A
heavily-built man in his sixties, sun burnt arms folded across a bulging vest. There’s a punchy, ill-focused hostility to him that the bottle
of whisky he drank has fed but not created. The open fracture to his ankle has
been dressed and stabilised. His family smoke and look in at the ambulance
steps.
Let me off. I’m not going
nowhere. I’m getting off and going home. Broken, you say? What - are you, a
doctor? I don’t give a fuck if it’s broken, pal. S’all right. I’ll do somepin’
about it in the morning. I’ve got diabetes you know. Did you know that?
Diabetes. So fuck you, fuck your broken leg. I’m off.
A tall,
middle-aged man, lying on his side in a pool of blood, kicking his feet,
half-rising then collapsing back and banging his head back against the skirting
board. His face is a raging mask of blood, each tooth individually described in
red. His eyes, his bare torso, his hair – every aspect of him covered. We were
told he cut his ear off with a razor, but it’s all such a mess and he’s so violent
and spraying and spitting it’s impossible to get close enough to tell.
What about my son? Hmm? Yeah? What
are you doing about my son? Yeah? You? What are you doing? You fucking get away
from me. All right? I’m okay. I’m okay.
All right? I’m okay. Just – fucking – leave me alone. Aaaargh!
A six
year old girl, pale, shadowed eyes, lying on the ambulance trolley on her side.
She is hugging a toy rabbit and staring up at her father who is leaning
forwards so he can stroke her forehead.
The water’s so cold it takes your
breath away, but then I suppose it is the South Atlantic, coming straight at
you from the Antarctic. I was a bit worried about sharks, but the guy said they
didn’t come any further than Robben Island. And I said where’s that? And he
pointed to this place just a little way off shore. I mean, it was really close.
Like the Isle of Wight. And I said ‘What – you mean, that’s Robben Island? Just
there?’ And he said ‘Yeah, but that’s where the water starts warming up so they
prefer it.’ Ssh. You’ll be fine, darling. You’ll be fine.
4 comments:
Different coping strategies I suppose Spence.
Although I'd have been tempted to take Mr Broken Leg 10 miles out into the middle of nowhere and kick him out.Walk home now then,Monkey Boy.....
I must admit I was curious to see him walk on a broken leg. The thing was, he'd only have fallen out of the ambulance trying, and then we'd have to pick him up. :/
Sometimes I wonder how your job would look if we legalized pot and outlawed alcohol...
Point is moot thounh, alcohol is too simple to make to everget rid of.
It does seem unfairly skewed that marijuana is illegal and alcohol isn't, esp. considering how much damage alcohol does. But then I suppose it's more to do with the government not wanting to sanction drug use (and not wanting to lose out on the revenue...). They should legalise all of it. There. I've said it. :/
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