A Nurse's Guide to Falling in Love

Dedication

Simon, I truly believe it is fate that brought us together. I am still in awe of our ‘story’, though as I have broken every single one of these rules many times over I am amazed that I got to keep you. I cherish you always.

I would like to thank a huge number of fabulous ladies and gents who have contributed to A Nurse’s Guide to Falling in Love. Firstly, to Gillian Prior, someone who has never given up on love, and continues to search the globe in the hope of finding it.

To all of the brilliant, wonderful, loving and tired nurses who sent me their memorable nursing and dating stories; Chris, Pat, Binu, Karen, Lethi and everyone—thank you so much for your help in the writing of this book.

Thanks to Sheree and my mam, who always get the first, unedited copy to read through, and to Kyle for creating the beautiful cover.

Foreword

For a long time, I have wanted to write a story about nurses and I wanted to make it as true as possible because the things that happen to us in the healthcare industry are more bizarre than anything anyone could make up.

Zoi’s story is a combination of hilarious, cringe worthy and sad real-life nursing and dating stories experienced by myself and my colleagues both in the UK and in Australia. However, I must mention that Mister Carter is fictitious as is his storyline and hope you will forgive me for taking some fictional liberties.

Next time you wonder why your nurse doesn’t answer your call bell immediately, you’ll know why. Enjoy.

Rule 1:

When you tell your date that you are a nurse,

he may think you are a demure, loving, angelic

creature. Do not dispel this image by telling

him stories that will make him vomit.

Did you want to talk to the doctor-in-charge,

or the nurse who knows what’s going on?

Love is the strangest thing. You find it everywhere. You can look around you and see it everywhere you go. Love is the essence of life. People strive for it; they search the world over looking for it. But what is Love?

Frank Sinatra said, A simple ‘I love you’ means more than money. Sylvester Stallone said, Love is absolute loyalty. Some people say it is the melding of two hearts. Some say fate plays a hand and inevitably brings together two people who are meant for each other. Some people say love is all about chemistry—you could fall in love with anyone if they had the right pheromones. My mother, Eleni Athonasiadis, says love is marriage and children and spending your life caring for them. My brother Nikolaos insists he knew the moment he met his wife, Soussana, that she was the one. She also claims that he is her ‘Mr Right’. My other brother Alexandros thinks there is no such thing as a ‘Miss Right’, only a ‘Miss Right Now’.

My father, Georgos, thinks love is cooking, cleaning and running a house for your husband. He’s a little old fashioned ... can you tell?

I don’t know what to believe. Do I believe in love? Definitely. Do I believe in soul mates? Meh …

Lately I’ve been wondering if there is anyone out there for me at all. When I was young, I would dream that when I grew up I would meet a handsome prince, fall in love and live happily ever after. Of course as I grew older it changed somewhat. When I was seventeen, I dreamed my prince was a famous movie star. When I was twenty, I would flirt with bartenders and bouncers in the nightclubs my friends and I would go to. When I turned twenty-five I imagined I would soon meet a travel journalist or a writer—someone who did something really inspiring for a living. By the time I hit thirty I was on the lookout for a businessman in a well-cut suit with a good pension, health cover and a salary high enough to keep me in Jimmy Choos. Now that I’m thirty-five I feel so exhausted by love that I’d settle for just about anyone without a drug habit or a drinking problem. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

My family thinks I’m too picky. My father in particular thinks I’m almost mouldy and has offered on numerous occasions to ship me off to Greece to find a man—I’ve chosen to believe he’s joking and has simply watched My Big Fat Greek Wedding too many times.

I don’t think I’m too picky at all. Yes, I have standards, but the dates I have are continually below par.

My family and friends probably believe that now that I’m thirty-five I should just take what I can get ... and believe me I’m trying, but between the dodgy dates I get set up on and my work-life, I have a pretty jam-packed schedule.

For example, this evening I will be going on a date with a man my aunt knows. Lord knows where she met him, and I’m too worried to ask. Yes, how mortifying—my aunt knows how desperate I am and has set me up on a blind date with a man she probably met in the restaurant.

Our family owns a restaurant—did I mention that? It’s called Greccos, serves Greek food, and is open Mondays to Saturdays  but not Sundays, because my father says that even the hardest working of Greek people still need one day of rest.

My father and his two brothers had immigrated to Australia in the late 1960s, leaving the rest of the family back in Greece. This had been a bold adventure to them but they quickly adapted to the Australian way of life ... and so did the rest of our family as they moved over one by one.

Uncle Yannis had married well; Aunt Thalia’s family had moved over years before and had only one child: Thalia. They spoiled them both rotten—new cars, expensive holidays, investing in the business—so when Aunt Thaia’s parents felt a twinge of old age they moved in to Thalia and Yannis’s house to live with them. Of course there was nothing Uncle Yannis  could have said to dissuade their parents and they all seem pretty happy with their arrangements now. They had three children, Katia, Georgia and Christos, all of whom are now married and living in their own houses.

Uncle Nikolaos and Aunt Maria have two children; Niko and Alexandra. They are still in their early twenties and at university so they both live at home, which conveniently and annoyingly is located just two doors down from my parents’ house. You see, the thing about my family is that they think it’s silly to have to drive to someone’s house when you can live in the same street as them. This is why my aunts and uncles on my father’s side, my cousins (including the married ones), my aunt and uncle on my mother’s side and four of our closest family friends all live on St Kilda Boulevard, just seconds from each other. It’s like the invasion of the Greeks.

Living this close to each other also means that it’s easier to snoop in each person’s life, fix any marital problems, hook people up on dates with complete strangers and basically gossip about every family member’s private life.

Now I’m not saying that it’s all bad—it’s great when you want someone to talk to or someone to go shopping with, plus when you’re hungry you can pop round to anyone’s house and eat, and there’s the parties! We have some terrific parties. Everyone invites everyone they know, and they invite everyone they know, and we end up with a great big family gathering in the gardens, fuelled by great food and gallons of ouzo.

I wouldn’t trade my family for the world, which is why I agreed to go on this blind date Aunt Thalia had set me up on.

You may wonder how I got to thirty-five years old, unmarried and childless ... well I wonder that too. I don’t look hideous; I’m lucky that I have terrific genes giving me an olive complexion, long thick dark hair and a generous booty, and I went to university and now work in a well-paid job as a nurse in one of the larger private hospitals in Melbourne. I have a generous (if nosey) family, who own a well-established restaurant, and I don’t have any disgusting habits. So where is he? Where is my white knight?

I actually moaned that last bit out loud, earning me a startled and a little amused look from my colleague and friend, Belle.

You thinking about your Prince Charming again? she said as she warily eyed the old lady baring her teeth at us. Belle held out the sharps container toward me, grimacing as I injected some solution into the patient before us. I jumped back, narrowly avoiding a punch to the face and took a deep, calming breath as I listened to the patient cursing at me. Keeping her in full view, I glanced sideways at Belle.

"Yes. Where is he?"

She chuckled. He’s out there! He’s just around the corner—you’ll see, she said soothingly.

I grunted in reply and held out my hands, deflecting a cup that had been thrown my way.

You’ll never get a man! You’re an old witch! the woman snarled, spitting at me.

I turned to Belle. Charming! I muttered.

She grinned in reply. You okay here while I check on the others?

She left the room to check on our other patients and attend the call bells that I could hear chiming away in the corridor. I swear, if I ever met the inventor of the nurse call bell on a dark night …

I sighed and sat down in a chair as far away as possible from the patient I had just sedated. I sent a small, reassuring smile to the younger lady in the bed next to her. I envisioned that it might say, ‘don’t worry about the lady next to you who keeps getting into your bed and touching your things. Try not to think about how she keeps trying to climb out the window or leave through the fire exit,’ but she looked so angry I was sure my comforting smile wasn’t enough. Ugh—that would be a complaint heading our way. I would simply have to move her into another bedroom. In my mind I began rearranging patients, which was as difficult as a Sudoku puzzle, with their different levels of health cover and different medical and mental statuses.

A male paramedic poked his head around the corner, peering into the room. My heart leapt, a flush creeping up to my cheeks. With his designer stubble and chocolate eyes, he was mouth-wateringly gorgeous.

He smiled when he saw me. Hey, I’m Kristian. I have a patient to hand over.

I grimaced. Sorry, I’m going to be stuck here for a while. Can you grab one of the other nurses?

He gave me a polite nod and turned away but not before I saw the disappointed look on his face.

Poor guy, his shift probably finished half an hour ago. I pushed my guilt aside and continued to scan my handover sheet, wondering which patients I could move.

That took a little while, and as I observed the patient slowly settling into bed I began to run through my mental to-do list. It was almost two o’clock so I had IV antibiotics due soon in rooms seventeen and nineteen, a nebulizer was needed, and I needed to fill in all the fluid balance charts, plus write my notes.

With that, I was distracted from my almost-midlife crisis and put my nurse head back on.

Rule 2:

Do not tell your date about your day

at work if it includes smells or sights

that will put him off the expensive

three-course dinner he is paying for.

"Stop putting on your call light; ain’t

nobody got time for that!"

Sitting around the kitchen table that evening, my Aunt Thalia told me that the man I was apparently going to meet tonight was named Copley Constantinou, the son of a woman in her reading group. She told me he was thirty, tall, and had his own apartment in the city. She couldn’t recollect where he worked, but she could tell me that he had three sisters and a full head of hair. She had been badgering me about him for weeks until I had finally given in and agreed to a date.

Aunt Maria then chirped up, saying she had found another young man for me—someone who had just started working in the restaurant.

You need to come to the restaurant more! she badgered. These men come in, but you’re never there.

I forced my lips into a smile. Theia Maria, I work full-time. You know how busy I get.

My aunt tutted and shook her head. If you put in as much time in looking for a man as you did at the hospital, you would be married by now. Thirty-five! I had two children by that age.

I had all mine by the time I was twenty-five, Aunt Thalia put in, nodding.

Maybe this man is the one, my mother said.

And if not, then I have another one waiting in the wings. Aunt Maria