Days 4-12/82 of isolation

Days 4-12 of isolation have been spent doing, well, fuck all really. A high was receiving my 'shielding letter' in the post, because it clearly stated in black and white that I needed to remain at home for 12 weeks from the date of the letter, which was 21st March, and 2 days earlier than I started!!

I've applied for season 6 of Hunted,  somewhat succeeded at teaching my nan to use an iPad, and I'm dreaming of a trip abroad. I've been thinking of the dozens (hundreds?) of people I've met on my travels, and even heard from a few, and I hope they're all doing okay in their parts of the world.

I've also been watching a lot of daytime TV and saw that medical students have been green-lighted through their finals. In lieu of their final 6 months of training, I've written a handy list of top tips which I'm certain is a fair substitute (they must be read in the voice of a ruddy faced, upper class, middle aged man):

1.  If in doubt, Google it. It’s quicker than the BNF.
2. It’s wise to rule out a period before admitting for a PV bleed
3. If the nurses are worried, you should be too
4. Make the nurses tea whilst they sort it all out
5. Stick ‘em with the pointy end
6. If you’re sending them to labour suite, do try to make sure they’re pregnant
7. Paracetamol if they’re hot
8. Co-amxoiclav cures most things…
9. …unless they’re allergic to penicillin. Then add in adrenaline and chlorphenamine.
10. IVDUs are notoriously honest
11. Do try to make sure they’re anaesthetised before operating
12. A FBC buys valuable time
13. If their heart stops, push push, blow blow!
14. If 13 fails, try electrocuting them
15. Messy handwriting disguises an ill-advised plan

Love Emily x

Days 1-3/84 of isolation

This post comes from Rushden, Northamptonshire and is one of the less exotic places I've visited (although I think you need the same jabs). I'm staying with my parents because sadly I've been informed that I'm "extremely vulnerable" and "at risk of dying" if I catch COVID-19, and ordered to "remain at home for a minimum of 12 weeks". I thought Rushden would be better than Nottingham as I'm able to have my own bedroom and bathroom, and work has allowed me to work from home (plus Darryl has a cough).






Writing this blog has kept me sane in times of incarceration and isolation before, so I'll keep on going whilst being clear I write it for my benefit, not your amusement (although if you enjoy it... bonus!). I've always aimed for the tone of this blog to be 'quite upbeat, considering' and that's what I'll try to maintain, but please accept my advance apologies if it turns into a millennial snowflake version of Anne Frank (on a significantly less inspiring scale).




So what have I been up to? Bugger all.




Love Emily x

London, March 2020

I’m writing this post with a low-level yet constant anxiety and a mild terror of how my health, professional life and family will cope with the coming months. Ordinarily a trip to London wouldn’t warrant a blog post yet, peri-COVID19, it felt like a border had been crossed by venturing within the M25. London was deserted: we got seats on the central line, and a table at a bar in Soho.

The weekend was an unmitigated fail, which started badly with a detour through the suburbs of St Albans and got progressively worse. We’d pre-booked parking at a local Waitrose car park however spaces were scarce and we left Darryl’s car precariously wedges between a pillar and a Land Rover. The hotel was boiling hot and above the Circle and District lines, so every 7 minutes the room shook. There were a collection of disturbing stains on the carpet and sofa, and the bedroom area of the suite was barely bigger than the double bed. 

A vegan breakfast was included which we hoped would be the redeeming feature, but our optimism was misplaced. Instead of a vegan fry-up it was a continental breakfast with all dairy-containing items removed, no-one serving coffee, and dollops of peanut butter all over the surfaces. We cut our losses, decided to get breakfast at Waitrose, and checked out. I didn’t realise that Darryl had left a scathing review, but the receptionist did, and mentioned it. We were offered a full refund in exchange for removing the review, which Darryl refused in favour of his integrity, and didn’t pick up on my telepathic screams of “take the money and leave the review!!”. 

A couple of hundred quid down, we traipsed to Waitrose to drop our stuff in the car and have breakfast, completely forgetting about Sunday trading hours. We walked 3 sides of the rectangular building to find the car park entrance, which was shuttered down until store opening. We found the only open place (McDonalds), and sat their with our luggage eating hash browns. At 11:00 we returned to the car, and discovered the Range Rover dented a door.

Love Emily x

Tirana; Albania and Ohrid; North Macedonia

On Thursday evening I arrived in Tirana, the capital city of Albania (country #48). The owner of the hostel I stayed at picked me up from the airport, and drove a lap of the city to point out landmarks for me to visit the next day. The bed in the hostel was marvellous, and I woke up on Friday ready for a day of exploring.

I’d pre-booked a guide, Adam, who was built like a brick shithouse, had a dashboard lit up like Blackpool with warning lights, used to play for the Albanian U21s football team, nearly played for Middlesbrough but didn’t for visa reasons. He now smokes like a chimney and likely has emphysema, alluded to a history of people smuggling, casually mentioned spending a few nights in the cells, and proudly stated his father was the “4th most powerful man” (?where). Despite all of this he was just as friendly as the other Albanians I’d met, I immediately trusted him, and he drove me through the snowy mountains to Ohrid in Macedonia (country #49).

Ohrid is a tiny city which sits on the shore of the aptly named Lake Ohrid. There’s a castle and some churches with gorgeous views of the lake, but more importantly a shop which sold postcards and a post office. Adam commended my fast walking pace, and rewarded me with a free 90 minute walking tour of Tirana when we arrived back in Albania with the time that we’d saved by not dawdling.

This was a busy day, and my flight home was scheduled for 21:15 but was predictably delayed. All this made for a knackered Emily who was not in the mood to respond to the first “could any doctors or nurses on board please make themselves known” announcement I’ve heard in 75 flights, and anyway, I am neither a doctor nor a nurse. No-one answered, and eventually the crew lowered their criteria to “anyone with any medical training at all” which I had to concede did include me. Some woman had gone slightly too hard on the sauce and had a woozy moment, but was conscious and very clearly fine. I applied a facial mask which was shaped like a cup so the oxygen just puffed out of the sides rather than into her airway; not that it mattered because she didn’t need it, I just felt like I had to do something because a lot of people were watching. I’ve heard tales of doctors being given free tickets with BA for dishing out a gram of paracetamol on a flight. WizzAir’s offering? Charging me the full €2.50 for a Pepsi bastard Max. 

Bottom line: I’d totally recommend Albania as a place to visit but screw Wizz Air.

Love Emily x