A Good Night

It started with an old lady in a faded yellow puffer jacket. Someone had parked her in her wheelchair and fluffy pink bedroom slippers right in front of the glass doors of the side entrance. "Do you want to go back inside?" I asked, seeing as I would have to push the wheelchair aside if I was going to get into the building. She stole a glance at the smoldering cigarette butt on the ground beside her. "Oh yes," she chirped, "I'm finished now." As I headed down the corridor towards A&E, she called out "Don't work too hard, doctor!"

How did she know. I bleeped Kay, the house officer who'd been on call in the daytime. "We're on Ward 1," she said, "doing a round with Mr. A." I knew something was up; registrars never do a round in the evening unless there's something interesting brewing - and I mean in the sense of tabloid newspaper rather than medical journal material. "You've got to see this." Behind the curtain lay a rather plump, middle-aged woman, her dark hair looking badly in need of a wash. Mr. A pulled up her nightdress to examine her belly. She had stuck a pair of nail scissors into her abdomen, right up to the hilt. Before he could lay a hand on her, and in front of a riveted 'audience', she pulled it right out. Due to the smallness of the scissors and the largeness of her abdominal wall, nothing happened. It was a bizarre moment."Theatre. Laparoscopy, maybe laparotomy and proceed. Psych review in the morning." Mr. A doesn't mince his words. He had 10 more patients to see and he wasn't going to be bogged down with "psychosocial issues".

[argh have to run! time for work... to be continued....]