I think I've mentioned before that, on my working days, I share a large office with the local District Nursing team.There are four of them and one of me and they are now called Community Nurses and there is a clear demarcation boundary in the room.
My side is the happy health visitor side and, apart from my work station and drawers of records, it's full of toyboxes and nice pictures of Bob the Builder and Balamory, Charlie and Lola books and my baby changing area and scales.Mobiles for babies to look at, a nice clock with a bee that buzzes around, Bookstart packs and little table and chairs and all the toys I use for developmental checks and things.
It's lovely, a sort of warm welcoming, relaxing child-friendly zone.
The other side of the room is terrible, there's no getting away from it.
Therein rest unwelcome daily reminders of what may be in store,as if you needed reminding but I'm going to tell you anyway.Incontinence pads prevail, then there's catheters and leg bandages and dressings and ...no, enough, I can't go on.
As if the visuals weren't enough, marginally more taxing are the nurse's phone conversations because there's no getting away from it, the elderly are rightly very exercised about their bowels.
They are usually hard of hearing too so the conversations are high decible and inescapable.
It would seem that if you put the Hogwarts sorting hat on these poor patients they fall between two
stools houses, they've either got the slytherins or the hufflepuffs and it all causes a great deal of distress.(on reflection, JKR might not like that comparison, please don't tell)
Today it was all enough to bring on a bout of the voldemorts and so I took my lunch up to a very young and sprightly 81 year old Tinker, we got out some old photos, fell about laughing at pictures of me in a mini-skirt and didn't talk about bowels once that I can recall.