The scene is the medical receiving unit, at the nurses’ station, shortly after lunchtime. I have apologised and tripped and generally made a nuisance of myself to squash past three nurses and into the corner, and I am now crouched on the floor, foraging in the bereavement drawer for paperwork.
I get nudged in the back. I ignore it. There are a lot of people crammed into a small space, feet and elbows and knees everywhere. Besides, I’m preoccupied with wondering where all the crem forms have gone.
I am poked again, harder.
And then there is a voice from far above my head…
Nurse 1: What are you doing?
Nurse 2: I’m moving this chair out of the way.
Nurse 1: Eh?
I suddenly become aware that the thing that I’m being poked with feels a lot like a shoe and I look up.
Nurse 1: That isn’t a chair! Did you try to sit on Beth?!