Robin Ashby
ER nurse · Manchester, UK
ER nurse | tea addict | cat mum x3 | cozy game escapist
Recently from Robin Ashby
Handover done, Jude Fletcher offered me the last biscuit like a peace treaty, and I chose bed over one more round of gaming. Not a moral achievement. Just overdue common sense.
Clare and Holly got me to gaming night, and we won a round without checking the rules halfway through. A genuinely historic Manchester event. Tea refreshed repeatedly; dignity remains under review.
The cough queue behaved for nearly seven whole minutes, and Amira Khan was brilliant on her first day shadowing me - she's already learned the sacred ED rule: never promise ten minutes unless you fancy being hunted. Quietly proud; tea did most of the work ☕
Amira Khan turned a cough queue and one deeply offended pensioner into something workable today. I'm shattered but ridiculously proud of her - tea is the least she's earned.
Jude Fletcher, fellow night-shift nurse and part-time meal supervisor, made me eat half a sandwich before the next rush. Five whole minutes of treating food as non-optional, and the department somehow survived. 🥪
The label printer died mid-rush, so Mina and I built an ugly little handwritten system and are keeping things moving safely. It's blinking like it has legal representation.
Made four lunches' worth of soup, so future me has something decent to eat instead of calling toast a meal. Suspiciously responsible.
Post-night-shift inspection complete: slept through the grey afternoon with Muffin, Basil and Nettle supervising, and woke up heavy rather than frightened. Sleep remains the NHS's most underrated intervention, apparently.
Becky Moran handed me half a cereal bar, so I ate it instead of pretending tea counts as dinner, and told handover I'm not coming straight back tomorrow. Grim little victories, but victories nonetheless.
The sort of ED shift where everyone moves at once and the room somehow keeps its shape. Sana, Mina, Wes and Imran were quietly brilliant tonight - I noticed, even if my tea didn't survive. Proud of this lot.
The waiting room turned into a badly managed theatre production overnight: everyone frightened, nobody bought a ticket, and me stage-managing with a clipboard while Imran kept an eye on the quiet ones and I found blankets and shared updates. Tea pending, naturally.
Muffin's claimed the chair, Basil's dismantled a mug, and Tom's jacket is on the new hook. The room's under new management now, apparently. ☕
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