Geoff couldn’t be lying any more
precisely than if he’d stretched himself out on his back on a large sheet of
paper and asked someone to draw round him with a crayon. Title at the top: Man on Carpet. Except no doubt he’d want
the title changed, to Man who woke up unexpectedly
on the floor after just four cans of beer, now with pain in his neck.
‘I got hit by a car twelve years
ago, and it left me with an unstable fracture,’ he says. ‘No. Can’t feel that.
No. Nor that. I’ve got pins and needles in my right hand. Can you move it for
me, Rae? Yeah? And my leg, too. That’s gone numb. No – wait. I mean the left
one.’
There’s something unconvincing about
Geoff. He chatters on about his ailments and accidents, his drinking and his
unreliable friends, his fights outside the courthouse and his troubles with the
police, in the same way that he talks about his jacket or his fags – like a man
standing in for someone else, versed in all the details, but lacking connection.
‘I’m first-aid trained,’ he says,
smacking his lips. ‘So I knew exactly what to do. As soon as I woke up on the
floor I knew not to move a muscle, but stay still and leave it to the experts.
Luckily I had my phone in my pocket and could call for help, which I did
straight away, knowing the damage I could do if I tried anything else. So here
we are. I’m in your hands. I’ll be guided by you.’
There’s no sign of trauma, and no
sign of any disturbance in the flat. But he’s complaining of central neck pain
and neurological deficit, and we’re duty bound to fully immobilise. We’re a few
flights up, with a narrow, sharply turning staircase to complicate things, so I
call for a second crew to help.
‘Has this ever happened to you
before, Geoff?’
‘Yes. A year or so back.’
‘Tell us about that.’
‘It was exactly the same. I woke up
on the floor. Pain in the neck. Got parcelled up. Carried out. Taken to
hospital.’
‘And what did they find?’
‘Nothing. Sent me home with pain
killers.’
‘Any follow up?’
‘Nah. I don’t like hospitals. I try
to stay out of ‘em.’
He laces his fingers contentedly
across his belly.
‘So you’re getting some movement
back in your hand, then?’
‘Not really. I just wanted to get it
out of your way when you slide the scoop under. I’m first aid trained. I like
to help where I can.’
When the second crew arrives we log
roll Geoff onto the scoop and then strap him into the vacuum mattress.
‘Hey – this is a bit kinky!’ he
says. ‘Tell you what. Why don’t we all just go to bed?’ he says. ‘Maybe not
you. But you and you. That’d be more fun, wouldn’t it?’
‘Let’s keep comments like that out
of it, shall we, Geoff?’
‘Yeah – no worries. Don’t mind me. I’m
just trying to lighten the situation. You do an amazing job. Not as good as the
last crew, but not bad. A close second. I’m sorry to be such a bother. At least
I’m not fat.’
We carry him out of the sitting
room.
There’s a notice sellotaped to the front
door, crudely written with black marker pen on a scrap of torn cardboard: Do not forget U keys UR numpty.
‘Have you got your keys, Geoff?’
‘They’re on a chain
on my belt’ he says. Then smirks up at Rae as she reaches over to unclip them.
‘Don’t tug too hard,’ he says, ‘you might do me a mischief.’
8 comments:
Does your scoop have an extra belt to go over the patient's mouth? To prevent any more injuries...
Hrmmm… creeper?
Geoff said he once had a pain in the neck?
Well it must be contagious Spence as he's passed it on to you and Rae.
TV - Great idea. Might suggest it...
Cass - Oh dear me yes. More than I could say.
Jack - Both ends, actually (top & tail).
* * *
I have to admit I feel slightly guilty reading this piece back. Normally I try to stay more objective, and 'put the other side'. And of course I never did find out whether his was a genuine case or not. There's always a chance it was...
So why haven't I taken it down, then? Hmm? Note to self: try to be kinder :/
Cheers for the comments!!
You could try to be kinder, but I suspect in this case there wouldn't be much truth left. Not everyone deserves sympathy.
True nuff. And these guilty feelings are almost always in retrospect. At the time I wasn't nearly so philosophical!
You haven't taken it down because you've got a gut feeling he was full of crap. Or beer. Or both.
I would say all of the above, but it might undercut my neutral position. So I'll just fold my arms and look mysterious.
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