A ragged community

Yesterday evening (Thursday) at around 11.00 I got a call from my sister asking if I could drive her and my 17-year-old nephew, S, to hospital, as he had hurt his hand, possibly broken it. Of course I would, and did.

We arrived at the main A&E reception, signed in, and took our place in a crowded waiting area.

Arriving, I felt a little intimidated, as I glanced around the array of people, many of whom were obviously drunk. There was a smell of stinky feet, vomit, alcohol, curry, stale tobacco and disinfectant.

A busy night: we had to wait 45 minutes even to see the triage nurse, who confirmed that the hand looked broken and S would have to wait for the doctor.

By happy chance I had booked a day off work today, so we sent my sister home to sleep, leaving S and I to wait together.

Gradually, the threatening crowd of people began to take on human faces. I exchanged smiles over the head of his small child with an Asian father near us; I could sense his fear and discomfort.

A very drunken man was taken past, hollering, his face bloody. Later we saw him lying on a trolley bed serenely allowing a nurse to pick pieces of glass out of his face.

A plump young white woman sat with her swollen foot propped up, her other foot in a sequinned ballet pump, visited from time to time by her boyfriend who kept going out on mysterious errands.

Another young woman came in with her husband, his arm around her. She was heavily pregnant and crying, obviously in labour. They were both frightened and pale, even through their brown skins. They were seen very quickly.

A plethora of hopping people with damaged ankles came and went.

Another drunk was brought in by the ambulance crew, and kept fussing to know when he would be seen. He never got the answer he wanted so sat and swore quietly and viciously to himself. But at one point he glanced up and caught my eye. He realised I was a little afraid of him and he shook his head ruefully, smiled and shut up.

After several hours we were seen, S was x-rayed, the fracture confirmed and his hand strapped up. He has to go to the clinic next week for a check-up but the bone should knit easily.

I finally dropped him home at 4 a.m. then drove round the corner to my own house and fell into bed.

And today I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that rag-tag community we were part of, brought together in a hospital waiting room by pain. I hope they’re all OK.