My quest for the nomenclature ‘domestic goddess’ is galloping on apace. First came apple cake which was swiftly followed by Christmas cake, hot on their heels the panforte was encouraged out of it’s baking tin and then yesterday a bread pudding was produced for a disbelieving family. Youngest daughter has decided that this culinary fest is a sure sign that ‘it’s started’, the menopause. I gave her food for thought ( see I’m obsessed), by saying that I always enjoyed baking when I was pregnant, that kept her quiet.
The inevitable happened today, Louis and Jamie were muddled up. If they are not dressed in the same colour outfits they wear the same but always with Jamie in the darker shade, until today when Louis had on the darker bodysuit because the slogan indicated that he was a tiny dinosaur, the other was a baby dinosaur. In the heat of nursery uns, nipping to the shops ets, daughter acted on instinct and grabbed one twin, believed he was in need of a feed and expended much energy encouraging him to imbibe. It was only later, when one twin was extremely miserable, and the other screaming with tummy pains that other daughter realised that their Mummy had double fed one boy and the other one had not been fed for hours!
This evening has been spent ‘suturing’ a snapped canvas strap on Hubby’s golf bag. It was of upmost importance that it was done tonight as the course will be frozen in the morning which means that trolleys won’t be allowed. I don’t understand a word of it, I just knew that I had to repair it. First we had to decide what the best material would be. I needs to be strong, unbreakable, durable and at 6pm it had to be case of something readily available. I rummaged through my sewing box, ferreted about in my gardening supplies and then inspiration struck, suturing material. I always have a couple of packs of out of date sutures so I can keep my hand in and also to teach my students so I produced some for Hubby’s approval. It was tough going, literally, double layer of canvas but hopefully it will see him through his 18 holes tomorrow. As I was talking about sutures I ‘googled’ perineal suturing, hoping to find an explanatory diagram, I couldn’t find anything appropriate, but I did find this site which has medical learning aids , don’t look if you are squeamish!
One of my women is either really stupid, or very clever at manipulation. If women want to they can really ‘play’ midwives. This comes about because it may be their pregnancy, their choice, but it is up to us to ensure they receive the care.If a women doesn’t turn up to clinic we have to record it in their notes, phone them, find out why, and see them as soon as possible. Ideally this is at the next clinic, but if it’s full, as it usually is, it ends up with us visiting them at home. If they want the triple test they need a dating scan, we need to know their weight and it has to be performed within a specified time span. So, I have a woman, R, who wants the triple test. I request a dating scan. I ask her weight, she has no idea, I advise her that she needs to find out by the time she has the test (this appointment was at her home, she has no scales). Tuesday I get a call from her telling me she hasn’t had her dating scan, she could be 20 weeks, she’s desperate for the test. I go into overdrive, call the scanning department, start reading the riot act, and get stopped in full flow by the news that she had an appointment but didn’t attend. I grovelled, apologised and managed to get her a scan for the next day, that in itself is a miracle. I then phoned R, asked her why she didn’t go to her earlier appointment, she didn’t receive it. I believed her, apologised on behalf of the postal service and told her she had a scan booked the following day. She ranted, cried, said the baby could be dead. I told her I would go round and we would listen to baby. Round I went, full check-up, her partner let slip that she was feeling the baby move, we heard the heartbeat. I explained that when she knew her dates she should then see the midwife at clinic, have the blood test form completed with the scan results and have her weight entered. Today, I get a call from her, clinic is full, can’t go. Right, I’ll fill in the form and leave it for her to collect, can she read the details on the scan report and what does she weigh, I had asked her to have her weight done at the hospital when she had her scan. Can’t be done, doesn’t understand what figures I want. Okay, I’ll come round, third time in 3 weeks I knock on her door. Start filling in the form, I’ve decided to take her blood there as I’m starting to see that being responsible for her own care be alien to her and she may not get to the clinic to have them done. We get to ‘maternal weight’, and reach a dead end. She forgot to get herself weighed. I remained calm. No problem, the phlebotomist at the surgery has scales in her room. Right, have you got your routine blood forms? Do you remember which ones you need? She’d only got one, I knew had given her three. A little disagreement followed. She swore black was blue that I had only given her the one. I asked to see that one. She had a foot stool storage box full of flyers, leaflets, scraps of paper and after 5 minutes rifling though this mountain of junk mail she decided that the ultrasonographer had taken the form out of her notes. I took a deep breath, and laid the facts out, to her and in her notes. The forms will all be at the G.P’s, waiting for her. The phlebotomist will weigh her and she needs to go within the next 2 weeks. I then went straight to the surgery spoke to the phlebotomist, completed all the forms, put a comment on her surgery notes and kicked the next inanimate object I saw. I have been ‘played’, what’s the betting she doesn’t turn up for her blood test, bet a child will be ill.
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