This week has been a bit of an effort so far. At work I have been a bit grumpy, in fact I have been a bit grumpy for the last couple of days and not just at work.
Monday I had my period, Tuesday night it had gone and now today it has come back again. I am normally not very pleasant when I have my period but I am even less pleasant when I don’t know if I have my bloody period or not!
After 30 years of having periods, they are really starting to get on my flipping nerves now. I try to control it, the moods I mean but there are always those couple of days where you actually think it would be better to stay indoors, just in case. The kids always threaten to move out (ha, I wish) and no-one quite knows whether they should approach or not.
On the plus side, we finally found a new lady, hoorah! She has never worked in a GP surgery before so provided we don’t leave her unattended for too long and ease her in gently, hopefully she will stay with us. I am training her tomorrow on the booking system let us all hope my mood has improved significantly by then.
She is worried she wont remember it all and there is a lot to remember, we have eight Doctors, three registrars, three nurses and three health care assistants, just their names will take a month to remember, never mind who does what and when and that’s without learning who works on the other two floors.
There has also been a bit of a debate about ‘protected time.’ In theory its a good idea. In practice it is hard to police. Generally the phones do not stop ringing, they ring all day from 8 am until we close and even then people just ring the out of hours service, if we were open 24 hrs a day people would still ring, constantly, for 24 hrs because something is always happening somewhere to someone.
Certain people need protected time to allow them to get things done. For example the prescription team only take phone calls at certain times of the day otherwise they would never actually do any prescriptions for people to chase them about.
However, people generally can’t quite get the hang of this. In all the years I have worked at the surgery we are still constantly telling people to ring between ? and ? for prescription queries or ? and ? for results, etc.
It is repetitive and frustrating and sometimes you just want to deal with it there and then because you know it will save you having to deal with it later but you have to stick to it. It is there to stop us from continually getting interrupted because when you are continually interrupted you forget things and leave things unfinished to look at something else and we cannot afford to have things like that happen. Mistakes can have a very high price indeed.
I really hope Sally makes it. She seems nice and caring and kind and it does seem daunting when you first start, overwhelming and you never think you will remember it all but of course you do and without even realising you have.
Tuesday night as I sat down at 9 pm to watch the last episode of Dr Foster with a lovely sweet cup of tea who should arrive at 9.05 but Elsie waving a form in my face.
On Tuesday I got home at 4.15 pm and had been home ever since. I cooked the dinner and we ate together, they cleared up as normal. We did home work together and passed each other many times throughout the evening, not once did she mention the form that she was now waving in my face while I was trying (in vain) to watch the last ever episode of one of the only TV shows I like.
I don’t watch much TV at home. I’m not really in to the soaps, my life is depressing enough, thank you but it seems that when I do find something I want to watch or there is a new drama on that I have become engrossed in, my children suddenly appear, as if they know that I don’t really want to have a conversation now and I couldn’t give two monkeys about what ‘Felicity’ did at school today or whether there will be snow at Christmas. I just want a bit of peace to enjoy the one hour that I have set aside for myself today. Can I have it? No I bloody can’t!
So now she wants to tell me about the school skiing trip. I, however, don’t want to hear about the school skiing trip. Firstly, it sounds bloody expensive and secondly, this is my time, my one hour of calm, go away!
Will she go away, no she wont. She is lamenting about how all her friends are going and she doesn’t want to be the only who isn’t going and the form has to be back tomorrow as its first come first served and what will she do if she is the only one who doesn’t get a place. Can she go, please, please.
At 9.20 pm I ungraciously give up trying to watch Dr Foster and resolve myself to the fact that I will have to watch it on bloody catch up again because I can’t get a minutes sodding peace and spend the next 30 minutes trying to persuade Elsie that she would hate skiing. It didn’t work!
Tomorrow I am laminating myself a sign for the lounge door which says…
‘This is the ‘protected time’ slot.
If you value your life and or Xbox/Loreal brow gel please do not enter. I will not be responsible for my actions should you disregard this message. You may however come back once this sign has been removed.
Wednesday Tom has to come to work after school as his sister had dance club and I don’t finish until 5 pm. I am not keen on letting him go home alone, not because I worry about him (which I do) but more because he will eat all the food. I know this because we tried it once and there were no sandwich fillings left the next morning when I tried to make the packed lunches.
So, he uses this opportunity to go to the skate park for a couple of hours with his friends. After school he comes to me, dumps his things and buggers off again, after a belly of biscuits from the tea room.
Most of the staff now know he belongs to me and so he saunters around casually, like he owns the bloody place, charming everyone with his smile and butter wouldn’t melt eyeballs. Today he was wearing a fake Rolex… and telling anyone that would listen that he was going to be an underwear model when he is older! Heavens above.
I thought parents were supposed to be an embarrassment to their children not the other way around?
Apparently ‘Harry’ his mate can get fake Rolex’s where he used to live. Where did he used to live.. Peckham? Does he drive a three-wheeled van? How old is this boy? Then to top it of ‘some girl’ in year 8 said he is handsome enough to be a model. Oh please. Don’t you know I am struggling to contain this boy at the moment?
When I collected him from the skate park after work he throws his scooter in the boot slings himself in the front seat and we drive off to get Elsie. It is then he announces that the handlebars on his scooter are bent and so perhaps at the weekend we can go and buy another scooter… At this point I am trying desperately to remember he is my son and I love him because if I don’t keep telling myself this I am going to bloody kill him.
I remain calm thinking in my head that really how bent can they be. I’m sure it will last out a few more months, it will be Christmas soon after all.
When we arrive home and I actually see the scooter I quickly realise that this will not be the case. I don’t know what he did to those handlebars but whatever it was it was no accident. They are practically bent double and if he thinks I am buying a new one so he can destroy that too, he is sadly mistaken!
He is not happy about this but quite frankly I don’t care. Money does not grow on trees and it’s about time my children realised this.
… and as if by magic or some kind of ‘will power test from above’ Elsie has just appeared laptop in hand asking if she can have……… still it’s only 8.45 pm. Fifteen minutes till ‘protected time’… yeah right.
I am spending the weekend in bed. Period!