Just Call Me Charlie

Every so often something will happen at work that makes me feel like I’m on an episode of Casualty.

I’ve not watched Casualty, Holby City and the like for years, I just couldn’t get past the medical discrepancies. Seriously, who has ever conducted a romantic liaison in the sluice, it stinks in there.

But all these programmes are undeniably glam, with the staff saving five people before they’ve even had their first break and just occasionally I feel like I’ve stumbled into an episode. This is usually when there’s been a crash call to delivery suite and we have to run. At nursing school we were told never to run in the hospital as it incites panic but then there are lots of things I do as a NICU nurse that nursing school didn’t prepare me for.

Knitted boobs anyone?

Before I had my son I worked as part of the transport team, travelling to other neonatal units to retrieve babies that are too sick for them to care for. When we arrived the neontal team was usually rather relieved to see us but one one occasion we walked onto the unit, complete with transport incubator to be greeted with “Thank goodness you’re here.”

Just call me Charlie.

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