Last week, me and my mum had to take my dad to A&E. If you need to go, first thing on a Friday morning is a great time – were they all waiting for the evening? There was NO queue.
He has been having ectopic heartbeats, which though disconcerting and sometimes very uncomfortable are not life threatening. But that Friday they were very bad so off we went.
There were a few other patients; the drunk with broken ribs who wanted a pillow and had lost his coat and was going to be taking ‘all you fairies to court’.
There was a young woman behind a curtain, trying to explain the tears.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ I heard,’I’m a nurse. Unshockable.’
And there was an older guy, frail, pale and unsteady on his feet. He was being shown how to use a walker by a young bouncy physio, walking up and down the corridor where my mum and I were waiting. They were accompanied by a middle aged nurse. She was walking beside him, one hand by his arm should he need any extra support, the other gently holding the back of his hospital gown together.
Now there may be many things wrong with the NHS, but as we waited for the results, I imagined my father in ten year’s time and hoped the NHS still has respectful and kind nurses like her then.
We got the all clear – and need to wait to see the cardiologist in a week or so.