“Have you seen patient’s bead?” “Er… Patient’s bead?” I didn’t understand. What bead? In paediatric theatre departments, beads do indeed quite commonly frequent. Usually in noses of small people. Or in ears. But now it was morning and no patients, or beads, were yet around. Still, this senior nurse was asking me if I’d seen one. “Yes?” She looked at me questioningly. …
Continue Reading about Beads, beds and bonkers bureaucracy →
It’s five thirty in the morning and I’m drinking my tea in the kitchen. Summer is still far off and I open the window, trying to guess the sky. The cold air makes me shiver slightly. Suddenly, there’s noise below and I peer down to see what the sound comes from. “Sorry… Do you know where number 14 is?” It’s a woman’s voice. “I’m looking for my son!” She’s standing beside the wheelie bin with a …
“David, there’s a Swedish patient in the side room – You’ll look after her!” I’d just come on my late shift and my colleagues greeted me thus. They were almost excited on my behalf, bless them. Swedes in the hospital is a very are occasion. Apparently, London has sixty-thousands of them, but I never see any. Not in the NHS, I don’t. I might hear them on the streets, but never do I meet …
Many years ago, a friendly Essex boy offered me useful advice when I navigated my way through nightclubbing in Tel Aviv. “Don’t concentrate on the comedown, mate!” he shouted through deafening beats, pumping out from oversized loudspeakers, as I came crashing in from an oh-so-temporary techno haven-heaven that had just disappeared from somewhere beyond. He became a true and lasting …
Would it be hers? “Are you prepared for your procedure?” Leaning over a laptop on wheels, I echoed the questionnaire on the screen. “Yes,” she laughed, “last anaesthetic I had tea with Michelle Obama.” I looked up; this wasn’t the usual reply. It was an early morning and admission time. Jeans off and gowns on. The people were being transformed into patients. She seemed eager, …
On my way home from work. It was early evening, still bright and lots of people about. I’m walking to the station. Slight kick-out swagger in my steps, a remnant from earlier days. In the earphones; Public Enemy’s “Harder than you think”, the bombastic UK-hit that never got the attention it deserved in the US. A bunch of black kids coming towards me. Like a shoal of fish, they divide and …
