Gill has drunk too much Prosecco. There was
a stack of it at the family get-together, and whether it was nerves at the big
gathering, or a tendency to drink too much when she goes out, the fact is she
sank the best part of two bottles and suddenly fell ill.
‘She was okay – ish – when we left the restaurant. And the fresh air seemed to
help. But we only got as far as this bench and suddenly she said she couldn’t
go on anymore and just crashed out.’
Gill’s a pitiful sight, slumped forwards
with her arms on her knees, her long hair falling in front of her face, the
whole woman and the surrounding pavement as liberally splattered as if a stormy
stomach cloud had stopped just above her head and unleashed a monsoon of vomit.
‘The taxis didn’t want to know, as you can
appreciate,’ says Ed.
‘I’m surprised they even stopped.’
‘I just don’t want her choking to death,’
he says.
‘Well – she’s not completely spark out, so
that’s good. You do have to bear it in mind when you put her down, though.’
‘What do we do, then?’
‘Take her to hospital, I suppose..’
‘I don’t want to waste your time.’
‘It’s okay. So long as she’s safe, that’s
the main thing.’
He stands back whilst we set to work,
wrapping Gill in a couple of blankets, getting the stretcher up close, angling
everything so that what little support she has in her legs is enough to help us
stand her up, turn her round and lie her down on the stretcher. It’s difficult
not to get any vomit on us – I’m caught out by a strand of hair, and land a generous
smear on my shirt front. On the ambulance I get the worst of it off with a cleansing
wipe, making a mental note to change my shirt at the earliest opportunity.
Ed rides with us to the hospital.
‘Is it far?’ he says ‘We’re not from round
here. We came up for the party.’
Gill moans, heaves, spits.
‘Please don’t spit,’ I tell her,
repositioning the bowl.
‘Come on, Gill. Don’t be disgusting,’ says
Ed. She makes no sign she recognises him.
I try to gauge Ed’s mood through all this.
He seems friendly enough, but there’s something else, some inner tension that I
guess is part embarrassment and part unease at seeing his sister like this. I
try to show him I don’t really mind, that’s it’s a normal part of our job, but
he remains slightly aloof, like he’s holding on to the most aerodynamic
emotional shape possible to make it through the night.
‘We’re here!’ I say, unwrapping the blood
pressure cuff and making things ready as Rae backs the truck in.
‘If you’d like to get off first’ I say to
Ed. He touches Gill on the one clean patch of flesh she has on her shoulder,
then makes his way to the back.
*
Erica the triage nurse listens sympathetically
whilst she gets the story.
‘It’s bad enough getting pissed in front of
your mum and dad – but actually I think it’s worse when you do it in front of
your brother,’ she says, winking at Ed. ‘I don’t know why. Actually, strike
that. I do know why. They never let
you forget. Ever. It’ll be something else they have over you. Like my brother...’ she laughs. ‘God love
him. But that time I disgraced myself big
time, he was more than happy to add it to his collection.’
‘Yeah, well. This is serious,’ says Ed. He
looks uncomfortable, restlessly changing position on his plastic chair whilst
we tend to his sister. She groans, kicks the blankets and splays her legs over
the side of the trolley. I cover her up again.
‘Has she had any drugs tonight that you
know of?’
‘No. We don’t do drugs. Though, yes... I
know ... alcohol is a drug.’
‘I don’t care either way,’ says Erica. ‘It’s
just so we don’t have to worry about that and
the alcohol.’
‘Quite.’
‘So what was she drinking?’ asks Erica,
taking Gill’s temperature.
‘Mostly Prosecco,’ he says.
‘Prosecco? Ooh, good girl. Fantastic! I
love Prosecco,’ says Erica. ‘Mind you, who doesn’t?’
‘Goes down very easily,’ I say, wiping Gill’s
mouth and swapping the full bowl for a clean one. ‘Yep. Maybe with a drop of
cassis at Christmas. Lovely.’
‘In fact, d’you know what? I think I prefer
it to champagne.’
‘Do you? Yeah. Well. Champagne’s pretty
amazing. It feels more substantial.’
‘More expensive, don’t you mean?’
‘By a stretch.’
‘Guys, guys...’ says Ed, shaking his head. ‘Come
on. I really don’t think this is appropriate.’
‘Oh? How d’you mean?’ says Erica, cooling
imperceptibly.
‘Well – you know. Going on about Prosecco
like this. When it’s the Prosecco made her sick.’
‘I think you’ll find
it wasn’t the Prosecco made her sick,’ says Erica, brightly again, clicking off
the screen. ‘It was not having the common sense to know when she’s had enough. But
there. That’s a whole other conversation!
Cubicle three!’
4 comments:
Erica for the win.
Absolutely. And all the other nurses who work in the A&E. You should see the conditions they have to work in often - but still they keep their sense of humour & humanity.
Agree with tpals.
I suspect that the nurses see such terrible things in A&E that a drunk on prosecco is probably quite a pleasure to deal with (relatively of course)
The bottom line is that everyone gets frustrated with drunks pitching up at A&E, because there's no shortage of 'real' work coming in, and lord knows we could use the space. But as there's no current answer to the problem, the best you can do is make the best of it (if you see what I mean). So long as they're co-operative, polite, don't throw up indiscriminately and generally cause a nuisance, they're tolerated. I think it's a general rule of A&E work (and probably elsewhere) that you adopt a sustainable, streamlined profile, and find relief where you can.
Cheers Jack! Have a good day. :)
Post a Comment