I forgot to add, I like giving people their depot injections.
That’s right. I like sticking needles in people’s arses.
I was incredibly apprehensive when the thought of giving a depot arose. I mean, you’re stabbing someone. Okay, it’s supposed to be for their own good, non-maleficence beneficence and all that, but it scared me. But now, with a few practices, reading up on injection technique and even writing my own personal assignment on anti-psychotic depot injections in the community, I’m more confident.
Before, if a nurse had said “Hey you, give Mr. Rogers his 200mg of Clopixol I.M. as prescribed on his chart” I would have been like “err…okay?” (i.e. I probably would’ve admitted I don’t know what I’m doing or at least been incredibly nervous beforehand). But now if a nurse said that to me, I’d be like “grab me an alcohol swab and the sharps bin please”.
Wow, just now, I thought, in a year or so I’m going to (hopefully, HOPEFULLY) be a qualified mental health nurse. Can you imagine? It feels like just a few months ago (like at least 8 months or something) I started my first year. I remember getting ready for my first day on placement (bearing in mind I’ve had no prior care experience before uni), getting changed, wearing my name badge, making sure my hair and make-up was okay and taking a picture on my camera to document it. I should’ve taken a picture on the first day back in my second year, and for my third year, and a pic of if/when/omg I graduate. I look so big in that picture I took. I guess walking up and down the wards helped lose a few pounds