En route to my first Childrens Panel hearing, just observing, as my training has another three months to run.
I’m aggy, nippy, frustrated with myself when I do dumb things in getting ready, picking things up and leaving them places only to search for them again. I’m halfway downstairs before I realise I don’t have my paperwork, a pen, a notepad. Stupid little mistakes. I swear, a lot.
BamBam’s at the bus stop when I leave the house and she laughs at my rattled state.
“I’m nervous. It’s weird. I don’t get nervous.”
“I guess you don’t know what you’re going into.”
It’s more than that.
I don’t know what I’m going into at least a half dozen times a day. Will this benign sounding transport job actually be critically ill? Will the dementia patient make a break for it?
The difference is, I don’t feel prepared to deal with whatever I face today. At work I have the skills and equipment.
But probably good for me.