The Adventures of the Sad Little Cookie

The Adventures of the Sad Little Cookie,
originally uploaded by moonjazz.

Honesty is the best policy?

Today I had one of those 'lightbulb' moments regarding this blog. I couldn't quite understand why I was wanting to write on here - I'm not a great writer or wordsmith and struggle to make any sense at times. I'm a chatty person, so why am I doing this?

I think the point is I'm actually feeling a bit lonely and lost at the moment. Over the last few years for a number of reasons I've managed to become more and more cut off from my old friends and now I'm not quite sure where I fit in. It started with going overseas to work for a few years, everyone else stayed behind and of course, moved on with their lives. When I returned we were still good friends but I couldn't just move back and carry on where we'd left off. Unfortunately, they had other friends/boyfriends they now did that with and I had Mr O and lived 30 miles away, not around the corner. I have made some friends here, but mostly through work and not sure that's always a good thing - always lots of politics involved or just discussing work when we're supposed to be out relaxing. I really miss my old friends, we still meet up and that's lovely, but I miss the closeness we once had.

Other thing is the job. I really like psychiatry but I'm finding it really hard to work out where my niche is within it. I always saw myself eventually working in a district hospital, with some inpatient work and some outpatient/community mental health team work. Unfortunately for me, the system is changing so that many consultants end up doing either all inpatient or all outpatient work. Both those options sound quite dull, it was the variety I liked the idea of.

I'm sure a big factor in my current negative mindset is that I'm presently working full time (plus on calls) and commuting 40 miles each way to work most days. This was never a problem BC (before children), but now means I only see the duracell toddler for extremely short periods in the week - about an hour in evenings before he goes to bed. Mr O is brilliant with sorting him out and getting him to/from nursery but this doesn't make me feel like a very good or nice mummy. Would like to be home a bit more with DT. Unfortunately I have always been the major breadwinner and part time work has not been an option for us as yet. I'm holding out for October when I change post and will be much closer to home - I'm sure everything will seem much rosier then!

There you go, this is working as therapy....I think just writing this down has brightened me up a bit and is making me think about what I can do about some of these things rather than just feeling unhappy with them. So much easier to sort out other people's issues, ridiculous eh?

dearest mother....

I always know when my mother has been to stay for a few days.

Firstly, I can't find everyday useful things that she has helpfully put away for me in utterly random places. Then there are the tissues. My mother thinks it is vitally important that she carry a clean tissue tucked in her sleeve at all times however they then fall out and end up scattered all around my house. Then there are the 'healthy' things I find lost at the back of the fridge such as cucumber, celery and watercress. I don't know whether the story that you use more calories eating them than you get from them is true, but I hope so. At least if they make dieters happy these bland items may be justified in some way. Fridges in my opinion should be reserved for nice things such as butter, cream, chocolate and beer.

After a visit from mum I do feel a bit exhausted. My mother and I have always got along reasonably well but after a few days we do start grating on each other's nerves. Now, I think this is pretty normal and probably because we're actually quite alike. Personally, I've always thought that those "we're best friends" mother-and-daughter types are completely nauseating.

Luckily, my mother isn't preachy on how we should bring up the duracell toddler (DT) but does like to repeatedly mention in a 'I'm just concerned for your health way', my fondness for takeaways at weekends, my weight and how great I looked when I was slimmer. She usually refers to an old photo of me taken at school at age 16, where I'm about a stone lighter with a very dodgy perm (it was the late 80's). Nowadays I admit I'm a little overweight but the way she talks you'd think that I was going to have to book two plane seats on our next holiday.
Other than these minor flaws, of which I know I have even more, my mother is pretty great really. I have always known she loves me and is there for me when I need her.

There are certain mothers, however, whom i'm sure we've all met who are just mean to their poor and often undeserving offspring. I'm always glad they're not my mother and it makes me feel very lucky. A lady I saw a few days ago illustrated this beautifully; Mrs L was a little, hunched-over frail-looking old lady, who walked with a stick. Appearances can be extremely deceptive. Following a life-long pattern of being rather angry and unpleasant towards her husband and only child, the early stages of a dementing illness had not improved her personality. Despite lots of support from home care, her daughter and friends, this lady was often angry and this was usually directed towards her daughter. She would often beat her long-suffering daughter with her walking stick, swearing at her and saying that her daughter was neglecting her. Recently this had increased so much that her daughter was worried about visiting her and was covered in bruises. Immediately after assaulting her daughter, Mrs L would be contrite and say how sorry she was, begging her daughter not to go. Mrs L had consistently stated that she wanted to stay living at home and refused to consider any other housing options such as sheltered housing or a residential home.

During my meeting with Mrs L she generally answered my questions in a quiet manner, often referring to her daughter to support her responses. However, halfway through our chat Mrs L's whole demeanour altered abruptly. She shouted her daughter's name so sharply and viciously that I jumped several inches off my chair. This was followed by a long series of expletives. The venom in her voice was remarkable. I felt so sorry for her daughter. She was doing everything she could to help her mother but was constantly being derided and abused. I couldn't help thinking that if it was me, I don't think I would've been so supportive.

My mother sometimes asks me if I will care for her in her old age. By this she means 'come and live with us'. Sounds pretty scary to me. I tell her half-joking, that she'll have to play her cards right. But I think that as long as I build her a granny flat, lock my cupboards, eat celery and attach a hanky to her wrist with elastic we should be absolutely fine.....

Patients say the funniest things....

Embarrassed Chimp,originally uploaded by Greencolander


I was doing well today. The sun was shining and I left the house for the first time this week without being covered in little flecks of Weetabix flung randomly by the Duracell toddler. I was feeling pretty smart and thought I looked pretty good wearing my new jacket. I made the early train with time to spare so managed to sit down looking reasonably cool and collected holding a latte, as opposed to my usual windswept appearance after running and jumping on as the doors are closing. I had time to buy a copy of The Big Issue from the ridiculously cheerful homeless chap who nearly always shouts a cheery 'hello!' at me as I rush past. I was given the nice airy clinic room by the clerk as opposed to the tiny one that smells of feet on a dry day and wet cat on a wet day. I saw my patients who all seemed to be doing reasonably well, their medication was helping them, the work we were doing was helpful etc - all was good. I was pleased. Very pleased. Self-confidence was at a high.

On the way out of my clinic I bumped into a previous patient that I hadn't seen for some time. When I had last seen T he was an inpatient in a community learning disability unit. He was admitted due to his psychotic symptoms and had a history of arson when unwell.

T had remained in the unit for a number of months longer than was necessary after his mental state improved, due to the problems in finding him an appropriate place to live. Despite this prolonged stay, he had generally been a cheery kind of chap with a ruddy-faced appearance, nicotine stained fingers and a long black beard. I knew that he had had a tendency in the past to say extremely untactful, sometimes slightly inappropriate things to others but I had always got on well with him and hadn't experienced anything like that. He used to talk to me about his favourite football team and would tell me all about their most recent match. Although I often didn't know much about his team, I would ask him questions about the game and he would delight in telling me the details of the players, the fouls, the fights and the goals of course.

When he saw me today he hurled himself across the waiting room shouting my name and nearly bowling over a grumpy-looking secretary, her arms full of medical notes. She scowled at him but he carried on, totally oblivious shouting "Doctor, doctor!" I stopped and he launched into his news. After excitedly telling me details of his new shared accommodation, the signings made by his football club and his predictions for the season he suddenly stopped and peered at me closely for a few seconds. It was just getting to a point when I was about to ask him what he was looking at when he took a deep breath and said "do you know you have a bit of a moustache?". This was followed promptly by "it was OK to tell you that wasn't it? I just thought you ought to know".

I went an interesting shade of deep red and told him that it was fine. Outside, it started to drizzle with rain....

Not waving but drowning...

Firstly, on behalf of the bewildered I feel I ought to clarify that I am not a whiz at doing wheelies on a small bike designed for adolescent boys. No, 'trick cyclist' is in fact slang terminology for a psychiatrist. Far less exciting than BMX riding I know. I think it's highly unlikely that you will be seeing videos of me doing a 180 barspin, followed by a funky chicken (real BMX bike tricks, I am reliably informed) on this webpage at any time soon. I recently purchased an ordinary road bike and had enough trouble working out how to change gear, never mind anything else.

No, instead I have decided that due to current job of listening to other people all day in my career, I need the chance to vent my spleen at someone myself. Guess what, you're it! Aren't you lucky? The good thing is (for you) that you can leave at any time and I can just jabber on to myself.

Only one slight problem I currently foresee, I am pretty bloomin' hopeless when it comes to technology. It's taken me nearly a week to:-
a)understand what a blog actually is after someone told me about them
b)work out how to find them on the internet then register for one
c)choose a name, then a template, add a photo on the site and type this in.

Basically, if I don't get any quicker, I'll be older and probably more withered than Methuselah before I even get to the weekend. I'm hoping I've done the hardest part...

Anyway, I live in a small town 'oop north'. It's a nice place, up-market with lots of arty and cultural events happening and populated by rather a high percentage of posh, yummy-type mummies, their almost inevitably rich (and older) husbands and their delightful and usually gorgeous offspring with their often 'unusual' names. I hope the O family are a little more grounded than some of the 'yummies' as I like to call them, more about them another time!

I have a husband, originally from down under, who is rather keen on his cricket, golf and rugby so most weekends he is off doing one or the other, depending on the season. I just don't get it, especially cricket - how can a game that slow possibly be called sport? I think it was Robin Williams who once described it as 'baseball on valium'. Then there is the Duracell toddler, self-explanatory I think! (Note: other long-life battery brands are available....)

I qualified from medical school and did a few posts in medicine, surgery and accident and emergency before settling down in Psychiatry. After spending some time working overseas for a bit of 'life experience' as my mother liked to call it, 'doing less work with more time in the sun' I called it, I settled back to work in the UK. After paying an unfeasibly large amount of money to the Royal College of Psychiatrists I finally passed my membership exams , was awarded more letters to put behind my name and then promptly got pregnant. To be fair it wasn't really the best timing as the Government in it's wisdom was about to shake up junior doctors training, and what a palaver that was! However, after attending my job interview whilst 5 months pregnant wearing some huge Bridget Jones-style knickers I got my higher training post and all (so far) has worked out for the best.

So here I am, trick cycling my way through life....most of the time I really enjoy it and feel I am helping people, even though it is sometimes a slow process. Hey, it could be worse, I could be an appallingly bad BMX biker.