Tag Archives: hospital

Duh!

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Charlie Chaplain’s Tales

Two doctors were in a hospital corridor one day complaining about a particularly thick staff nurse.

“She’s incredibly stupid. She does everything absolutely backwards.” said one doctor. “Just last week, I told her to give a patient 2 milligrams of Percocet every 10 hours. She gave him 10 milligrams every 2 hours. He nearly died on us!”

The second doctor said, “That’s nothing. Earlier this week, I told her to give a patient an enema every 24 hours. She tried to give him 24 enemas in one hour! The guy nearly exploded!”

Suddenly, they hear this blood-curdling scream from down the hall. “Oh my God!” said the first doctor, “I just realized I told her to prick Mr. Smith’s boil!”

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Winalot Diet

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Yesterday I  was at my local TESCO’  store  buying a large bag of Winalot dog food for my loyal pet and was in the checkout  queue when a woman behind me asked if I had a dog.

What did she think I had, an elephant?

So, since I’m retired and have little to do  on impulse I told her that no, I didn’t have a dog, I was starting the Winalot Diet again.

I added that I probably shouldn’’t, because I ended up in hospital last time, but I’d  lost 2  stone before I woke up in intensive care with tubes coming out of  most  of my orifices and IVs in both arms.  The healthcare Chaplain was at my bedside day and night praying for me.

I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works  is to load your pockets with  Winalot nuggets and simply eat one or  two every time you feel hungry. The food is nutritionally complete so it works well  and I was going to try it again. (I have to  mention here that practically everyone in  queue was now enthralled with my story.)

Horrified, she asked me if I ended up in intensive care because the dog food poisoned me.

I told her no, I stepped off the kerb to sniff an Irish Setter’s arse and a car hit me.

I thought the guy behind her was going to have a heart  attack he was laughing so hard.
I’m now banned  from TESCO’.

Better watch what you  ask retired people. They  have all the time in the world  to think of daft things to say.

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Even more Charlie Chaplain’s Tales

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August 10, 2013 · 09:06

Charlie Chaplain’s Tales

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July 24, 2013 · 12:06

Crichton Royal Hospital

Crichton Royal Hospital

William Burns – drawing of the Crichton Royal Hospital, Dumfries, 1834

I used to like working here – just before it closed altogether round about 2000. Church services continue in the Crichton Memorial Church

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July 8, 2013 · 17:47

Who I am

Who I am

When an old lady died in the Geriatric Ward of Ashludie Hospital near Dundee,  it appeared that she had left nothing of value. The nurses, in going through her possessions, found a poem. The quality of the poem so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. When one of the nurses moved to nursing geriatric patients in Briad Valley Hospital in Ireland, she took her copy with her and the poem appeared in a Christmas edition of the Beacon House News, the magazine for Northern Ireland Association for Mental Health. This then was the lady’s bequest to posterity

What do you see, nurses, what do you see? Are you thinking, when you look at me – A crabbit old woman, not very wise, Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes, Who dribbles her food and makes no reply, When you say in a loud voice — “I do wish you’d try.”

Who seems not to notice the things that you do, And forever is losing a stocking or shoe, Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will, With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill. Is that what you’re thinking, is that what you see? Then open your eyes, nurse, you’re looking at ME… I’ll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still; As I rise at your bidding, as I eat at your will.

I’m a small child of ten with a father and mother, Brothers and sisters, who love one another, A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet. Dreaming that soon now a lover she’ll meet; A bride soon at twenty — my heart gives a leap, Remembering the vows that I promised to keep; At twenty-five now I have young of my own, Who need me to build a secure, happy home; A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast, Bound to each other with ties that should last; At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone, But my man’s beside me to see I don’t mourn; At fifty once more babies play ’round my knee, Again we know children, my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead, I look at the future, I shudder with dread, For my young are all rearing young of their own, And I think of the years and the love that I’ve known; I’m an old woman now and nature is cruel – ‘Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.

The body is crumbled, grace and vigor depart, There is now a stone where once I had a heart, But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells, And now and again my battered heart swells.

I remember the joys, I remember the pain, And I’m loving and living life over again, I think of the years, all too few — gone too fast, And accept the stark fact that nothing can last – So I open your eyes, nurses, open and see, Not a crabbit old woman, look closer, nurses — see ME!

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July 3, 2013 · 10:54

A matter of Perception

A matter of Perception

 

I’m reminded of a young man who was a member of one of my congregations.  He had severe leukaemia and was hospitalised in a small room in a hospital ward – in isolation – at the Western General in Edinburgh.  There was a small window in that room that had a magnificent view of the City sweeping upwards toward the Castle in the distance.

He was a keen artist, and had his materials brought in.  He didn’t sketch or paint pictures of despair or anger at his medical condition; rather he depicted the wonderful scene and glorious landscape that he could see from the window of his “cell” but which he would never again experience in person.

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April 10, 2013 · 08:26

Doubting Thomas

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For My Spiritual Care Friends – a joke you will have heard before, I’m sure….

The Meenister’s Log

The Priest said to the new Curate who was just about to set off on his first hospital visit, “you’ll know who are our faith by the notice at the end of their bed”

So the Curate went to this ward and at the bottom the first bed was a post that read “P”.  “Ah” said he “obviously a Protestant”, but being the polite chap he was, he wished the patient well.

The next bed: “P” – again, good wishes and blessings were given.

A third bed and the same.

But, at the fourth bed the wonderful letters “RC”

The Curate approached the patient and they spoke for some time.  Then the former said “I’m sure the medical and nursing staff are caring for you so much – but please don’t neglect your spiritual health: three “Hail Marys” and two “Our Fathers” will give you so much strength.”

At which, the patient said, “Sorry, Father, but I’m a member of the Church of Scotland, not a Catholic”

“But it says ‘RC!”

“No,no, Father, it means that I’m having Rice Krispies for breakfast; the others are having porridge”

(it actually happened a few years ago when Father Michael, who had checked the in-patient list beforehand, found (under RC) a particular patient, had a good chat with him, only to discover that he was a Kirk Elder)

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