It’s been an idyllic holiday. For the last fortnight, my wife and
I have escaped the British winter and cruised around the Caribbean on a luxury
liner. We’ve visited ten different islands; St Kitts, St Lucia, Dominica, and
Martinique amongst them and, as sit here on an Airbus 330
on the flight home, the long journey eased by the glass of Sauvignon Blanc I
have in my hand, it’s pleasant to reminisce about those green islands, blue
skies, and warm seas. We’re both determined to return and savour it all again
at some stage in the future.
Oops, hang on a minute! Here comes the air hostess again with a
second glass of wine. I mustn’t miss that! ‘That’s lovely, thanks very much.’
Of course, everyone knows the food onboard cruise ships is superb
and there’s so much of it! I confess we tried to be disciplined and not
eat too much, but we’ve both managed to put on a pound or two. Those five
course evening meals were superb.
On our table, there was a
retired army general from Holland and his wife. I didn’t know that Holland was
a member of NATO until he told us about his involvement in joint exercises with
our military. His wife was a quiet little mouse who was difficult to
engage in conversation, but they both spoke beautiful English; well, the
continentals always do, don’t they?
The other couple came from Hereford, an accountant called Frank
Purvis, and his wife, Mavis; both were pleasant enough, though Mavis was a bit
intense and clingy. I thought she pried into our private life rather too much;
my wife said she was just nosey! As it happens, they’re on the same flight as
us now, sitting a few rows behind.
When I’m on holiday, I don’t like folk to know I’m a doctor.
I don’t have ‘Doctor’ recorded on my driving licence or passport, and I don’t
go advertising the fact when in the company of strangers. If your medical
background slips out, it seems the whole world and his dog feel entitled to a
free opinion on their various illnesses. Fortunately, I’m usually able to tell them
that my knowledge of their various problems could be written on the back of a
postcard; you see I’m a retired psychiatrist, and when they learn that, they
usually shut up. There shouldn’t be a stigma about mental health, though
unfortunately there still is, and people rarely admit to being sufferers.
I’ve eaten my meal, it was only a small portion but quite tasty.
I’ve had a coffee and finished that second glass of wine. The lights are low.
I’ve a mask over my eyes, and I’m searching for sleep when I hear an announcement
over the tannoy, muted by the plugs I’m wearing in my ears. ‘If there is a
doctor on board, will they please make themselves known to a member of the
cabin crew?’
I groan and sink further into my seat. It’s the one thing I dread
when travelling.
There are nearly three hundred people on the plane; surely, I’m
not the only doctor on board. I’ll close my eyes, pretend to be asleep,
waiting and hoping that someone else will answer the call.
Then I hear a voice behind me calling for the steward, and surreptitiously
I look over my shoulder. Mrs Purvis, busybody that she is, is talking to the
steward and pointing in my direction. Privately, I curse her.
The steward is speaking to me now. ‘I wonder if I can have a word
with you. I understand that you’re a doctor. I’m afraid we have a passenger who
requires urgent medical assistance. Perhaps you could follow me?’
He doesn’t offer me any choice, I note, though I guess he’s right
– I don’t really have any choice!
He leads me towards the front of the plane, past the
toilets, through the forward section, then on towards the front exit
doors. All eyes are upon me as I trail behind the steward. We go behind
the screen to the area where the cabin crew prepare the meals. I am amazed how
cramped it is.
Lying on the floor is an elderly man. He is semiconscious.
My heart sinks. I haven’t a clue where to begin.
‘Look,’ I say desperately, ‘I’m just not qualified to deal
with this. I was a psychiatrist, but I’ve been retired for more than ten
years.’
‘But it seems you’re the only doctor on board,’ the steward says,
‘and obviously that makes you better qualified than we are.’
I remember that I no longer hold any indemnity against claims of
medical negligence, but vaguely recall reading somewhere that Good Samaritan
acts usually escape litigation.
‘We have a defibrillator on board,’ the steward continues,’ ‘I’ll
go and get it.’
I look again at the man on the floor. Clearly, I have no choice
but to see what I can do, despite the fact that its 50 years since I last
practised any physical medicine.
Although semiconscious, he has a reasonable colour. I kneel
at his side and feel for his pulse. At least I know how to do that! To give
myself some thinking time, I measure it over thirty seconds, but even then, I
can’t think what to do next.
The steward returns with the defibrillator and takes it out of its
case. I’ve never seen one before! It strikes me the steward will have had
some first-aid training; if we have to
use it, perhaps he will know how it works because I certainly don’t!
‘Hopefully we’re not going to need that,’ I say out loud, though
mainly I suspect for my own reassurance.
I feel the panic rising in my chest, and my mind becomes a blur.
I’m conscious of the steward standing over me, expecting me to be competent and
professional when I know that any boy scout with his first-aid badge would have
a better idea of what to do.
Now the man on the floor is attempting to speak, and I try to make
out what he’s saying. One word is clear enough to understand........‘diabetic’.
My God, I think; what the hell do I remember about diabetes.
Finally, one constructive thought penetrates my befuddled mind. If he’s
diabetic, he’ll be travelling with some tablets or insulin.
‘Is he travelling alone?’ I ask.
‘Yes, he is.’
‘Does he have a bag or any hand-luggage with him? Perhaps there
will be something there that may help us.’
He returns with the man’s case, and we rifle through it.
Sure enough, there’s a supply of insulin, and a collection of needles and
syringes.
So, he is indeed diabetic. But now I’m more concerned, and even
more aware of my own inadequacies than before. Is his present condition due to
his diabetes, or is diabetes just a red herring and he’s actually suffering
from some unrelated problem, possible a heart attack? And if this is a
diabetic coma, is this due to a low blood sugar or a high one?
I honestly haven’t a clue how to distinguish high from low, and if
I assume it’s a high blood sugar, give him a shot of insulin and it turns out
he’s got a low blood sugar, I shall probably kill him. And the steward is still
standing over me, observing my every move, expecting me to know what to
do.
A stewardess arrives and piles more pressure on me.
‘The captain urgently needs your assessment of the situation,’ she
says. ‘We’re mid-Atlantic, and he has to decide whether to continue to London
or divert to Tenerife.’ As if I haven’t already got enough on my plate!
‘Well, to tell you the truth,’ I start to admit, ‘I really
don’t........’ and then the most marvellous thing happens.
The screen is pulled back and a tall good-looking man of about
forty comes through.
‘I hear you have a bit of medical problem,’ he says, his voice
oozing confidence. ‘I
would have come sooner, but I was asleep.’
‘Are you a doctor?’ I ask, praying that he is.
‘Yes,’ he says, ‘indeed I’m a consultant in Emergency Medicine,’
he adds and mentions one of the largest and most prestigious hospitals in
London.
‘Thank God, I’m so relieved to meet you,’ I reply. ‘I’m sure
you’ll be somewhat better qualified to deal with this problem than this elderly
retired psychiatrist.’
Hugely relieved, I return to my seat.
Mrs Purvis immediately rushes to speak with me. ‘What was the
problem? It must be so exciting for you; so wonderful that you’re able to
help in an emergency like this. What a tale I shall have to tell my friends
when I get home! Is the patient all right?’
‘Yes,’ I say, as cool as you like. ‘It was really no problem at
all; everything’s now safely under control so, if you will excuse me, it’s time
for me to get back to sleep.’
Thought for the day
Any man who goes to a psychiatrist
should have his head
examined.
Sam Goldwyn 1882 - 1974
I have been surfing online more than three hours today, yet I never found any interesting article like yours. It is pretty worth enough for me. Personally, if all web owners and bloggers made good content as you did, the internet will be a lot more useful than ever before.ferrari watch
ReplyDeleteAttractive section of content. I just stumbled upon your site and in accession capital to assert that I acquire actually enjoyed account your blog posts. Anyway I’ll be subscribing to your feeds and even I achievement you access consistently rapidly.skii singapore
ReplyDeleteWith havin so much written content do you ever run into any problems of plagorism or copyright infringement? My website has a lot of exclusive content I've either created myself or outsourced but it appears a lot of it is popping it up all over the internet without my agreement. Do you know any ways to help stop content from being stolen? I'd definitely appreciate it.collins
ReplyDeleteI don’t even know how I ended up right here, however I thought this submit used to be good. I don't realize who you're but certainly you are going to a famous blogger should you aren't already ;) Cheers!power systems
ReplyDeleteHello there! I know this is kinda off topic but I was wondering which blog platform are you using for this website? I'm getting fed up of Wordpress because I've had problems with hackers and I'm looking at options for another platform. I would be great if you could point me in the direction of a good platform.fast loan Singapore
ReplyDelete