In hospital Accident and Emergency Departments, you see all sorts of human life. Of course, the majority sit there quietly, anxiously, in pain perhaps, waiting, waiting, waiting. In a place like Tooting, you get a real socio-economic and ethnic mix, people whose lives probably don't cross otherwise.
A woman arrived, and greeted a friend. The friend was in for an ECG, the first woman was waiting for her partner "who's come off his bike - again...". It seems that his motorbike had ended up under a car, and as various friends of both patients arrived, they discussed whether or not the car driver was in the slightest bit concerned that he had knocked over a biker. The conclusion "Probably not".
Jimmy went out for a cigarette; when he returned he remarked on a group I had seen going out. One of the women was having a stroke and was waiting to be admitted, meanwhile, she had her left arm paralysing as she desperately smoked the last (but one) fag of a condemned woman. We concluded that that would be me in X years time. Incidentally, smoking is banned in the (open air) carpark at St George's, except in designated smoking booths. Like anyone pays attention...
A young man asked for a cigarette. I couldn't work out where mine were, so I said my boyfriend's outside, he'll give you one, which he did, but the young man wandered back into the waiting area and through into 'majors' with a lit cigarette. He was looking for his cab, which arrived and he got in the cab smoking, and had to throw it out the window. (I would have politely asked the cabbie to wait one minute whilst I finished).
A group arrived. Mother my age, daughter about fourteen, two boys aged maybe five and six. The boys proceeded to run round the waiting area, absolutely no control. Later the girl was outside smoking.
When I was waiting to be seen by the doctor, I needed a new dressing. A woman was brought in. I heard the paramedic briefing the nurse. She was 80, and had fallen the previous day, gone to her GP, who had said that if she got worse she should call the ambulance. The paramedic said that she had the best pace and steadiness he had seen in an 80 year old. She had her daughter and grandson with her. Actually, I was surprised, the daughter only looked mid-thirties. The boy was about ten. He sat quietly, behaving, and even when he went outside, presumably through boredom, he stood quietly, huddled in his anorak.
A woman with a tiny baby (too tiny to support her own head) were called in to see nurse. The woman spent ages gesturing. Eventually the young man she was with stood up and ambled over. I assumed he was the father. He looked on another planet and clearly unconcerned about his partner, and seemingly not bothered to hold the child.
While we were waiting for our cab, there was a couple sat opposite us, the man using his phone. I initially wondered what part of "Switch off mobile phones" he didn't understand. But I forgave him; the woman who was, maybe, Polish or Czech, had had a panic attack on a bus. It became clear he was a stranger and had accompanied her to hospital and was ringing her friends to get one to come down, making sure they knew how to find the hospital, and was trying to reassure the young woman.
Another woman started yelling and shouting about Equal Opportunities and Tony Blair; she had come for an injection and she wasn't going to be treated like this. Security appeared and chatted to her in a non-confrontational way; she asked whether he was the 999. Sniggers all round the waiting room. I exchanged smiles with the man with a nasty eye injury and frequent winces of pain. Katerina said calmly but firmly to injection woman "I've had a panic attack and if you carry on shouting, I'll have another one, so please don't shout." We exchanged smiles. The security guard explained to injection woman that she should be patient and wait quietly like everyone else.
It was a quiet night, 1.5 hours waiting for minors, which was shutting at midnight.
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