"OUR VISIT TO THE A&E"
(author unknown)
We found ourselves in A&E, sent by the GP.
I’d forgotten that A&E is like Dante’s Inferno. Or King Charles’ latest portrait. Which I rather quite like. Unlike that strange portrait of Kate. Possibly. If you need new glasses. If a portrait doesn’t look like the individual is it actually a portrait? Or a figment of the brush holders mind. Or simply a pile of shite.
Whoops. Where was I? Oh yes.
For four and a half hours. It seemed much longer. As we sat I observed our fellow human beings.
It was scary.
The highlight was a prisoner attached to a stout lady guard with handcuffs. Oh be still my beating heart. Was there about to be a heist where his gang were coming to bust him out? I quickly realised if we were forced to “get on the floor” I’d have to refuse. On the grounds this is A&E and I’m not getting onto a surface containing bodily fluid for anyone. Plus face down hurts my bosoms and with my dodgy legs I’d never get back up. So no. They’d have to heist with me sitting firmly on the self adhesive plastic chair. My attention then went back to the fact they’d attached Prisoner Cell Block H to such a sturdy lady guard he certainly wasn’t going to take flight. She was Titanic’s anchor to his canoe frame. The skinny male guard accompanying them looked surplus to requirements. Like a condom in a nunnery. I watch way too much Netflix and wondered if the Baddie had been shanked. But apparently he’d tripped up a step. Good Lord, all he needed was an aspirin and a cold compress.
Then came a none English speaking couple. The receptionist did a totally British thing. Spoke loudly and slowly. Nada. The lady then popped out her phone and got a friend at home, sat watching Hollyoaks (yep it was that loud), to translate. It was only when the tea trolley came around later that her English improved and she asked for a “black coffee with two sugars and a packet of custard creams please”.
And what’s with the meals on wheels in A&E? When I was a lass and you were sat there with your leg hanging off, no bugger brought you a variety of sandwiches. Yet here I was watching afternoon tea being served. Like a poor man’s Betty’s Tea Rooms. No wonder the lame suddenly jumped up from the wheelchair the lovely paramedics had brought them in on, directly from the ambulance they’d called. And in their pyjamas too. Carrying a packet of tabs. How organised.
I know. I know. I’m being totally unsympathetic. You can’t see every life threatening emergency.
But years of practice means I can spot a laissez-faire arsehole at twenty paces.
We all judge. Whether consciously or subconsciously. Not having suffered any head trauma I’m doing mine fully consciously.
One man moved around the seating area more times than a checker on a draught board. He was clearly a victim of St Vitus Dance. Which had given him an appetite. He requested two packs of sandwiches, biscuits and coffee. The coffee which he placed on the floor.
Behind him sat a couple with an assistance dog. A large lollopy mutt with an endearing face. Its presence was calming. And equally hilarious when it attempted to sit on its owners knee. Having been denied this comfort it decided the next best thing was a coffee. It appeared I was the only person who saw the dog drink Mr Wriggle’s coffee. The dog winked at me. We were conspirators.
It was only when the man picked his cup back up to drink it I thought “I’ll have to tell him!” Before this was quickly replaced by “aah f**k it. If I had to share a coffee, I’d pick the dog to share it with”.
My fellow human beings disappoint me at times. Looking around A&E half those waiting needed a quick once over with hanky and spit. A few could gave done with a cuddle (the dog, I’m mainly talking about the dog), a few more a “pull yourself together” chat, and 10% a jolly good doctor and an intravenous drip. With the strong odour of urine wafting around I’d be sending several home with a box of OMO.
Until we cure the culture of where there’s blame there’s a claim, the NHS will need to keep swallowing these bitter pills.
(Hurrah I haven’t got a blood clot, but still a huge fat leg.
And the trip to the A&E urologist confirmed the Grumpy One had a “serious” infection. But I can’t go back to Mad Max’s "Thunder-dome" any time soon
