The doors were burst open into the resuss department by our trolley bed. Our patient, recently brought back from cardiac arrest was not breathing and still in a critical state*. Wires, tubes, dots, cylinders, devices, gadgets and of course, the machine that goes “ping” were strewn all about our patient desperately keeping track of any change in their condition.
In front of us were two bays with beds in . . .
One was empty, save for the a gentle breeze, gathering dust, the feeling of loneliness, a distant church bell and the occasional tumble weed drifting past.
The other was awash with life – ten doctors of varying grades and skills stood expectantly round the bed. Another half dozen nurses rushed about, aprons and needles poised ready for attack. Every piece of machinary buzzed with life, waiting to be plugged into various parts of a person’s soul.
All eyes were on our approach.
The paramenace at the front of the trolley pulling our patient glanced quickly at both bays.
“Which bed you want us in guys?”
She immediately realised the pointlessness of her query and burst into laughter whilst blushing. In fairness though and on cue to her question, fifteen pairs of hands all responded in a flash and pointed, as one, to the only bed that could possibly be made ready for our arrival.
This of course, broke the ice somewhat . . . and our patient was eventually delivered safely to the hands of the hospital staff.
*see previous post