Seasonal Casualty
Dr Vernon Coleman
This story was first published in the London Evening News in 1972. It is one of over 40 stories in the book `Stories with a Twist in the Tale’ by Vernon Coleman. The book is available from the bookshop on www.vernoncoleman.com
Seasonal Casualty
Working in hospital over Christmas is rather like being involved in a three day house party.
There’s always a lot of goodwill flying around and every ward is well stocked with liquid guaranteed to dilate the most sclerotic vessels. There are lots of bright decorations, a good deal of mistletoe and lots of unusually happy faces.
There’s a feeling among the staff that if one has to work one may as well make the best of it.
At Inkpen Cottage Hospital we’d managed to empty most of the wards, keeping only the homeless and the genuinely infirm. There were no routine admissions due and no operations on the lists. We were all looking forward to a quiet few days.
Of course, I got lumbered with looking after casualty on Christmas Eve but even that chore has its blessings. The two casualty nurses who had also found themselves on duty were hardly the type to spoil the party. And as long as I didn’t let my blood alcohol level get above 80 I felt confident that I could manage quite happily. I’d worked it out that I could take a drink every hour and a half.
We had one man in with a slight sprain and that was all. He’d managed to fall off a stepladder while decorating the Christmas tree and had hurt himself when he fell.
As dawn broke I began to feel that we’d got away with a quiet night. I was just nibbling at a mince pie that I’d pinched from one of the wards when the plastic doors at the front of the department were pushed open and I heard someone calling.
I tottered out to have a look at the intruder. I thought it might be one of my mates from surgery or possibly even one of the nurses bringing supplies of food.
It was neither. It was a big fellow in his late sixties and he really looked the worse for wear. He was absolutely filthy, covered in dirt from head to toe. He looked as if he’d just fought his way out from under a lorry load of coal.
‘Hello there,’ I said. ‘I’m Doctor Rogers. What can I do for you?’
The old fellow grimaced and tried to smile.
‘Just sit down a bit,’ I said. ‘Take your time. There’s no hurry.’
‘I feel a bit run down,’ said the old fellow weakly. ‘I’m absolutely whacked.’
‘You look it,’ I agreed. ‘Hang on and I’ll get one of the nurses to get a cubicle ready and then I’ll have a look at you.’
‘Thanks,’ groaned the old man.
I found the two nurses playing pontoon in the emergency theatre and persuaded them to come and help me. Then I helped one of the nurses get the old fellow out of his dirty clothes and on to the couch.
‘How did you get in this state?’ I asked him. ‘You’re covered in bruises and scratched to pieces.’
The old man shrugged his shoulders. ‘You’d never believe me,’ he said, with half a smile.
‘What’s your job?’ I asked him.
He looked at the clock on the opposite wall. ‘I’m unemployed again,’ he said flatly.
‘Address?’ I asked, filling in one of the forms that they always like us to complete.
‘It’s a bit difficult, really,’ confessed the old man. ‘I’m not from round here.’
‘That’s all right,’ I said. ‘You can spend Christmas with us. We’ve got a spare bed.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ said the stranger.
‘Not at all,’ I said, with a smile. ‘Christmas is the time of goodwill to all men and all that stuff.’ I felt sorry for the old tramp. The poor old devil must have been half frozen with nowhere to sleep.
‘I’ve got a bad back too,’ said the old man. ‘It aches something terrible and I’ve got a dreadful pain down the back of my right leg.’
I had a look at his back and decided he had all the symptoms of a disk lesion. ‘You’ve been straining a bit too much,’ I said. ‘Too much heavy lifting, perhaps?’
The old man nodded. ‘Probably,’ he agreed. ‘I’m getting on a bit but the work doesn’t get any lighter.’
I didn’t like to remind him that he’d already told me that he was unemployed so I didn’t say anything.
‘There’s this too,’ he said, and turned up his forearm. ‘There was a two inch, fairly deep gash, the sides of which wouldn’t quite meet when I pressed them together.’
‘Needs a few stitches,’ I said. ‘You’ll be OK. And I’ll give you a tetanus jab. How did you come to get a cut like that?’
He looked up at me as though considering what to say. After a moment he made his mind up.
‘It’s not a cut, doctor,’ he said. ‘One of the damn reindeer bit me.’
First published in the London Evening News, 21.12.1972
Note
This story was first published in the London Evening News in 1972. It is now one of over 40 stories in `Stories with a Twist in the Tale’ by Vernon Coleman which is available from the bookshop on www.vernoncoleman.com or CLICK HERE
Copyright Vernon Coleman 1972 and 2024
Home