When we were at the hospital sitting in casualty for the Wilf one a couple of weeks ago two events occurred. One was touching and one was sad. The two events were linked in time and location yet completely separate, I will not forget them.
Two boys, about whose ages Wilf & I have both guessed at being possibly 10 and 12, rushed into A & E heading straight for the reception desk. Quite confidently the eldest lad took charge and asked if his sister had been admitted. The lady at reception asked for his sisters name and then looked through her computer logs.
Shaking her head ‘No’ she responded to the boys, ‘your sister isn’t here’. Perplexed the eldest lad asked if she could have been admitted to the other hospital, pointing towards the main hospital buildings.
‘No this is the only A & E.’ The receptionist returned to check her computer again.
The receptionist asked who the boys were ‘ I’m her brother and this is my cousin.’ The spokes person elequently responded pointing at the smaller boy
A mature man then entered the building, he walked over to the foyer and stood, head down, resting his hands on the reception desk. As the boys were quietly waiting and the receptionist engaged in searching her records the man, who had not witnessed any of the proceeding events addressed the receptionist ‘hello, my name is xxxxxxxxxx’
The receptionist interjected, ‘I’m dealing with the boys’. The man apologised and waited quietly.
‘Your sister isn’t here’. The boys looked puzzled.
The receptionist then had an inspiring thought. ‘What’s wrong with your sister?’
‘She’s having a baby’ The eldest lad proudly announced.
All that heard (who weren’t in too much pain) smiled and the receptionist tried to phone maternity. After trying several times she directed them to maternity. ‘ Where’s your Mum? They won’t admit you without an adult.’
‘With our sister.’
After ascertaining that the boys had arrived on their bikes and with seemingly no other option then to let them try for themselves the receptionist gave the boys directions to the door they needed to go to and told them to ring the buzzer and explain their situation.
Off they went on their bikes racing across the hospital car park. None of us know if they were concerned for their sister, eager to see the new arrival or just locked out the house and perhaps wanting their tea.
The receptionist turned her attention to the man. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I’ve lost my father, name xxxxxxxxxx’
Looking around to see if she could spot anybody. ‘Is he round the other side?’
The man virtually ran from the hospital, nearly in tears.
The receptionist, now checking the name on her computer, realised he had truly lost his father to the great beyond.
These events, witnessed by all in the A & E department, show how one person can in one situation be so caring and understanding and then in the same breath do something truly awful.