An Evening in A&E

I had reason to visit A&E today, not a happy place.  Nobody’s there for fun.  I was visiting my much loved niece, who had taken a weakness, the asthma that has plagued her life came back with great gusto and she was ambulanced in.

I was afraid, when I heard this, that she was sitting in a waiting room with an oxygen mask on her poor pale little face, waiting for hours to see a doctor.

That wasn’t the case.  I walked into the surprisingly tiny waiting area, and she was nowhere to be seen.  I went to the desk, passing the sign that said there was a 6 hour waiting time this evening, and longer for minor injuries.

At reception I asked for our little warrior, and obviously was immediately asked whether I was a relative.  I just said yes.  I decided not to elaborate, which is always a struggle for me.  At hospital waiting desks, when talking to priests, or in business meetings with strangers, I try my best to answer the questions asked and then stop talking.  It doesn’t always work, but it’s a good policy, I think.

“What kind of relative?” she asked me.

I resisted the urge to say “a blood one” and told her I was the patient’s aunt.

“Her aunt?” the woman sounded as if she’d never heard of such a relative before.

“Yes, I’m representing her hysterical mother, who’s in Wexford.”

See what I mean? I can’t stop blathering on.

The woman seemed completely baffled, and had to check the patient’s date of birth.  I confirmed that the person I was there to see is, indeed, almost twenty five years old.  But I don’t think that’s the point.  It’s completely miserable being in hospital, we all know that.  And sitting there, with nobody to talk to, or listen to, unable to catch your breath and exhausted from the effort of trying, is more miserable still.  She just needed a bit of company.

The receptionist told me how to get through the locked door to the part of A&E where the trolleys and the suffering patients are.  I had to knock on the door, wait for a security man to open it from the inside, and confirm whether I had permission from the reception desk to come through.  I confirmed, and he looked at the receptionist.  They nodded at each other, and I was admitted.

I found Herself without much work, and was alarmed and worried by her condition.  She insisted she was okay though, and asked whether I’d thought to bring her any magazines.  I had, luckily.  It would have been a lot of effort to get past security again.

We were chatting away, waiting for her to get the bed she so desperately needed, in order that she could be set up with a nebuliser and whatever else was necessary, when the trouble started.

A man in one of the little cubicles started shouting at the nurses.

“Don’t worry” niece told me.  “He’s been at that for the last six hours, he’s driving the poor staff demented.”

She must have been right, because he wasn’t getting much attention from the nurses.

Up he got, and started barging around the room, shouting and roaring at everyone.  A kindly nurse, instead of tripping him up as she should have, asked him how she could help him.

He was looking for somebody called Sam, and nobody knew who he was on about. 

“Where’s Sam?  Where the f**k is Sam?”

They did their best to calm him down, send him back to his bed, and reassure him.  But he was having none of it. He started roundly abusing these poor nurses, swearing at them and threatening them.

Then he shouted about f**king killing someone, so they had to call security.

Five security men and porters came along to help.  This man continued screaming, and roaring that if anyone laid a hand on him, he’d f**king brain them. 

I thought it was an unusual demand enough, in a hospital.

Eventually, as he was being forcibly dragged away from the nurse’s station, still throwing abuse and threats around, one of the large security men said loudly

“Will you behave yourself, for Christ’s sake?  You’re in a hospital.  These people are really sick.”

The beauty who was now under his bed swinging kicks out ignored him of course.  But I wanted to join in and shout

“Good man yourself, you’re right.  Give him a good kick back for himself.”

I have no reason to think this man had any kind of mental health issues.  He was just drunk and aggressive.

What are we coming to?  At six in the evening, someone who’s already had time to sleep off his excesses, wakes up to terrorise overworked caregivers and frightened, sick people.

Maybe we should bring in a new law.  If you can’t behave yourself in a hospital, feck off out and take your chances without medical care.