Saturday Morning in A&E

When Anne told the nurse that we decided against coming in at half past ten on a Friday night, she laughed and replied that we’d made the right call.

This was at the end of two and a half hours of: waiting; triage; x-ray; and then a little more waiting. It was an interesting array of people that we sat amongst.

A middle-aged woman with congealed blood on the side of her face, sat nursing a washing up bowl two rows away from us. Her eyes looked flinty enough to stab you but I wasn’t sure if that was just because her face was a bit swollen. She had been triaged already I think, as she’d been there when we had walked in earlier. Opposite her was a large man with a thick bandage wrapped around, just above his eyes, which made me wonder if they’d been having a head-butting contest a while before our arrival.

Our arrival was the consequence of a fall that Anne had had at our running club Christmas do the night before. She had smart but slippy flat shoes, and they … well … slipped her up on the wooden floor, after she was coming back from the loos. Luckily, amongst our runners, we have a few doctors, and one of them, Dave, made sure Anne was well enough for us to take home with the reminder that she should get it checked out the following day at the latest.

Another older woman in her own walker/seat, with short purple hair, sounding quite well to do. I emphasize the word ‘older’ because during her many conversations with whomsoever was beside her, she railed against the word ‘elderly’, and preferred the former adjective instead of this ‘disdainful’ noun.

One or two people were wearing masks and I don’t blame them, because who knows what was being spread with this convergence of so many sick people. One man sat opposite us for a short while with a very strong alcoholic air. He’d hurt his foot and was vociferously in pain. Luckily he was moved a few rows back to triage, as I was starting to get drunk on his fumes.

The bald chap who chaperoned him, had a hi-viz vest with ‘Safety Officer’ written on the back. He’d been walking up and down making sure people were okay, and sitting in the right areas for their next step. He kindly found a wheelchair for Anne as I helped her out of the car. She could walk – it was her shoulder that was in pain – but it’s remarkable how much they’re moved in the act of walking.

The purple haired woman walked herself over to a new companion and re-arranged her blanket on her seat. Her voice had the reach of a teacher taking assembly but I wasn’t taking much notice by then. I only picked my ears up for  a moment, in the middle of her chat when there seemed to be a competition about ailments.

 ‘Can you beat this: I went blind overnight.’

I think she won that top trumps hand.

A bearded man then sat opposite us, periodically dabbing his nose with some dressings. He seemed quite cheerful, saying hello and then tapping away into his phone, and generally acting quite ‘normal’.  As if a bandaged hand and a face dripping with blood were perfectly common occurrences for him on a Saturday morning. Had he been in a fight? There didn’t seem to be an ounce of anger in him, but maybe I’m being presumptuous about why people might want to knock the living daylights out of one another.

It was luckily only a cast of tens this morning and everyone seemed calm. I’ve seen this A&E bursting at the seams before, and it probably had been at half past ten on a Friday night. Anne’s arm was broken but did not require surgery. She was just sent off with a Velcro sling, some hard drugs and a promise of a call from the fracture clinic in the week.

It occurred to me as we were leaving, that the purple-haired older woman was alone in that room. And though she talked with a jovial spirit, it was the talk of someone who doesn’t get to talk much with people.