My crew mate Matt* and I stood in the kitchen waiting for our Duty Officer to deliver the final decree to the patient sat in the living room.
“. . . and that’s what we’ve decided I’m afraid Dorris**. You will be coming to hospital with us!”
We burst into giggles. In protest to her impending forced removal our patient had decided to express her disdain by belting our Duty Officer on his arm with one of her crutches.
Three and half hours I was on this job. Lovely little lady with classical dementia, who’d had a fall. And after all my investigations and tests I was eventually able to leave her at home with an acceptable “alternative pathway plan”.
But give it its due, this job saw me off bang on time at the end of my night shift. That is, until I closed the front door, locked it and posted the patient’s keys back through the letter box and realised . . .
. . . my coat and car keys were still inside!