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Here we go. This week at work I am under enormous pressure to complete all of my reports, my register, scheme book and other administrative paperwork, as well as work on my school’s Easter Hat Parade and organize a webinar on reading for all infant parents. Enormous Pressure. The kind that makes you queasy in the chest and your armpits spice-tingled with trepidation at the thought of messing up in any way.
Our theme for April is PRESSURE. Bonus points for entries that manage to resolve themselves with grace and wisdom. I could use the tips, haha. 500 words.
That Conversation
‘Frank wants the self-appraisals by Wednesday, remember.’
Colin’s words cut through my frantic attempts to pull the KPI figures together. No, I do not remember. I do not remember Wednesday figuring in any of the discussions.
‘But nobody has even started because we were told not to. The training doesn’t begin until Thursday.’
Colin grunts. ‘Well, you’d better drop what you’re doing and start.’
‘Colin, even if I did, which I can’t because this spreadsheet is needed for the Senior VP meeting in—’ I look at my watch, ‘—twenty minutes, I’ll never get forty-three assessments done, reviewed and signed off in one and a half days.’
Colin grunts again. ‘Well, you’ll have to tell Frank that.’
‘I’m telling you. Never mind dropping what I’m doing, I can’t drop anything. Have you forgotten that the project release is Wednesday night? Everybody is more than a hundred percent utilised. I mean, why do you think you’ve been signing all those overtime slips? We’re only doing the release on a bloody Wednesday because Colin insisted that the training for his precious self-appraisal system must start on Thursday.’
A grunt hat-trick. ‘Well, it’s no good telling me. Have that conversation with Frank.’
One eye still on my monitor and the spreadsheet, I open my laptop.
‘I can’t “have that conversation”, Colin, because Frank’s diary says that he’s on holiday until Friday. He can’t need them that urgently after all.’
‘He does.’
Colin brooks no argument. He has the implacable bland certainty of a man who doesn’t care as long as the boxes are ticked and the news passed up the chain is good.
‘His PA told me.’
‘Beryl told you? I’ll check with her later.’
Colin’s emotionless gaze settles on me for a moment. I can almost see the “told-Pete-box” being ticked in his head. He leaves. Just time to print a dozen copies of the spreadsheet and get them to the meeting. Steve rushes in.
‘Pete, Sheila’s got a bunch of VIP guests just rolled into reception. Can you nursemaid them for a couple of hours?’
‘Steve, nothing would bring me more joy than to serve coffee and biscuits to a bunch of rich people and lie about how good our software is, but I’m up to my eyes.’
Steve is looking desperate.
‘Please, Pete. I’m doing the minutes at the Senior VP meeting in—er—five minutes.’
‘Oh, bloody hell! OK Steve. There’s twelve spreadsheets for the meeting coming off this printer. Take them with you. Reception, you say?’
As I race down the corridor, towards reception, Norman from the finance team falls in step.
‘All set for your guys to help with the database upgrade tonight?’
‘No, Norman. I need more engineers myself.’
‘Colin agreed it.’
Then, it all resolves itself. At first, it’s agony; but as Norman’s puzzled face recedes and the floor approaches, a deep calm settles over me. From my new position, looking up at him, I smile beatifically.
‘Have that conversation with him, Norman.’
500 words ex title
Attempt to alleviate some plot pressure!
Monday they returned from Suffolk, Luke taking over the driving just before they reached the A14, having said to Fran, ‘You do the wriggly village bits. Easier on my arm if I drive the motorways.’
‘No worries.’ A lie. Except for easing the small concern Luke didn’t over-do it with his still-healing arm. Her not driving meant she had head space to re-sort the many and diverse worries she did have. Re-order them, attempt to allocate priorities.
At least the visit to her mother had dealt with some of the longer-outstanding ones. Ended the seven year non-speaking hiatus, begun when she’d stormed out, screaming about false-accusations (directed towards her was first love, now ex-boyfriend) after her step-sister’s suicide, to join the police.
And she’d finally been able to confirm her father hadn’t abandoned her mother simply because he’d not wanted a daughter. Not at all: he had been determined to – and until recently, successful at – escaping a five-year jail sentence, for fraud.
Much more recently – until just last week, when a DNA match – his found in the bed of a moderately successful local author subsequently found dying on a nearby beach – indicated they were blood-related, thus dictating a conflict of interest it had been Fran’s job – as DS Lloyd – to ascertain whether he’d additionally been responsible for that woman’s death.
She was still allowed to seek, to contribute intelligence. And it was … unfortunate that the most useful was being unearthed by Baz Rose. Her husband’s oldest friend, and the one man she needed to avoid. For her sanity’s sake For Luke’s sake. For the sake of Baz’s marriage. Of her own. (Less than three months old.) And for the sake of the eleven-week foetus ensconced within her belly. Father … uncertain.
But the first thing she had to do after returning home was visit her Gran’s house, having been told her on-the-run father had been hiding out there. Left evidence he was looking for ‘documents’. She’d go first thing tomorrow. Not tell Luke; he’d worry.
Next morning, unlocking the door, had she not been worrying about worrying Luke she’d’ve paid more attention. Noticed the absence of post on the doormat. Smelled the alien shower gel.
Because by the time it was too late there was only one more thing to worry about.
The pocket-size gun he pointed towards her.
For a mad, mind-blowing moment, Fran believed his firing it would solve everything. Welcomed the thought.
[413 words]
IT’S ALWAYS A GOOD DAY IF NOBODY DIES (489 words, inspired by Ath’s entry)
‘Lisa! Red phone!’
I suppressed a sigh. Just what I needed. Wasn’t it enough that I had one man on a balloon pump, another with a temporary pacing wire and the only empty bed in the unit? What were the chances that this call from the ambulance service would turn out to be a too-cautious paramedic and a patient with a questionable history?
Slim, as it turned out.
I picked up the phone. ‘Hi, it’s Lisa.’
‘Hi Lisa. It’s Bill. We’re enroute to you with a 41 year-old male, two hour history of crushing chest pain and ST elevation in his anterior leads. Did you get the ECG I sent through?’
On cue, the telemetry beeped. I opened Outlook and watched the message take shape. ‘Looking at it now,’ I said.
There was no mistaking the ST elevation in V1, 2, 3 and 4. Nor the depression in AVF. I waved at Fiona and pointed to the Cath Lab phone. ‘Get the team in,’ I mouthed. ‘This one’s going to need Primary PCI.’ I turned my attention back to the receiver in my hand. ‘Sorry, Bill, just organising the team. You’re right, definitely anterior.’ I pressed PRINT. ‘How’s he looking?’
‘Not good. Cold. Clammy. Blood pressure in his boots. His name’s Paterson, Jeffrey Paterson, date of birth 10.10.80. We’re coming in from South Queensferry, so ETA 15 minutes?’
‘I doubt the team will make it in that fast.’ I cursed the chest pain bleep in my pocket which meant I’d have to attend. ‘Head to A&E and I’ll meet you down there. If by some miracle the consultant arrives before you do, I’ll let you know.’
At the other end of the ward, a monitor pinged and kept on pinging. ‘Have to go,’ I said, and the receiver hit the cradle with a crash. Just as the pinging stopped.
‘It’s Mrs Ireland,’ Jill said. ‘She had a 20 second pause – asymptomatic, thank goodness. The new FY1 is looking at her notes now. He think she’s going into heart block.’ Her voice dropped. ‘I didn’t want to tell him she was already in heart block.’ She nodded in the direction of the red phone. ‘What’re we getting?’
‘Anterior. It’ll be our last bed so we’ll need to move someone to the ward.’
‘Two of mine can go. Mrs Allison’s been stable all day, and Prof. Leslie said he’s happy for her and the young lad with the AICD to go to 103 as long as they’re monitored.’
The chest pain bleep vibrated in my pocket. ‘That’ll be our anterior then.’ I handed her the keys and headed towards the door. ‘Get someone from the ward to help you with the beds. In fact, no. Get someone from the ward to help Nikki with the beds. She’s been sitting at the desk doing sod all since she came on.’
I walked out into the corridor as the red phone rang again.Each of these had me quite tense – from the loop of endless phone calls to unnerving gun point to the high pressure of never-ending tasks you have to micromanage – and each one left me wondering why I did this. I should have asked for peaceful entries to assuage my own anxieties ??, but that might not have been as riveting, lol.
They are all very, very close in meeting the theme and how well the pressure is conveyed however, as one must choose a winner, I think I’m going to give this one to @seagreen, as I particularly enjoyed reading about all the various medical terms, and was quickly concerned about Lisa’s chest pain bleep, that could almost be her own.
Super story @seagreen. Positively inspired and a worthy winner.
Thanks for the comp @knickylaurelle. I enjoyed it in spite of it bringing back a few awful memories.
Aw, thanks @knickylaurelle! I did wonder if the medical terms and general set-up might be a bit too off-putting, but obviously not! ? Unexpectedly, I had a few moments of nostalgia writing this. There are elements of it I still miss.
Thanks to Ath for giving me the idea in the first place, thanks to Sandra for a bit more Luke, and thanks to my sister, Penny, for giving me the lowdown on how things currently work in CCU (and for reminding me which leads would be compromised with an Anterior MI).
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