Three Reasons Why I Will Always Be Meredith Grey…..

There are moments in life where you simply feel like getting shit off your chest and you have no idea how to do it.  Well here are a few options that you can select from:

  1. Write that sh*t down in a note and burn it.
  2. Tell someone what the f*ck the problem is so than both you and that person can come to a complete screaming match.  Causing yourself or the other person to storm off while screaming profusely at you because they know you happen to be correct. As normal.
  3. You can completely turn a blind eye, put on your hazard blinkers and transform yourself into a pretty horse…neigh!
  4. Or write the sh*t down in a blog post.

And this is why you are here because we all know that I would sit here and go for the option of four.  You can almost claim it was to be ‘destiny’ and how classic is it that I am listening to Drake while writing this.  So since I am holding the ball in my court, I am going to suggest that you sit down, shut the fuck up and hold on because this is going to be one hell of a rollercoaster.  And as we don’t have time to take breaks, I guess you better put down whatever you are staring at and go and take care of business.  If you get my drift and with that, welcome back!

Dearest Readers of the ever classic Scarlett,

It is I, the one and only.

The person who brings the bearing of news in so many different ways that each time I post a blog; it is every bit entertaining and unique.  If you have no idea as to what I am referring to it than check out my previous post and then come back to this and you will see.  In fact I am going to brag about my ego for a second but I believe that I bring news that is more interesting than what you would happen to see on the screen of your LCD, Hi Tech Television which will no doubt show the following: suicide bombing, soldiers being killed, journalists being beheaded and it being broad coasted on social media, ISIS, Syria and possibly the death of some Hollywood superstar.

So while your bolted and deadlocked television is placed on your stark white lounge room wall, I suggest turning the television off because no one needs to be seeing those self worth lowering visions.  And I suggest relaxing with a corona in your hand or if you are a Father in Australia, get someone to pour you that beer and slip in a couple slices of lemon/lime.  And while you are at it because your shoulders are sore from carrying the patriotic pressure of providing for your family, get your spouse/children to rub your shoulders and remind you what a great husband/lover/father you are. Talk about massive ego boost.  With that, I wish you a very Happy Father’s Day.

Since I last posted which I suspect was almost three weeks ago, my life has been pretty much on the running ball along with moments that have made me sit there and think ‘what the fuck is going on here?’  Which I hate to admit has been more times than what I can count on one hand but I guess that is the part of the experience of being an adult, a university student and a somewhat freak who likes things to be structured.  So I admit that I am a suffer of OCD but seriously when shit is thrown out of my control and I have no way of being able to gain control back again, I am not a fan of those circumstances at all

 

On the positive though, I have not been involved in any car accidents to which I am going to touch wood as I fear that I have just jinxed myself.  I am no longer having my moments of ‘let’s make friends with the bathroom counter’ or ‘hello shower floor…oh you’re so pretty’.  However with having said that, I no longer resemble the bright and peppy person that I normally was before becoming sick and I am looking quite frightening to be honest.

Well some many people have different opinions such as The Sheriff, who wonderfully confirmed that I did indeed look tired yesterday morning.   Which I actually thought was really sweet because I knew I looked like shit but it was nice being somewhat lied to about how ‘fantastic’ I looked.  In fact, I took a photo a few weeks ago and even though there is a little beautification thanks to the names of L’Oreal and Maybelline, I do not resemble anything like that any more.

The tiredness and zombie like appearance is correlated to the next sentence and for those who are in the medical field, is it that time of year again.  This is the time where you actually see your Manager, who has made an express appearance from the back of the closet while visiting Narnia, to announce in a delightful tone, “We have students coming!”  The first thought that no doubt enters your mind is ‘fuck! Welcome back from Narnia, how’s Aslan?’ before your brain processes what has just been said.  Dread washes over your body as you break out into a sweat and you say out loud, no…no…no, not students!”

During Clinical Practices…

 

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Students!

After saying this out loud with a horrified expression on your face, you earn a ‘smarten yourself up’ look from the manager of great news before he/she disappears back to Narnia and with that, Peter and Edmund.

Congratulations, the once ‘quiet’ hospital is now going to be overtaken by a bunch of white coated, some stricken looking and preppy students and the ever increasing thought of now how to move in slow motion.  Because compared to you and your superman powers, they cannot move as fast as you and as a result cannot do multiple jobs at once.

Not because they don’t hold the brain power to think of ‘left hand, push button.  Right hand, place bag of normal saline onto pole and ask patient how they are feeling’.  But because they have not developed your supersonic robot powers, increased superman possibility of moving at time warp speed and completing four jobs at once.  And in return, the student now stalking you is going to remain to be seen as the stunned goldfish, who follows you almost everywhere you go.  Or possibly the same circle which they just happened to spin around five seconds ago, as they search for you while you play your game of ‘hide and seek me to never find me again’.

Real mature.

However since I am neither a doctor nor a bitch who likes to peek around corners and watch her student flail and almost burst into tears, I cannot speak of that.  Yet.  However, I can tell you what I have seen from a nursing student’s point of view.  And holy shit is this going to blow your little pressed, oxford looking shirt out of the ball park.  With that Ladies and Gentlemen of the world, I welcome you to Boot Camp or this is also known as clinical practice or clinical placement.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have been released from captivity of the classroom and I am practicing on your loved one.  Be scared!

After stepping into the class what seems like many moon ago and learning from everything from the locations of the female anatomy and fake penis’s to administering PCAs (patient controlled analgesics).  With that, we trust you with that morphine syringe driver and we hope you have a pleasant travel with Morphine Airways.

And the daunting factor that I am now able to perform everything that I learnt in my classes on actual living human being which I find is not only scary but exciting at the same time.  Talk about an adrenaline junkie at heart.  Maybe I should work in A&E but then I am constantly dreaming of a person’s chest being sliced with a scalpel, their breast bone being cracked and there in the glory is their beating heart.

Slightly disturbing for you to read that but the ever concerning thought of ‘does she require assistance of becoming an involuntary inpatient for mental health’ enters your mind.

So being able to ‘practice’ on your loved one is like having the best birthday you have had to date in your life and topping that by a hundred.  It is like knowing that you have been handed the golden ticket and you are on your way to meeting the ever fabulous, Willy Wonka and the Oompa-Loompas’ at the chocolate factory.  In case for those who haven’t been here from the beginning, I am rather a fan of Roald Dahl and his ever impressive collection of chocolate factories, horrible school Mistresses and Giant Peaches.  With that you may now resemble Charlie however with that knowledge comes the power of being able to use that knowledge too which you can applying into practice.

And oh my bloody gosh, I just sounded like my Father then.  Well at least in words and the voice that flooded my frontal lobe which surprisingly sounded very much like my little Nigel.  On that regards, it’s positively smashing darling.

Now that you have the evidence which in this case is the golden ticket for those who have short memories spans, you become focused on how you are going to act/feel when you step onto the grounds of the chocolate factory.  In this case the chocolate factory is a hospital and Willy Wonka now resembles the NUM/Facilitator that is going to be stalking you wherever you go and the nurse that is now going to play ‘hide and seek me to never find me again’.

I know that I have mentally prepared myself by writing notes, reviewing lecture slides and notes.  To which I can now probably stare at a female and have this crazy look on my face like ‘I know where your ovaries are…that’s if you didn’t have a hysterectomy’.

Slightly creepy to write for you to read but it is important to know this shit if you want to get a job as an OBGYN.  Also this entails implying the knowledge of fundamental basics such as how to properly insert a catheter especially in regards to a female patient too unfortunately staring at one of the ugliest looking fake penis’s of my life and possibly in my relatively short learning period.  This is why if I was a doctor, I would not even think twice about sending a referral and getting a plastic surgeon to look at the mannequin’s penis.

Did you get the little joke there? If not, I have lost my faith of humanity for not getting the joke.

Stepping outside of the nursing context for a few seconds and actually becoming an individual, I can honestly say that my time away from this blog has been one of high emotions lately.

I have recently had the lid of the can of worms I have been carrying around since I was young, ripped off completely and now I am having to face my inner demons, head on.  With that, I am going to be speaking both as a student nurse but also as someone who has experienced life in more ways than what the average person would have assumed for who I appear to be.

For those who reside outside of my close friends and family or do not have access to my personal life, I am currently on clinical placement in a section of the Health system to which I dread.  I have dreaded the day that I would eventually have to dress in my nursing student uniform, proudly display my name on a badge and step into the ever increasing world of Mental Health.

It is not for the fact that Mental Health has the attached stigma that people automatically voice their opinions as to what ‘they’ believe inpatients should be given in regards to medication and how they should be treated.

The reason why I am still and will be against going into Mental Health as a profession is not because of the patients, the staff members, political bullshit that will no doubt follow you wherever you go and the moments of where you simply sit there and wonder why you ended up there.  But rather I see myself reflected in the gaze of patients, who unfortunately suffer from Depression and Eating Disorders.

Even though that I have been told countless times to not put myself in their shoes and that I should remain pleasant but robotic; I am human and therefore cannot turn off my emotions like a switch on a wall.

As much as I want to appear to be Cristina Yang and be all like nothing can affect me, I am actually Meredith Grey, who is constantly emotional and therefore forming a somewhat emotional attachment to the idea of something being linked between herself and a patient.  In this case, it is Depression and Anorexia.

With this, I have spent moments of being on the phone and crying to Lois without actually telling her what the real cause behind the phone call is about and with that, I have had to deal with the fact that the worms I have been keeping hidden for many years have resurfaced.  I have spent the past few nights revaluating why I decided to not accept medications as part of my recovery plan to ‘conquer’ Depression, which we all know doesn’t happen but helps to keep the ‘voices’ at bay.

Why moving from the city to the bush was a good thing for my health and well-being.

As I slowly used the transitioning process of retraining my body and mind to accept that food was not the enemy, the thought of food on a plate was a good thing and that the taste and texture in my mouth was not going to make me fat.  And that running to the bathroom to see if my body had increased size from eating a small mouthful would make me even more obese.

Or running 10k’s because the imaginary fat I had perceived to be somewhere on my body was causing those around to me to believe that I was obese.   What I perceived was completely different from what those around me saw which appeared to be a questionable female who resembled something of a walking and breathing skeleton.

The reality of not having photos of me taken from the age of thirteen to sixteen because I not only refused to stand in front of camera to smile begrudgingly like I was being tortured but also because I was disgustingly thin.

In fact the last photo I remember being taken was waiting for Kaffy to finish her soccer game and Lois snapped a pic and I was thirteen before the memory of poising in a glorious white dress with my hair and my teenage love being caught in the act of staring at me, unknown to me as I fixed my shoe.

To the delightful cuddly and warm memories of being pinched, poked and prodded by my cousin E whenever she saw me when I was a tweenie and teenager.  This does not include the sugar sweet and somewhat patronising voice calling out as I was restricting myself to a serving of six carrot sticks, “Oh Scarlett, that shirt so suits you”.

Which than would morph into what would appear to be the ever picture perfect moment of two cousins posing for a great picture (to an outsider at least) that openly expressed their love for one another.  No it resembles instead the ever slapping thought of ‘Perfection is never going to be your middle name’ and I had forgotten my place as Cinderella.

And in those moments where I forgot she was made perfectly out of cold marble and that I saw her as the cousin I had always secretly wanted and dreamed of; I heard, “you will need to lose at least 10 kilos to fit into this dress because no one wants a heifer in photos” slammed me back to reality.

The perfect Golden Haired Child I now realise was threatened because I was camping near her while she sat on her throne and she needed to eliminate the threat.  With that, she manages to sniff out your weakness and sends a dagger piercing through your hearts as she proceeds to pinch the imaginary fat around your waist while standing in the change room.

I can honestly say, having my face punched in by a netball player who hated my guts was nothing compared to the pain I felt when my heart broke into a million pieces, my self esteem plummeting so it was below Hell and the ever increasing thought of ‘I want to end the pain’ entered my mind.

When it came to wearing that beautiful blue dress I had tried on back in the change room, my amazing size six dress no longer fitted my non-perfect size two body.  All because my cousin, who at the time I adored, convinced me I was fat, hideous, obese and darling dearest, no one wants a heifer in their wedding photos when we look back upon them.

No wonder why I am psychologically and emotionally fucked up.

However with that, even though I don’t know if you read my blog nor do I really give shit if you do or don’t but here is a shout out for you darling dearest, Muffin.

Thank you so fucking much.  Thank you for showing me how amazing it is to be freed of your bullshit after spending many years of being psychologically damaged by you.  And with that, constantly reminding me with your petty jealousy because I have everything that you possibly could want, did have until you tossed it away for something bigger and brighter; that I am never going to be perfect. 

I accept the fact that I am never nor am I ever going to be perfect in your eyesight because I appear to be a big, fat fucking failure.

As a twenty something year old adult who is incredibly smart and no doubt probably smarter than you, hello studying nursing (can I get a round of applause please?), I am no longer under your demeaning and spiteful control that you once have over my mind and body.  

And as a result from stepping out of the restraint you once had over me, I am now able to see who you are as I am forcing myself to write this human rather than some other delightful words I had originally planned on calling you.  I no longer fear you because I now stand proudly in front of you with a determination to conquer your arse and make you my pussy bitch.

Hear or rather read me say, I will drill your sorry arse into the ground with all the things I can, would and should probably say about you but I know that you are a cold, bitter weakling who will turn to ‘Daddy’ because you are clearly  incompetent of fighting your own wars/battles.  With that discovery, I do not envy the lifestyle you have chosen and what you have become nor do I ever want to become something that resembles the inner dead shell you possibly call an interior.

If I do become something that resembles a twisted shard of glass that has lost its gleam, I have not only lost myself as a person, I have lost sight of what my journey in life is but I would have lost the thing that makes me someone who is completely different from you.  And that is humanity.  

I do not have blood running through my veins but rather I have humanity that runs through them instead as I do not belittle people for my own pleasure.  Unlike you as you clearly appear to enjoy the belittling of those until they reach the point of wanting commit suicide, just so than you can hear someone confirming your inner desire of “Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all”.

Famed in thy beauty, your Majesty.  But hold a lovely maid I see. For rags cannot hide her gentle grace.  Alas, she is more fair than thee and because my dear Majesty, you are no longer the fairest of them all.

I know and accept that you will still continue to seek clarification on how fair you are and with that, your judging and downright nasty thoughts.  And that you will still continue to harbour jealousy and loathing of Snow White because she managed to beat the Evil Queen in her own game and with that, has simply walked away without a look over her shoulder.  I accept the fact that if we do meet again, you will make a comment along the lines of “Scarlett, you look cute” as we both know that means you are telling me “could have put more effort in and you look hideous.” But just remember this: I’ve got better looking tits than you do.

And Ladies and Gentlemen who are no doubt stunned is the reason why I believe I shall not work in Mental Health either as nurse or a doctor.  It is not because of the staff members who I happen to believe are amazing and deserve serious funding to support their decisions in improving patient’s lives but simply because I would grow tired of treating my teenage self who didn’t want help.

After spending what seemed like many hours over the past few years talking sense to myself, I have made a list of three reasons why you may not be suited for The School of Nursing.

  1. Dealing with patients who have AIDs or other controversial disease, dying patients, amputees requiring to be lifted in/out of bed makes you want to stand there and either laugh at them or run for a mile in the opposite direction.
  2. You like casual naps in the morning, mid morning, mid afternoon and even longer naps at night without being disturbed by a pager going off or someone calling you for a shift at 0130 to start at 0630 that very morning.
  3.  And finally: the thought of getting up at 0445 every fucking morning for a solid week to start your shift 0630 makes you want to turn off the alarm, roll back over in bed and hide beneath your blankets.

And even though I said three, here is a special one just for you.

4.  Mental Health makes you sit there and revaluate your life, who you are as a person, your medical profession and action towards these patients, people who suffer any form of mental health, appreciate the fact that you appear to be ‘relatively’ normal and start the healing process that you have been wanting but have been afraid of after that fucking can of worms is opened.  Much to your horror and despair.

With that, I am going to give you a little advice and it is: the best thing that you can do when you meet someone who admits that they have previously used an illicit drug or  are using illicit drugs, they suffer from Depression, are currently suicidal and have a plan of acting out their suicide is to see them as a human.  Do not judge them or let your choices influence them in a negative way and vice versa.

If you do know someone who is depressed or has shown signs of being depressed such as ceasing all communication, isolating themselves from you; give them a call or go to their house and ask them “are you okay?”.  If you know someone who has admitted they are suicidal or your Gibbs gut instinct is telling you something is not right, get in your fucking car and go and find them.

You could potentially save their life and yours as well from guilt as to ‘why didn’t I try to stop them’.  Trust me, Lois has been there many times in that situation and if she hadn’t listened to her Gibbs gut, I wouldn’t be sitting here today and with that, be a fan-fucking-tastic student nurse.

I would be dead and six feet under with a daisy bush popping up from the ground or floating around Sydney Harbour after being ‘accidentally’ tossed over side.  As much as that person is going to hate you for destroying their plan, yes they may try to attempt to do it again multiple times or they are simply going to sit there nearly 10 years later and go: “Thank fucking God you actually stopped me.

For that, I couldn’t love you any more because you helped start the battle of self recovery”.

With that, I am a proud survivor of an eating disorder.  I am a proud survivor who faces a daily battle with her depression.  I am a proud survivor who has attempted multiple times to ‘end the pain’ because I thought my life was not worth living and to stop the pain my loved ones were facing.  I am a survivor of psychological and emotional bullying.  In general: I am a survivor of modern day living in a world where medication is the key and talking is not required.

Until next time,

Cheers xo

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