A&E (En)

Ok, as if there wasn’t enough mess going around the world, a few hours ago a minor (yet unpleasant) accident occurred: it looked like L. broke the index finger on his left hand. Yeah, I know: sometimes shit could hit the fan too damn quickly. The doctor on the hotline was nice (he actually wasn’t our own doctor from the surgery nearby, but from Ely) and persistent: you should go to Accident and Emergency at Addenbrookes, he said, and so we went.

Of course, L. could go on his own, but how could I leave him without company, especially given that the whole thing could take hours (we all know that the NHS is overwhelmed, and frankly, L. and I were ready that we might be stuck in there for quite a long while). We still had time for a quick dinner and came to Addenbrookes around 9 p.m.

Boy, was it spooky. I mean, it wasn’t as apocalyptic as two or so months ago when we confused our paths in the park and instead of the direct line home took a wrong turn: then, we appeared right at the gates of the main building, where we witnessed all those doctors and nurses in spacesuits, warning signs everywhere etc.

The queue wasn’t long, and the young nurse promptly directed us to the other branch of A&E, which was located two buildings down the street. While we were waiting, an ambulance arrived, and a few exhausted nurses took out an unconscious old man in a mask: he was lying in a stretcher, and the young nurse told her colleagues to take him to the ICU.

Then, while we were proceeding to the required building, we also spotted a very rough-looking man screaming his head off: “Victim, I am a victim, you cunts, leave me alone!” and three or more male nurses kept him away from the rest of the people, who were freaking out a bit, given how loud and, frankly, dangerous he looked.

I wasn’t allowed inside the building where L. was treated, so I sat in the empty garden for more than two hours, surfing through my social media, watching silly videos with pallas cats and looking at the patients who came in and went out. And the NHS staff, who were constantly busy, but carrying on as if they were doing some mildly complicated office work. My huge respect goes out to them all.

L. was thoroughly examined and X-rayed: thank heavens, his finger wasn’t broken, but sprained a bit, so the doctor fitted a splint. When we were nearing home, a black shadow appeared from nowhere, and Pickle joined us, waving his tail in a less aggravating manner than usual. We are finally home, tired but tranquil. All ambulance noises and sanitiser smells are left behind: it’s quiet here.