An Interesting Day

Yesterday was an interesting day workwise. We usually get an interesting variety, be it the man who wanted to know if he could electronically tag his children on holiday, or the person who wanted to know whether testicular examinations were actually routine when he was at school, or whether the schoolmaster was merely sneaking a sly jingle of the coinpurse.

A lady with PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) called with a medication query. It was really just a routine thing - relating to her prescription meds for her condition and her newly-announced pregnancy - but you could honestly hear the joy in her voice that they'd managed to conceive and overcome the huge odds stacked against them with her condition. It was nice to hear.

Also had a surprisingly lucid mid-80 year old woman in which we took a while to establish the real meat of her problem, which was... *drum roll* that her son hadn't rung her in a while. Yeah. Now, I'm not entirely unused to the odd confused oldie call (I've been asked to sort out their council tax and to fix the volume of their telephone to name but two), and their charming eccentricities can usually be put straight with a bit of helpful redirection. I was about to say that, basically, there was nothing we could do to get her son to go and visit her more often. But I noticed a tone of panic in her voice and recalled a recent elderly negligence call one of our nurses took (the lady had no electricity and so was freezing without any means of cooking for two days) so I erred on the side of caution. I took background info on how often her relatives visit her, how she gets around, gets food etc, and passed it to a nurse in breathless anticipation. But, of course, I'd spelt the name wrong. Very rare for me I must admit, but as a result I missed out on the note on her real record stating that the lady has Alzheimer's and can't remember anything in the short term beyond the last ten minutes or so. And, sure as day, there was in the note a mention that she often complains of her family abandoning her and taking her money. Thing is, they visit her every day. She just can't remember.

Often we also deal with toxic ingestions. Kids'll eat all kinds of crap (often literally) on a whim and get mum in a hysteric frenzy over their sampling of either her liquid foundation or a highlighter pen. 99% of the time this is the case, and occasionally we also get adults who've accidentally OD'd on prescription meds, but this one was a new 'un for sure. It was about a 34 year old male... and he'd swallowed an earthworm. 'He thought it'd be a laugh like' says dear sister. 'Oh and,er, he's also an alcoholic' she mentions. Figures I guess.

There's also a category in which I'd place a very small amount of people I speak to. It's the 'grizzled, wise veteran' category. These are the old people who've more or less seen it all. They don't piss about, and I have all the more respect with them for it. They're acutely aware of their own mortality and often poke healthy fun at it while having a robust grip on the real priorities in life. The man I spoke to was, in fact, an ex-manic depressive (which showed itself, I guess, in his sunny demeanour) who'd carved entire blocks of his life out in self-destructive stagnation. Whole swathes of his youth wiped out by his illness and by drugs, oscillating between homes and relationships, happiness and sadness. He got back on board later on, it seems. Found God, found a psychiatrist, found himself. Has a firm grip of what matters and on the importance of helping others. As he mentioned, 'I don't like to go out burping, looking at tits and shouting at footballs like the rest of 'em, so I have a bit more money left. And I give it to the kids. I help 'em out.' He acts as surrogate mentor and grandparent to a number of disadvantaged youths in the area. One of which, a 17 year old girl on the run from an abusive home life, sparked a phone call to the gentleman in question from her estranged father. The caller made sure to ascertain that this was, in fact the person who she'd been going to see recently. They then threatened to break his legs and to watch out; that they'd get him for what he'd done. Although he hadn't actually done anything. He was actuely self-aware, and more than perceptive of the social implications of what he was doing. He knew that having a beard, living alone and speaking to young people would equate to only one thing in everyone else's mind. He himself laughed at the very notion of his having congress with a girl of her age. He couldn't even if he wanted to, he said. Cheery and articulate as he was however, he was shaken, and his anxiety was worsening when he was on his own. No doubt there's more to the story, but he was a genuine pleasure to talk to. He'd made it out somehow and was, in his own way, paying something back to the world. Being a good Christian I guess.

So I saw Clash of the Titans and it was

clunky, boring shite. As if an able-bodied and bum-faced Sam Worthington wasn’t enough to make you instantly flaccid as he plays a confused loaf of bread in sandals, the clumsy plot and limp-dick anticlimax are balls-shrivellingly awful. Add to that the overpriced eye-rape of a poorly-done 3D botch job and there you have it.