Well. Today was... well, I was definitely kept busy for the most part. How busy? I arrived at work at quarter to eight, took my tea break at a quarter past twelve, at lunch at ten past five and arrived home exhausted at twenty to ten. The fact that my feet were sore by ten o'clock this morning only made the whole experience that one bit more joyous.

I love you, modern NHS. Hey, everyone, feel the sarcasm.

*dies*

Anyway, today was good for a minor reason. I got to deal with a patient transfer on my lonesome. I've escorted patients offsite before, but always with a trained member of staff. In short, all I've really done during times like that is stand there and look pretty whilst someone else dealt with the notes and the handover and made sure the patient wasn't about to collapse. Today, though, I got to escort a patient from our ward to a ward in one of the other hospitals in my trust (a journey of about 20 minutes each way what with London traffic), pick up another patient from that hospital who was being transferred back to our ward and return to the hospital with her.

Of course, there was the inevitable screw-up with transport - the NHS couldn't possibly manage a patient swap like that without something going wrong and though I got there okay, nobody had thought to provide me with any way to get back and, because transport always takes ages, the ward I was collecting my patient from decided to cut out the middleman and order a taxi. To say this probably wasn't the brightest of ideas is to understate the point just a touch.

(Not that I minded because it meant I got to do some advanced-level sitting down and my feet were even sorer by this stage, so that was more than welcome.)

Anyway, all in all this made me feel like a grown-up nursing student who was Trusted. Largely because it meant for the first time in my life I was actually handing a patient's case over without anyone watching me like the proverbial hawk and reminding me what I needed to say and well, I suppose something must have gone in from all the handovers I've seen, heard and read about because even if I say so myself I think I acquitted myself quite well.

I think one of the nurses on the ward is trying to convert me. He gave me a pamphlet named 'Rhapsody of Realities' by some tele-evangelist I've never heard of. Being the cynic that I am I immediately found the brochure on Pastor Whoever's talent for faith healing and the rapture and transport he brings to the masses who attend his events (two words for you: mass hysteria. It's very hard not to follow the crowd when you're stood right in the middle of it. Go to a soccer game and see if I'm not right) and spent a few happy minutes skewering it with a senior staff nurse. Funnily enough we both thought anti-retrovirals would be rather more efficacious than the power of prayer when it comes to combating an HIV infection... who'd have thought it, eh?

(What really worries me about is that some of the people 'cured' at these events might stop accepting treatment as a result and that's a damn good way to get very very sick - or very very dead - very very fast...)

I wonder what his motive is. He knows I'm into Gothic fashion so maybe he thinks I'm a Satanist and is trying to save me from the darkness. Maybe he's taken me on as a pet project. Or - seeing as he keeps asking me if I'll go to Church with him - maybe he wants to ask me out but thinks I won't be adequate girlfriend material until I'm converted? He has mentioned that he likes my hair (which reaches about mid-back and I'll admit is probably my best feature right now) and seemed surprised when I said I didn't have a boyfriend. Which, if that was the case, would be both flattering and weird.

Will be online for a while yet; I feel the need to indulge my tiredness. I intend to add a meme to this post just as soon as I can find a fun one. And I swear I'm going to write that fic tomorrow before I lose a leg to my own plot bunnies...