Dedication

To all the wonderful nurses in the NHS

1

I can feel the eyes of everyone on us as Dr Patel and I cross the waiting-room floor. Some of them are like meerkats, lifting their heads and tracking the movements of anyone dressed in a hospital uniform. Others are more subtle, pretending to be absorbed in the trashy magazine they’re holding or scrolling on their phones. The one thing they all have in common is a resigned air of quiet desperation. Please, you can hear them thinking, let this be the time that my name is called.

I almost want to stop and explain apologetically that the stark reality is: if you’re well enough to sit in a chair and wait in the Accident and Emergency department, you’re probably going to be there for a while. Anyone who’s blue-lighted in, or walks in with a major issue, is instantly going to jump in front of you, pushing you even further down the queue.

As a grade 7 senior sister, it’s rare for me to spend any time in the minor injuries part of A & E; most of my work takes place either in the major traumas unit, known as ‘Majors’, or the resuscitation unit, which probably doesn’t need much explanation. Minor injuries are generally dealt with by the emergency nurse practitioners, but we’ve just received a call because they’re facing an issue they’re not entirely sure what to do with.

‘Thank you so much for coming,’ Blessing, the nurse who called us, says as we step through the door. ‘The gentleman is in bay five. His name is Maurice and, well…’ She tails off, handing the notes to Dr Patel.

‘Let’s have a look then,’ Dr Patel says in that confident tone that all consultants seem to have. I wonder whether it’s something that’s specifically trained into them, or whether it just comes from the knowledge that they’re the cream of the crop. She doesn’t even open the folder, pulling back the curtain of bay five and sweeping in, leaving Blessing and me to follow in her wake. ‘Hello, Maurice,’ she says, as if addressing a naughty schoolboy. ‘I’m Dr Patel, one of the A & E consultants, and this is Tilly, one of our senior nurses. Blessing has asked us to have a look at your injury because she’d like a second opinion before we treat you. Before we go any further, can you just confirm your date of birth, please?’

‘Fifth of June 1960,’ Maurice replies, looking miserable.

‘Great. And the first line of your address?’

‘Five, the Spinney.’

‘Perfect. What seems to be the problem?’

He blushes and glances at Blessing, obviously hoping she’ll come to his aid, but she suddenly seems to find a spot on the floor absolutely fascinating.

‘It’s, umm, Maurice Minor,’ he mumbles eventually.

‘What?’ Dr Patel looks as nonplussed as I feel.