I eye-roll 3,496 times a day. Facepalm 1,569 times also.
I make frequent use of the ‘hold’ button.
I get excited over new stationery.
When you’re shouting down the phone at me, it doesn’t make me want to help you more.
I’m an all-day grazer. My desk is covered in snacks.
I’m more embarrassed by your ‘embarrassing story’ than you are.
We’re not all 1 person. As much as I’d love to I can’t physically, emotionally, willingly- answer the phone, sit at the front desk, be the Dr’s secretary, filing and do admin.
There are times when I release a string of profanity as soon as you hang up.
I don’t have a magic wand, and no one is more gutted about that than I am. I can’t magic appointments out of thin air.
It’s exhausting being smiley and upbeat all day long. Most days I manage to leave my shit at the door. Most days…
This is my job, my career. I am a professional receptionist. This isn’t a stop-gap while I’m home at uni.
Saying the words: “Just-a-receptionist” is a sure-fire way of pissing me off and is will earn you either eye-roll or “WTF” face.
A sense of humour is VITAL in this job.
It will be very tense prior to the annual CQC visit.
Nothing makes me feel more like I’m exactly in the right place more than hearing a “Thank-you for you help” or seeing someone’s bad day ease just by providing a caring, compassionate response to a person’s bad time.
I woke up on Wednesday morning with this poem in my head and when I put pen to paper the words just flew across the page. This came out of nowhere! Children’s poetry isn’t usually my thing and the only explanation I can come up with is; it must be drug-induced creativity.
I have recently been given Fentanyl patches as a form of pain relief for my severe and soul-crushing Endometriosis pain. This is the 2nd cycle using this patch and both times something freaky has happened. And it’s not even Friday!
After doing some online research, I found out that Fentanyl is 50-100x stronger than Morphine. So it’s no wonder I’m going bat-shit crazy! It’s been a struggle to hit the right keys, to form sentences and to even get out of bed, but I felt compelled to share this ray of sunshine with you! How could I not?
I haven’t slept for 3 nights. Tossing and turning, uncomfortable and exhausted. It’s been a few days now since I’ve slept all the way through. Maybe that’s why I feel so drained?
On Tuesday I visited my GP. This is the first time I’ve seen him in 2017. My pain killers don’t work as well anymore and I’m having to use every trick up my sleeve to get some relief. I’ve tried other things; medicated menthol patches from Amazon, a new TENS machine, all sorts. None of it seems to be doing any good.
The doctor only told me what I already knew. I know there’s no cure. I know things were pretty awful inside me during, and still following, my surgery in September. I know at some point I’m going to have to make that final decision. His question was: “How much longer are you going to continue trying to conceive? How much longer can you stand it?”
If you’d asked me this last night, my response would’ve been; no more. I can’t see myself getting pregnant, I can only see pain. I’m only just managing to pull myself out of my pit after a week’s flare, I’m not sure I’d be able to cope emotionally if something bad was to happen after I conceive. I already know my tube, the wanton singleton, isn’t healthy. The risk of having an ectopic pregnancy is high; if that occurs not only will I love this last fallopian tube, but also a baby I have wished for, for so long.
Today, however, I’m still profoundly pessimistic about things but I’m not sure I’m ready to throw the towel in just yet.
Surely there is another option? Anything!
If anybody has tried anything that has provided some relief, or aided them in conceiving or in making such an impossible, difficult decision, please contact me.
I’m almost there…almost ready to admit defeat, but- not quite.
Some loves are true and fast; known as love at first sight. The sudden impact of this love can alter a person forever.
A mother’s love should be like a lioness. Tender but forever lasting. She is fiercely protective of her children and grandchildren. God help those who harm or wrong any of them.
Young love is sweet and all consuming. Unable to stop thinking about each other, powerful but sensitive. A puppy love is endearing, like when a man’s eyes soften as he looks at the person he loves or the way a woman melts in her lover’s embrace.
We all want a relationship that is full of passion, that brings out the best of both halves of the couple. But passion is like fire, it must be kindled and maintained or it becomes out of control; burning everything that it touches.
A love can grow old along with you and as it ages, it changes into a love that is strong, familiar and evergreen. Two souls that share a lifetime of memories must surely know each other inside and out; steadfast, accepting of flaws and bracing against the harshness in life.
At 17 years old, I remember describing my ideal man at a sleepover with my girlfriends. Dark, mysterious, face fur, perhaps a bit older than myself. I rounded up this description by adding: “He’ll cook too! Or a chef! I love food!” My friends responded with enthusiastic nods and approval.
Two years later, I met my (now) husband. 15 years my senior, he was mysterious, mature and I think I fell for him pretty much straight away. After becoming friends, I then found out he was a qualified chef. He ticked every box.
Now, 2 years into our marriage, 7 years into our relationship, I know my husband very well. I have come to terms with the late nights, unsociable hours, his absence on Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve. I understand what comes with being a chef.
Even now, when I meet people who don’t know my husband, and I let slip that he’s a chef. I get looks of approval, that twinkle in a woman’s eye, the silent (and sometimes not) look that says it all; “I bet you get some good meals, I bet it’s lovely being married to a chef!”
Of course it is, I love my husband.
But his job has its moments!
I always make alternative plans for Christmas Dinner or I’d be spending the day alone.
“like ships in the night” the hours are long and days off are few
When he says, he’s leaving in the next 10 minutes, he really means after an hour
Meals will go cold, so I don’t bother cooking a meal for him until he’s 20 minutes away.
Eating out is a whole new experience – “I coulda made that better myself” I hear this a lot.
Cooking at home isn’t as fun. I used to enjoy cooking but when I cook for my husband (and he’s at home) he stands near me watching, or asking me questions. It’s better for my state of mind and his physical wellbeing for him to just do the cooking.
He buys meat no one would normally buy! Pig’s heart. I felt like I’d walked in Dr Lecter’s kitchen.
Twice a week there is a mountain of aprons that need to go on a boil wash and always end up knotted together by their ties! It’s like when you get a necklace knotted, only more infuriating!
My husband smells like food, all the time. Which sounds great; you’re thinking pies, pizza, cake. No- more like onions, garlic, salmon, steak/smokehouse.
He feeds me.
I realised food is exciting, like foreplay.
He knows all the good places to eat.
I have learned to try new things! Since being with him I have tried: Sushi, black pudding, scallops, saffron, steak cooked blue.
Steak, sausage and stilton wraps – I questioned it too, but it’s a taste sensation!
There are perks – I have played Taste Tester for items on new menus
I have been able to order (slightly) off menu, when he’s cooking
When he tells me about his day, I can drool on cue.
I know how to make a Roux and a Béchamel sauce.
Our dog eats really well.
Now I think about it… I’m thankful I’m a Chef’s wife.
Hubs works incredibly hard, and makes some amazing food. He’s currently running the kitchen at a Steakhouse in Caistor. Here, binge on some Food Porn…
Mulled Wine poached Pear
Trio of Burgers (venison, beef&chorizo, breaded chicken)
Smoked Haddock Chowder
Trio of Fish (tempura prawn, smoked haddock fishcake, smoked salmon pate)
Braised Pork with crackling & Black Pudding Bon Bons