long overdue!

-xoxo-   

søndag den 26. maj 2013

Bye surgical ward - hello medical ward.

I've been here for almost two months, and I am now half way through this exchange - times flies, when you're having fun, even if you're not actually having it. If someone were to ask me, what I've learnt so far, I'd have trouble answering a question like that, because to be frank, I'm not sure what exactly I've learnt, but if you were to ask me this very same question in a few weeks, I'd probably be able to give you a decent and credible answer. But for now, let's just reminisce about the past six weeks...

I finished my internship at the surgical ward that I was at, and I can honestly say that I'm sad that I have to transfer to a different ward. One could argue that I was only being sad, because of the horrible things I've heard about the other ward, but that's not the case. I actually felt like part of the team on my ward, granted some days were longer (well, they weren't longer, but felt like it for sure!) than others, but all in all, I had a real good time at my ward. 
It almost feels like an act, because I got raving reviews of my performance at the ward by my mentor, who was the one stuck with me. Apparently I was humble, very caring, kind, attentive and embracing and open-minded towards the differences and didn't let them stop me into leaping (diving head in first!) into situations that were unfamiliar to me - I know, eh? Fooled her good! ;)

On Tuesday I start another six weeks at a medical ward, mainly dealing with cardiac patients. This could turn out to be a good experience, seeing that I actually did a ten week internship at a cardiology ward back home. So I should have an advantage, albeit that can also bite my in the arse and maybe make me even more narrow-minded than I already am, because I have a good grasp of patients with these types of problem. I guess only time will tell if it's one or the other, or maybe even a mixture of both? I know I'm excited and a bit scared to start there, because of the horro stories, but hey, I'll bring my flash light and pepper spray, that ought to hold the monsters at bay, right?

-xoxo-



lørdag den 18. maj 2013

Terms of endearment - overload.

One of the many things that I've now grown accoustum to is the frequent usage of these so-called terms of endearment. Now it hasn't been easy, let me tell you, and to be quite honest I'm not sure that I'm as okay with it as I come across.
People, very random people, call you things like, "sweetheart", "love", "darling", "dear" and the list goes on. Maybe it's a cultural thing, or I can most definitely say that it's a cultural thing, but can you really address a stranger like that? Well, the answer should be quite obvious, otherwise this post would be redundant...

It's one thing that the staff and the patients on the ward speak to you like that, because after these past five weeks, I feel like I've gotten to know them, probably not well enough to actually want to be called these names, but what can you do? They all mean well, and it makes it easier to digest, it'll probably give me an ulcer later on. But when the person behind the cash register in Sainsbury's calls you one of those things... I mean, there's only so much a person can take! I just want to take my cucumber and hit him on the head with it! It's really uncalled for! I think the reason that I keep objecting to all these terms of endearment (which are harmless, most of the time anyway!) is that I've been behind the cash register and never in my life have I called a customer anything remotely similar - that's crossing a line!
Also it would make sense when an elderly or a person older than yourself calls you something like that, but when a younger person adds terms of endearment into a conversation with an elderly person or someone older, then it comes of as disrespect to me. I mean, I can hardly imagine me saying "love" to a random elderly person, it just seems so wrong on so many levels. Again I'm inclined to blame this on my semi-Danish upbringing.

Alas there's nothing I can do, it's not like I can make a scene each time or maybe I could? If I did, then I'd probably need someone to bail me out eventually! And it's not like my name is easy to pronounce over here, and in retro spect, maybe "love", "dear" and "darling" are way better than "Zeeeniiia" and "Zena", at least my name doesn't get butchered, when people opt for the terms of endearment.

So instead of saying the famous line from Moby Dick, "Call me Ishmael", I will just have to settle with, "Call me love"...but when you do, I'd be on the look out for that cucumber!

-xoxo-

fredag den 17. maj 2013

A special place.

I went to Beacy Head, this is a really magical place, the cliffs are absolutely breath taking and stunning like nothing else. There's such a calm feeling that washes over you, when you stand near the cliff edge, it's almost overwhelming. That place is truely serene. But apparently not all people can cope with that serenity and the quiet, because a lot of suicides happen here. Imagine diving of the cliffs...










The life changing hour.

So I've been slacking a bit with these posts, who would've thought that I'd manage to get some sort of a life, whilst being stuck in this God forsaken small town, but here am I...behind on my posts. I feel like I should continue this more serious roll, I have going on at the moment, so this post will also feature a story about a patient, just like the previous one...

It was a regular day and as always a tad slow in the morning, that was until my man, which is one of my many male patients got the news about him going down the OR (or as the lovely Brits say, theatre) in order to have a LBKA. I imagine your synapses are a bit crowded, as your neurons fire at an accelerated speed in order to solve this rather fancy abbreviation, let me put you out of your misery. LBKA is a left below knee amputation. This is an operation that I haven't seen before, so this was a once in a life time opportunity. My man, aka. P is such a lovely elderly man in his prime at the age of 73. He has a wonderful sense of humor and it's a pleasure to speak with him. He always smiles and sometimes waves at me, if he sees me coming down the hallway. However, due to his serious problem with his leg that causes him tremendous pain, he's often confused, because of the dosage of the pain relieving medication. The doctors made the decision about the amputation a couple of days ago, they even had to fly in specialists from London to see P. 

My man, I think it can be interpreted as wrong, if I keep refering to him as my man, but it just feels right and it's really a bad habbit that has followed me throughout the past three years, when I first enrolled to do this gig. 
So back on track...P is the only one, who makes my heart "flutter", when he shouts "love", "darling" and "dear" after me. He's one of those patients that stick with you...

The reason as to why he's having a LBKA, is him being on a drug called, Warfarin (this one you ought to look up, I won't give it all away!) Apparently this drug leaves some sort of crystals or it crystalizes in the arteries, which ever really, and when the crystals start to clot, then it becomes dangerous. This has caused that an area of P's leg has had limited blood flow with oxygen and the vital nutritions, this has caused ireversable tissue damage, so the leg is no longer viable. P has also got a history of Diabetes, and this doesn't exactly help his situation! So his leg is an ischemic one, that's almost neucrotic and the malleolus is exposed.

He's brought to the OR at around 4pm and an hour later it's all over. Imagine, an amputation sounds like major surgery, and to me it is, but in fact a bowel surgery takes longer. Shocker!
The surgeon begins with the laser, which enables him to cut through all the layers of the dermis. It smells, you can even spot a few "smoke bubbles", it's impossible to decribe what it smells like and even more so to compare it with something else. But it's manageable. The surgeon needn't worry about accidentally cutting something "important", seeing that there's no flow what-so-ever. He continues using the laser for about ½ an hour, even though it felt like longer. Some places he's forced to use the scalpel, which ensures that the laser has done its job. The skin is now loose and the tibia is completely exposed and "raw". It's time for the saw. I imagined it lookind differently than it did, I suppose I pictured it to be more "saw-y" (that's definitely not a word!) It was steel blade that moved in a "saw-y" way. You could see small saw dust particles, as if it had been a log, he'd cut into.
This was a humbling experience (not sure if that's the right word to use, to describe what I felt at that instance!), because it wasn't some random log, the surgeon was in the process of taking a man's ability to walk away from him. After a while the leg is no longer attached to the rest of the body, and the leg is removed by the sterile nurse and layed on a table next to P. Just one hour had passed since the first incision and the leg was now a seperate thing. The surgeon spends a lot of time to sow the skin laps together, and then attaches a drain and a vaccum-pump to relieve the pressure and excess the extra fluid. The stump is dressed with dressing pads and tegaderm. And then I leave him and don't see him until the next day...

The following day P is in pain. A lot of pain! And it's not only because I like him as much as I do, but it hurts me to see him like that. And because of the very heavy dosage of pain relieving medication, he's so confused that he's refusing to take any stronger tablets. 
Of course because I'm fond of him, it affects me a bit more than had it been a who-ever. I put my hand on his shoulder and tried to take his mind of his pain, easier said than done! He's hurting in a place that's no longer there. 
"I know it hurts right now, but it won't hurt forever! I promise it will get better and I know that it doesn't seem like that, but it will!" those were the only comforting words I could muster, I was absolutely no help whatsoever! I just sat with him and tried to keep the tears at bay, almost easier said than done...

-xoxo-

torsdag den 9. maj 2013

Trauma - like no other.

So this is a post that's unlike the others, this follows my experince of a patient, who suffered cardiac arrest while I was on-call. I've had people dying on me, but I've never seen anything like this before...so bare with me, this post will include plenty of medical jargon.

I was in for a quite day with one of the out reach nurses, J, who's basically a nurse skilled within the critical and ICU (or as it's called in the UK, ITU) field. We started our day with hand-over reports with the anesthesiologists, when suddenly the pages wen't off and a voice practically shouted "cardiac arrest MAU" and then all hell broke loose. Just to keep you with me, the MAU is the Medical Assessment Unit. Then one of the anesthesiologist doctors took of and J signaled for me to join. At first I was a bit confused, I mean, she couldn't have meant for me to actually join in with the cardiac arrest...oh but she did. So there we were, running like crazy for MAU. 

Once we got there, the patient hadn't actually arrested...but that scenario wasn't that far out in the future, so the defibrillation pads were put on the patient just in case. And while that was going on, the patient now arrested and the biotelemetry showed asystole, which rendered the pads useless, so they started pushing Epinephrine and Atropine. However, the patient's major problem was that she was in the process of bleeding out. I kid you not, if I say that the minute I got there, the scene looked like it was taken out of Grey's Anatomy or ER. There was blood everywhere, it looked like there was an Ebola outbreak - the patient bleed from her nose, throat and ears... The anesthesiologist intubated and started ventilating, while simultaneously sucking blood from the intubation tube, while she was concentrating on this, the leader of the Resus team started CPR. The regular staff, including J started hanging units of blood up - the only problem with this was, as fast as they were pouring it into her venflons (and I say this in plural, she had about 4 of them!), just as fast it left her body again. They simply couldn't keep up. However, nobody had called the MHP (Major Hemorrhage Protocol) even though in my oh-so skilled opinion, if this wasn't one of those, I don't know what else would qualify. Just to give you a clear picture of how much she was actually bleeding, the patient had -pre-arrest- gotten three units of blood and her Hgb was still merely 3, we ended up giving a total of 9 units of blood and two units of FFP's to boot. They even considered drilling a hole into the tibia in order to boost the effect of the blood. Her pillow was completely soaked, blood even dripped onto the floor from it - like I said, there was so much blood. There were also much melena, I had never in my life seen that much. The CPR was performed in 6 stages consisting of 2 minute rounds of chest compressions and ventilation. 
The regular staff tried to contact next of kin, they were successful, but I didn't see any relatives until she was transferred into ITU - as you probably can deduce by now, she actually made it. Even though that the doctors decided to end CPR, afterwhich she had no pulse, but then after a few seconds, the pulse came back and they continued trying to save her. 

It was chaos, plain and simple - there were 9 people surrounding the patient, all trying to help to the best of their ability. I mean, some of the doctors started filling out the DNR form in the middle of the process, one of the male nurses forgot to check the blood, before he started pouring it into the patient (a serious lawsuit waiting to happen!). It was like time just stood still.

After what felt like forever, but was more like two hours - the patient was semi-stable and could be moved. However, the doctors had difficulties sorting out their next step, because could she survive an emergency surgery? It was either that or giving the radiologists a chance to see, if they could do some damage control. They upped for the latter and she was transferred to the X-ray ward. I had to suit up for this one, wearing a led skirt and shirt, in order to protect myself from the radiation now blasting through the room. The radiologists went in through the femoral artery and started the embolisation. Safe to say that they were successful and the patient was now transferred into the ITU.

On a semi-finale note, the reason to her almost dying was that, she had had two DU's in the past and this was probably what had caused her to almost bleed out... 

On a final note...I still cannot believe that she made it! I really can't believe it! It really looked grim, when they were doing the chest compressions and you could hear the ribs cracking from all the weight. It was a surreal experience, but one I wouldn't want to be without!
The most shocking part of this was actually that no one seemed to know the name of the patient! It was embarassing to say the least and really undignified to the patient! She wasn't a Jane Doe - she was J.J.

-xoxo-


torsdag den 2. maj 2013

Cultural shock - understatement of the year.

I've been meaning to write this for quite a while now, so I figured it was time for me to sit my arse down and get down to it and I find it a wee-bit ironic that as I'm sitting here and trying to write this, Bruno Mars' "The Lazy Song" is cheering me on...

As you probably can deduce with those awesome Sherlock Holmes skills of yours, it was quite a cultural shocker coming to the UK. 
I can honestly say that I haven't met nicer and more friendly people than the Brits. It doesn't matter who you approach to ask for directions or whatever, you will be helped. People actually go out of their way to try and help you and that's definitely not something I'm used to. It makes for a nice change, it's just too bad that I've been damaged by my semi-Danish upbringing. I'm way too picky as to whom I'll ask for directions and I'm always suspicious of the people I ask, it's almost like I've decided that they have less honorable intentions as to why they're helping me. I know, paranoid much?! I need to lay of the horror films and stop re-playing the theme from Jaws in my head!

...time for another story from real life...

It was a cold, windy and very rainy afternoon, two girls set out to find the nearest computer and gadget store...*enter dramatic music*
Nah, just kidding. We went looking for one, because Sarah's computer practically went up in flames, so being two girls with little or no flair for computers, we decided to seek the help of computer wizards in a land far far away. Once we entered Curry's PC-World, an employee of the store spotted us and went straight for us. We had literally just entered the store and there he was, all ready to help us. Albeit we did look completely soaked and probably lost, I hadn't imagined that within two seconds a person would drop everything in his hands in order to help us. It turned out that the computer couldn't be salvaged, the guy then spent almost half an hour with us to try and find out, if a Danish computer could be shipped to their store or if we could purchase a Danish keyboard online. That guy went out of his way to try and fix our problem, I'm not that gullible that I don't know that he was also trying to make a sale, but it was still very nice for him to go to some lengths in order to help us. So if the short Asian bloke is reading this - a very big thank you!

So an interesting fact, Brits don't greet by handshake, this gesture is seen as being very business-y, so whenever I greet somebody, I have to keep that in mind. I'm not the biggest people person out there, and I can honestly say, I really dislike touching random people, but I don't feel like I've greeted the person, unless a handshake has been exchanged. This has been difficult for me and I have to admit that I've forgotten this and sometimes this has resulted in many strange looks. I mean, c'mon - you don't know that you won't be doing business with me in the future, and then what? Should I shake you hand after all those years, let's just get that big boy out of the way right now!
What's more interesting and very peculiar, if you were to try to understand the two things in extention to one another, is that Brits stand very close to one another. A distance of 2 feet (oh no! I've been in this country too long, I've forgotten my beloved Metric system!), as I was saying a distance of 0.5 metres is kept between one another, and that's extremly close! I mean, if you were standing any closer, you'd be in my lap! I was told that personal space is very important and it's probably true for most people, but how much personal space can you have within 0.5 metres? So it's all very odd. People don't want to shake your hand, but they want you to stand in their grills - yeah, that totally makes sense!
What's more hilarious is that I can't get it right, I want (well, not want, but you get it) to shake hands, but as soon as someone enters my space, I immediately back up, and I catch myself doing it, I instinctively arch my back away from the person. It's quite the conundrum!

So to all of you, who prefers handshakes and maybe 1 metre of distance (or maybe even 0.75 metres) - it's all good! Unless you're in Britain, then tug away that devilish hand of yours and remember, it's 2.5 feet and not 0.75 metres! ;)

-xoxo-

onsdag den 24. april 2013

Let the good times roll...

"It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences" - Audre Lorde

I have to agree with Audre Lorde's words, though I wouldn't break out the Dom Perignon just yet. I've done my first two weeks of the internship, and I live to tell about it.

My first day was scary as hell (initially I wanted to insert a curse word, but since I know that my mom is reading this, I won't!). It was just a couple of minutes to 7 am, when I entered the staff room, dressed in my extremely and almost permanently dazzling white shirt and navy blue trousers (yeah, I'm practically a Brit now). There were three other people in the room with me, by the looks of it, two of them were healthcare assistants and the third one was a nurse, a male nurse to boot. Nobody said anything to me, not even responed to my "good morning", which I had belted out, when I entered. It was almost like they didn't acknowledge my presence, so safe to say, I was pretty much ignored for a half hour or so. Then one female nurse turned her attention to me and literally asked me, who I belonged to?! Hm, had I looked like a stray dog? Well, I got the opportunity to select my own master, so I just settled with the one, who'd just semi-insulted me. She is now my mentor or pet owner, which ever floats either of our boats. She is -despite the oh-so bad first impression- actually very nice and so fabulously Scottish...

I need to get back on track, back to the quote. So there are a lot of differences in the approaches to nursing. Let's start with the settings, my ward consists of three bays, which have room for six patients (it's kind of lying, when I say "have room for", because the truth is, there's not much room. Let me just say that if my junk in the trunk was any bigger, I'd get stuck a lot!) There's one side room, which is preferably reserved for isolated patients due to infections. Then there's a desk in the middle of the ward, where there are two computers (they have definitely seen better days!) and to your right you find a table attached to  sink, a tiny refrigerator and a drug cupboard (psssh! It's here all the good stuff is stored!), to your left are all the patient journals. It looks like something from another century, which all makes sense, because apparently the digital age hasn't reached the English hospital wards yet, since EVERYTHING is written by hand. Your first thought must be - "crapola, that's a lot of work", and you wouldn't be wrong, most times the writing isn't illegible, heck I reckon Sanscript is easier to decipher! So at times I have to decline to give drugs to some patients, because I simply cannot read the bloody drug chart! 
This prompt me to tell my mentor about our system and handling of drugs, she didn't seem that impressed by it, almost like she couldn't be bothered, but she did tell me that the reason, they didn't use computers for this, was that it was too expensive! Wow! Too expensive...at the expense of what could be a patient's life!
So everything is basically cramped up as much as possible. The bays are identical, each patient has a bed, a night stand, where the medicine is kept (I know, awful, eh?), a chair and a tiny TV, and to top it of, they also have their own curtain, so they can have some privacy. Needless to say that you cannot achieve much privacy behind a curtain, everything you're told by the doctor on rounds is heard by five other patients, sometimes relatives, nurses and students - way to uphold the patient/doctor confidentiality! 
All in all, they way they handle the medicine and drugs is just an accident waiting to happen...

...a story from real life...

I was to inject a patient with Clexane in the abdomen, I asked for an alcohol swab to clear of the injection spot, to which the nurse replied, that they didn't do that anymore. Incredulously I sighed and said that I had been taught to do that before doing anything that involved needles, she said that she was taught the same procedure, but it wasn't practiced like that anymore. I reluctantly injected the patient with Clexane and told the nurse that next time I will be using the alcohol swabs.

So it's safe to say that I do recognize the differences, however, I'm finding it difficult to accept these differences, and I'm not sure that I'll end up accepting them, but I'll try. I do know, that if I end up breaking out the Dom Perignon, it would be for completely other reasons than celebrating those differences!

-xoxo-






mandag den 15. april 2013

My new home

Welcome to the glamorous life of an exchange student.

Kitchen - at least the microwave is new.

A sink in my room - now that's handy.

The room we dare not speak of, nor enter for that matter.

The loo - if you look closely, you can see the stolen goods.

The bathroom.

The hallway. 

The kitchen in all its glam.

My desk - without a chair.

The tiniest closet ever.

The nightstand.

The not so cozy bed.

The view from my prison cell.

Part of the stolen goods.

The infamous sofa.

The living room.

The living room view.

My first blog post in all its glory.

My first update from this adventure.


Let's see, it's been a week, so far I've managed to cut a dish towel into pieces that can be used as dishcloths (shh! don't tell anyone!), almost got caught for stealing daffodils (so not worth jail time!), cut into an electric wire in order to make it fit my adapter, and the list goes on...

My reasons for choosing to study abroad are countless. I wanted to be on my own in foreign country, I wanted to experience student life as an exchange student, I wanted to learn about a different culture, I wanted to practice my English...as I said countless. After being here a week these reasons still stand, despite being met by a horrific apartment that I'm supposed to call "home", even though I think that the multiple bugs already call it "home".

The tiny apartment that is my home now is really something else entirely. Imagine Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares and add a blue sofa covered in suspiscious looking white stains (don't blush, you totally know what I mean!), a carpet looking like something died on it and then evolution did its thing and the abhorrent smell, then you have a pretty clear picture of my new home.
I live across the hospital, where my placement will be. So as far as location in extention to the placement, it's very great. The area I live in houses only hospital staff, so there are plenty of nurses, doctors, porters, etc. around. But I'm -apart from Sarah- the only exchange student, and I have yet to meet someone near my own age range. Apparently Eastbourne is the place for retirement, so I've seen tons of elderly people, maybe even more elderly people in one week than I've ever seen in Denmark. 

But let me just say that I was lucky to get this far. Upon arriving at Gatwick Airport I had to fill out some documentation about my stay here, because of my lack of a European passport. So I was met by this scary-looking dude, who started quizzing me about my stay here, my reasons for coming here and my life back home. Suffice to say that this 3rd degree, or what actually felt like the Spanish Inquisition, got me quite nervous. I mean, the dude could've given me a break, considering he was a foreigner himself - isn't there some sort of code, Foreigners Unite? Anywho, after sweating buckets I got the clear and I was in.

...here are two feel-good-stories about how Sarah and I apparently left our IQ's at home...

Our first breakfast consisted of eggs and the driest bread known to man (I've never felt the need for more saliva, before eating that particular loaf of bread!) We were very excited...that was until we found out that there wasn't any salt or pepper. I cannot begin to say what we were possibly thinking, while we stood in the aisle of Sainsbury's (our new favourite grocery shop!), why would we buy eggs and not buy salt and pepper...that meal made me feel like I was in prison and given the scenary of my new home, it was a definite prison vibe!

In an attempt to make our new home more homely, we decided to buy candles, scented candles none the less,  when we got home, we put the candles on the table and then we just took a minute to stare and acknowledge our  brilliance, until it hit us, that we didn't have any matches or even a lighter...should've taken up smoking! 

Got yourself a good laugh on our behalf? Maybe even pitied us a bit and took comfort in our misery? Yeah, I figured you would, heck I would too!

I start my internship tomorrow, at a surgical ward that deals with general surgery. I'm very stoked to see how it will turn out. The shifts are 12 hours long, that's going to be challenging in more ways than one...hopefully I'll get through the day in one piece!

On a final note, a week in and I don't regret coming here, despite all of the above, but I would recommend going and studying in a bigger city, or you just might end up snatching a sugar daddy!

-xoxo-