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…or a nurse, or an EMT, or any sort of medical professional. No, not a pharmacist, either.

But Bobbe’s a Type II (insulin-dependent) diabetic, has had a stroke that has lingering psychneurological effects, and recently got scratched (by one of the pet cats) and the wound got infected by antibiotic-resistant bacteria. She’s also blind, for all practical purposes, due to macular degeneration brought on by the diabetes.

So I’m a patient care specialist, now. She isn’t quite helpless, but what’s frustrating is that it would actually be easier if she were — and I certainly can’t wish for that! She can bathe herself, and can see well enough to get some enjoyment out of the TV if I work the remote for her.

(Intermediate rant: DAMN the jerks who decided that DVD movies should begin with a “splash screen” that plays inane music until you mash [OK].)

So I give injections and clean wounds and sort pills and supervise the medication routine. I’m getting a crash course in patient care, and not enjoying one minute of it. I try really hard to remain calm and maintain a positive attitude, and to avoid communicating to her just how much I hate the routine. I love her, and I’m going to do it, and I’m not going anywhere, but keeping my chin up is hard sometimes.

Sorry about the whinge, but that’s part of why I’ve got nothin’ today.


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January 2010
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