andi oakes

Yesterday...I spent the entire afternoon at the hospital in the Accident and Emergency Department.  Not the sort of place you really want to hang out in on a Friday afternoon, but kind of necessary when you've had a week of discomfort around the chest area. 

So...after a solid week of “When is this going to ease up?” I decided to take myself off there to get it checked out, and so began my little adventure in the magical land of the NHS' wonderful A&E.  And I have to say...I was totally amazed by it all.

Now don't get me wrong...it wasn't as if I was sitting there all wide eyed and in awe of my surroundings because they were gleaming white and super slick. No. It's just a hospital like any other up and down the land...a bit gloomy looking and in need of a bit of a face lift...to say the least.

And neither was I bouncing around like I had just landed in Disneyland.  I still had this strange chest feeling going on and was trying really hard to keep myself from thinking “What if...?” thoughts; especially when, a few minutes after asking me some questions, checking my blood pressure and hooking me up to the ECG machine, the P.A. System sprang into life and a serious sounding voice said “Andrew Oakes...follow the yellow line to Majors.” 

Majors! Majors?! 

So I can tell you that following that little yellow line through the maze of corridors was quite an interesting experience.  Why were they sending me to “Majors?”...but more importantly...what on earth was “Majors” short for? 

Major trauma? Yup...I was sure getting that alright. 

Major emergencies? Ok...it was beginning to feel more like that the further along the line I walked.  Major death??? Ok...let's not go there.  I was following a yellow line after all and if the Wizard of Oz has taught me anything...it was that yellow roads had happy endings...right?

The yellow line ended abruptly at a blue door with no distinguishing sign on it or, more importantly for me, no tiny rivers of red trickling from underneath it. 

Pushing the door open I entered “Majors” and held my breath, waiting for the moment a hefty squad of people would slam into me, wrestling me to the nearest bed and hooking me up to whatever machines would be necessary for maintaing my ebbing and fragile life force...including the machine that goes “Ping” (That's a Monty Python joke).

Nobody leapt at me.  No one shouted “Let's move people!”.  Not one single person even looked my way.  I was quite disappointed really. 

“Hello” I offered. “I followed the yellow line?”, now feeling kind of out of place.  

I was in a large room bordered by curtained cubicles with a tall desk running down the middle, and a group of blue clad nurses scuttling about like worker bees. One of the blue bee people noticed me.

“Mr Oakes?” 

“Yes” I replied hoping that was the correct answer.

“We'll be getting you a bed in a moment.”

A bed! A bed!! How long am I staying? Am I dying? Is this a real emergency? Should I call my family? Tell loved ones goodbye? What have I left unsaid? I want Queen played at my funeral!!

“Cool” I said.

Cool? Cool?? You're about to check out of this life and all you can say is COOL! 

A few moments after being shown to my bed, what I initially thought was a nice nurse came and said hello to me and promptly produced a needle.  It's amazing how quickly you can go off people.

“I need to take some blood is that ok?” she asked.

“No it's not ok, but you're going to anyway aren't you?”

She smiled. “You know it's true.”

Shortly after surviving the needle vampire, I found myself in front of the huge x-ray machine with a couple of guys who very quickly hid behind a big screen whilst they saturated my innards with invisible rays.  About half an hour later, and back in my cubicle in “Majors”, a very pleasant Doctor came and had a chat, assuring me the ECG was normal and that he didn't expect me to be keeling over anytime soon (my words not his).

Phew. That was ok then. He said the blood results would take an hour or so to come back and so suggested I should go and get a coffee or something, which was a relief, because I suddenly noticed how hungry I actually was.

Refuelled and back in the waiting position in my cubicle I began to pay more attention to what was happening around me.  The flurry of nurses (is that a new collective noun do you think?) that were darting to and fro; the same cheerful ambulance guys who periodically turned up with new admissions, chatting away with them and offering reassurance where needed; the doctors obviously bouncing backwards and forwards not only between patients but between wards; the cleaners constantly sweeping and wiping and the ,what seemed like myriads of others in differing uniforms traversing the corridors at high speed. And all of them working towards one common goal: the betterment of humanity.  I was inspired to say the least.

I was so grateful to have been there.  To have interacted with these amazing angels who genuinely never seem to stop.  Eventually the nice doctor person came back and told me I was clear and probably suffering from some nasty acid stuff (so you're saying I'm an alien?) and that some meds would probably sort me out (anti alien acid meds?).  After thanking him for his attention we parted company as he dashed off to his next patient and I waited for the nice blue bee people to give me my medication and send me on my way.  

So I hadn't been in mortal danger after all and wasn't about to shoot off into the great unknown.  It was acid causing all the difficulty.  Simple and straightforward.  I couldn't help feeling that, now tmy diagnoses was complete, all these nice people would suddenly turn on me because I wasn't actually seriously ill.  But no...they were as caring and as patient as ever.  Glad to have had a positive result by all intents and purposes.  

I thought, with all the pressure that the Health Service is under, that I may have been regarded as an  something of an inconvenience compared to the poor soul who was rushed in strapped to a trolley after a serious car accident...but no.  I was treated with as much care as anyone else.  Yes I was processed by the system that we all tend to complain about...but within that system are real, flesh and blood heroes...genuine angels of mercy and care.  Sure they must have their “off” days...but as far as I'm concerned...they are gifts from heaven.

So...go hug a healthcare professional today...and while you're at it...hug the cleaner too, because God has gifted us with Angels we can see.