Free Postcards to America by Patrick Ingle Page B

involved.
    Perhaps he had just drifted into the profession. No tradition of medicine existed in the family history. Professors at Medical School called him a natural. In truth he did have a natural flair for the subject and sailed through the examinations.
    Henry’s pager rang. No rest for the wicked, he thought. Catherine looked concerned.
    With a chicken leg in his hand, Henry made for the nearest telephone. A red blood spot on his white overall went unnoticed.
    ‘Emergency,’ the voice at the other end of the line said. ‘Multiple cars involved in motorway pile up. Many injured: some seriously. Ambulances are at scene and will be arriving shortly. Make spaces in casualty for arrivals.’
    Back at the table, Henry broke the news to Catherine. With a “see you later”, he picked up the last chicken leg and left for casualty.
    As he hurried along the corridor, he pondered the question. ‘Where are we going to put the patients now waiting in casualty for treatment? Most hospitals now suffered from an acute shortage of beds. It wasn’t a case of no beds; rather a case of no staff to service the beds. Years of under investment and a lack of a clearly defined strategy meant that the whole hospital system bordered on the brink of chaos. The area around casualty resembled a small war zone. Trolleys lined both sides of the corridors. People could spend two days on a trolley before receiving a hospital bed. Or, in some cases no bed would be available and they would be sent home to try their luck another day.
    Unable to find a bin, Henry placed the uneaten portion of the chicken leg in his pocket.
    Preoccupied and hurrying along the corridor, Henry turned a corner and nearly bumped into Danny. The ex-cleric wore a resigned look on his face. A look that said, take me - I am ready.
    ‘Everything OK?’ asked Henry, noting the sign above the door from which Danny emerged.
    ‘Er...Yes…Yes.’ The voice contained a slight tremor.
    ‘We have an emergency. I must go. I will talk to you later. Give me a ring.’ Henry wanted to question his friend as to the nature of his visit to “that department” but his services were urgently required elsewhere. The two men exchanged goodbyes.
    As Henry passed a trolley, a man slightly intoxicated and with what appeared to be a broken collarbone shouted, ‘Hey, doctor, will I be home for my wife’s birthday next month?’
    Over in the corner adjacent to a drink vending machine two men were arguing, oblivious to the security cameras. One of the men gave the vending machine a violent kick. As Henry watched, the automatic doors that led into the room opened and two security guards entered. At the sight of the security guards the two men quietened down and returned to their seats. Just before they sat, the vending machine gave a loud bang. A can of soft drink came down the tube and hit the floor, quickly followed by another and then another. The machine continued to spew out cans in all directions until it emptied. With a shout and a mad scramble, the walking injured pounced on the free cans. A man with broken toes, a boy with a patch over one eye, a wife suffering from bruised ribs following a beating from her husband of one week, a teacher who went to the toilet every ten minutes, an unmarried mother rolling a crying baby in a pram, and a young man dressed in a robe who walked up and down repeating a mantra, all ended up in a pile of bodies as they fought for a free can of soft drink. Recognising that retreat is the better part of valour, the two security guards exited the waiting room.
    In casualty, doctors were arriving having been alerted to the emergency. The first priority was obvious: clear the corridors of trolleys. ‘Easier said than done,’ remarked Henry to another doctor. ‘Where are we going to put the patients that are on the trolleys? We cannot send them home; they need hospitalisation.’
    Is there any large space we can put them temporarily, Henry thought? The hospital