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General O/T Chit Chat Thread

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Knock_Loudly said:
Thank you for being a nurse Tracey. I've worked with many over the years even wanted to be one myself but changed my mind after all those years in the hospital system. And thank you for using your first name. You are a good stick!

Sincerely, Denys :thumbsup:
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Thank you, Denys.

I really love my job and take great pride in my role as a nurse.

A good nurse gives you what you need without any of the grief or sadness transferring into her heart and life. Of course there is always the exception to the rule, who gets under your skin, but I am talking as a whole. A good nurse can sit with the family and support and nurture them through the grieving process with empathy and understanding, and be laughing and talking cock by lunch.

When you deal with death and suffering on a daily basis, you become desensitised. It's not that we don't care, it is more we see it is a normal part of life, and something everyone will go through. We think we are so unique and individual but we all need pretty much the same things in that raw moment of initial grief.

It makes me happy your Mum's nurses gave you that.

I wish Mutley was here. He can explain it so much better than I can.
 
Lucas said:
I can't imagine growing up in the 80's and dealing with what a lot of gay people had to deal with back then and that frightening era of early HIV/AIDS which seemed to be the "gay" disease.

I am so lucky to be born in the time that I did and I very much appreciate all the previous gay and gay friendly people in the world who fought so hard for their human rights to be who they are. There is still a long way to go but without those people I wouldn't be able to be who I am today :singing:. The world is a lot less frightening for me thanks to them. :)
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The way gay men with AIDS were treated in the PA hospital in the 80's sounded fucking horrendous. They were treated as lepers. Young men, ostracised to the back of the hospital like a dirty secret.

I was taught nursing by a CN who nursed men there. She played a huge role in educating nurses as most thought they could "catch" it from breathing the same air.
 
Trala said:
The way gay men with HIV were treated in the PA hospital in the 80's sounded fucking horrendous. They were treated as lepers. Young men, ostracised to the back of the hospital like a dirty secret.

I was taught nursing by a CN who nursed men there. She played a huge role in educating nurses as most thought they could "catch" it from breathing the same air.
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You were lucky to get someone great. I reckon that you would be a pretty special educator yourself there Trala.

If anyone wants to understand what it was like in those early days and particularly from a Sydney perspective there is a wonderful documentary called, Rampant: How a City Stopped a Plague. I know some of the people featured in it.

 
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Knock_Loudly said:
I just want to mention that being present when a person dies is a privilege and particularly for a loved one it made it easier.

Having worked in a hospital I was aware that a person in the throes of death, so to speak, will have a bowel movement. In the case of my mum, when we arrived in the morning to see her and we knew then that there would only be hours or days to go, the nurses were in her room and changing the sheets. We could all smell 'the smell'. Within five minutes of us arriving and on the stroke of 11 o'clock (AM) and one week to the day and hour of my mum entering hospital through Emergency, my mother passed away.

The nurses were lovely. The five of us present spent at least another 90 minutes crying, laughing and all that comes with losing someone that has been a part of your life forever. I am pleased that I was there for that moment.
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I'm glad your mum's passing was a positive (you know what I mean) experience for you and that you had the right kind of people with you at the time. I'm not a nurse but am often with people and their families at this time. You are right - it's a huge privilege. God bless, Denys. Kay.
 
Trala said:
The way gay men with AIDS were treated in the PA hospital in the 80's sounded fucking horrendous. They were treated as lepers. Young men, ostracised to the back of the hospital like a dirty secret.

I was taught nursing by a CN who nursed men there. She played a huge role in educating nurses as most thought they could "catch" it from breathing the same air.
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I have seen a lot of documentaries. I'm interested in a lot of the history and information on HIV/AIDS. I suppose because it has been linked with being gay that I wanted to read about it and keep myself safe. My heart breaks when I think of those poor men. :cry:

The following is a fictional story. I think (?) it was written by Beth Broderick who played Aunt Zelda on Sabrina, The Teenage Witch. She has had a lot to do with helping people with AIDS for many years since the 1980s. She is the founding director of Momentum, which was one of the first organisations in New York established to assist people with AIDS.

WARNING: it WILL make you cry! :cry:
EDIT: I'm tearing up right now just reading it! F*****g god this hurts to read. :cry: :cry: :cry:

Larry 1984
You are 22 years old and have lived in New York City for almost a year now. They say it takes that long to begin to feel that you are a part of the place. You wanted to come here at 18, but your Midwestern parents insisted you finish college first and now you are kind of glad you did, because even a temp job is hard to come by here. Nights you do word processing for a downtown firm. You spend your days trying to get a part, ANY part in any show. Broadway... Off Broadway... it doesn't matter. You are certain that you have the stuff. An agent saw you in a showcase a few weeks back and says you have potential, which is huge. He agreed to take you on as a hip-pocket client, which is way huge. When you told your parents this momentous news they pretended to be happy for you, but you could hear the judgment in their voices... they wish you would stop this foolishness and come home and get married and be a man. You are never going home, you CANNOT go home... this you know, but never say and they have given up asking. And anyway, this is going to be your year you can feel it. You have a girlfriend back home. Sarah is rooting for you and this helps, but also makes you feel terrible, because you love her, but, you don't know how to tell her that you have met someone else. Especially since that someone else is a boy from your acting class named Mark. The sex was different, but it felt as natural as breathing and as you lay in his arms after you tried to hide the curious thumping in your chest. You always knew that you were different, but it has all come into focus now, the feeling you have held back since childhood. You have yet to say the word out loud, but you know in your bones that you are one of "them". It is both frightening and thrilling to discover that you are gay.

You have an audition today and your stomach is churning... maybe that's what is causing the cramps that keep coming in waves. Or maybe it's the stupid flu... just what you need today of all days the freaking flu! You have been a little run down lately, but then working nights and all so it's probably nothing. You are not going to let it stop you... because this show is going to be big and you are perfect for the part of the innocent young man trying to make his way in the big city. So you gather yourself up and get to the audition. There are a couple dozen actors there ahead of you, but that is just part of the deal, so you put your name on the waiting list and find a space on the floor to sit. The floor is freezing and that must be what is causing the chill to run through you. You try to concentrate, but keep being jolted by shivers "A rabbit must have run across my grave" That is what your Mom always said whenever she shuddered and the memory of this warms you for a moment, but then the chill returns and you are beginning to understand that you are sick really sick. This sucks because you will have to miss work and you really need the money. Rent is due in a week and it is going to be tight. Your name is finally called and you make it through the audition, but it didn't go great, good, but not great and that totally sucks and it is starting to rain and you just want to get home and get warm, but the stupid bus is taking forever and your fever is climbing.

Two days later you wake up in the hospital. Your roommate called an ambulance because he found you on the sofa drenched in sweat and hallucinating. The nurse bends over you and she is a terrifying sight. She is wearing what looks like some kind of NASA space suit. You do not know how lucky you are to even have a nurse enter the room. You are one of a dozen or so recent cases of a strange disease that folks are calling Gay Men's Cancer. No one knows how it spreads or what causes it and many hospital workers, nurses and doctors alike are refusing to even treat patients for fear of catching this plague. "Your fever is down" she says her words muffled through a protective mask. You try to get up and she lurches back like you are some kind of monster. "Just stay down" she snaps. "The doctor will be by to see you later, stay down". You are confused and weak and want to fight this, but you lie back and try to quiet the panic that is rising inside.

The doctor tells you that you have "pnemosistis" pneumonia and he thinks this is being caused by a disease newly identified as AIDS. There have been some whispers about a few guys from the bar who got really sick, but no one knows much about it and those guys are hardcore, you think. This can't be happening, this doctor must be wrong! Oh God! What are you supposed to tell your boss? The people at work do not even think you are gay... they can never ever know that you have AIDS.

A week passes before they send you home with an armload of penicillin and tell you to stay in bed for two more days. You make it back to work on the third day and you are relieved to be getting stronger. Everyone says you look like you have lost weight, but, at 6 ft 175 pounds you are still a strapping young man. You decide that the doctor is wrong... it was just some complications from the flu. A few good meals and several hours at the gym and you are good as new.

Three weeks later you wake on Saturday morning and notice a strange coating on your tongue. By Monday there is a white foam at the corners of your mouth. This is so weird. The doctor at the hospital told you about a clinic that you could go to and with no small amount of dread you call for an appointment.

"Sounds like thrush" says the voice in a thick outer borough accent. "You had better come in". "This bites" you think, but you gather yourself and go to the clinic. The place looks like a bomb shelter, but that does not prepare you for what you will see when you enter the waiting room. The place appears to be a war zone. There are men in varying stages of the disease. Most are young, crazy young ... their soft boyish eyes filled with equal parts shock and sorrow, skin ravaged by purple lesions, flesh draped over protruding bone. You are stunned by how sick and wasted these men are. They appear to be made of twig and string.

You are given medicine for the thrush, but it gets much worse before it gets better and you are ashamed to go outside of the apartment with your foaming face and soon the drugs have taken a toll on your system and you are wracked with diarrhea. Your roommate tries to help by leaving food on the stove, but you can tell that he is too afraid and too disgusted to come near you. A week passes and you haven't been to the office. There is a large purple mark on the side of your neck. You think about calling home, but you are terrified of what your father will do and say when he finds out. Your boss calls to tell you not to bother coming back... your position has been filled. You try not to cry, but the tears start and will not stop... it feels like your life is slipping away. Mark hasn't even called and you are totally alone and maybe it's true what they are saying that this is God's punishment of your venal sins.
 
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Two weeks later, you find yourself spending the night on the bathroom floor... the diarrhea coming in wave after wave. You had an accident and it took all of your strength to clean it up and you would be mortified, but, you are too weak to care. The next thing you know you are back in the hospital surrounded by extraterrestrials. Someone is speaking to you, the doctor you think, but, his shape is blurry. "It looks like you have a lesion on your brain and that is what is causing the vision loss". You squint opening first the left eye and then the right. The right eye brings the doctor into a kind of shadowed relief. "Would you like me to call someone? Your family?" the voice asks and there is a deep kindness in it that almost breaks you, but you shake your head , your voice sounds unfamiliar when you speak "no no ", you say and turn your face so that he cannot see the shame.

You do not know this, but your roommate is calling your Mom back home and telling her how sick you are, that they say you have AIDS. She listens quietly, holding herself around the middle. She cannot take it in really. Her son is so young and strong that surely he will recover from whatever this is. She promises to send money, but asks the young man to please not call here again. If your father got wind of it there would be no end to his fury. Gay? AIDS? She cannot believe it, she refuses to believe it.

A week passes and you are not better. The hospital room is quiet. No one has entered in what seems like days and you cannot remember the last time you have eaten. Each breath comes in with a high pitched sigh as if your lungs were made of wind chimes, the paper origami kind that sort of whistle in the breeze. Your right eye no longer affords you any indication of the time, there are only shadows now and it could be night or day. It no longer matters. The doctor was here to see you yesterday? Today? You aren't sure really. He asked again if there was anyone to call, but this time you just stared ahead blankly. No.

Is this a dream or has Mark entered the room? The boy you loved so much that it hurts just to hear his voice. You cannot see him and will never know how weakened he too has become. He says gently: "Hey" and touches your forehead and the warmth of it spreads through to your toes. You begin to feel light as if you were floating. The hand strokes your head and you give in to it, allowing yourself to soften. "It's okay" he says, and you want to believe him, but mostly you are aching to feel him next to you. "Please? ", you ask and he gently lifts you to make room. You weigh 100 pounds now, there is nothing left of you, but a heart so young it does not know how to stop beating. Mark summons all of his courage and lays his body next to yours "I'm sorry" he whispers and it is the last thing you hear.

It is a week before she arrives to gather your things for the long ride home. Your father has not spoken since he learned of your death. That is just as well, because she has nothing to say to him. There are no words for any of it. Your roommate helps her stack your bags by the front door and hands her a letter that is addressed to you. Inside is 500 dollars and a note that says. "This is all I can get for now without your father finding out. You know how he is. I love you. Get well soon.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/beth-broderick/larry-1984_b_375801.html

Knock_Loudly said:
You were lucky to get someone great. I reckon that you would be a pretty special educator yourself there Trala.
If anyone wants to understand what it was like in those early days and particularly from a Sydney perspective there is a wonderful documentary called, Rampant: How a City Stopped a Plague. I know many of the people featured in it.
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I have seen that doco! Very interesting and informative.
 
I've been a nurse since I was 19, and the last 16 years have worked in a palliative care unit, have seen my fair share of death, I cannot speak for Trala or Mutleyp, but nursing patients that are dying or die is an absolute privilege. I love being a nurse, I hate all the politics that goes with nursing, and some of the bs that you get from admin.
In saying that, we all have a special place on this earth, nurse or otherwise.
Knock loudly, I am glad you were there for your mum, and that you were able to spend some time with her afterwards xx
 
iJake said:
Oh, what made you change it?
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It's the silliest story but since you asked. ..... ;)

I had a flatmate who would leave me phone messages (yes, before mobiles) and he would spell my name like that. Not sure why and I've recounted this story to him and he has no idea either. Anyway, never liked my first name but being the dill that I am and instead of changing it I just amended the spelling. Works out better anyway numerology wise.
 
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