I went to A&E with a broken wrist and caught a dose of ‘I’ve been lucky’ syndrome |
It was a bad start to the new year. Slipping on ice, I fell and broke my right wrist, so now I can’t hold a pen with my writing hand. But my experience of the NHS was a good reminder of a few facts.
Heading to the nearest A&E, I expected one of those 12-hour waits and corridors lined with trolleys of the near-dead, rowdy with drunken and psychotic mayhem. The Guardian recently found that violent incidents recorded by 212 NHS trusts in England rose from 91,175 in 2022-23 to 104,079 in 2024-25, the equivalent of about 285 cases reported every day. So I was ready for whatever. Notices warned that there would be zero tolerance of abuse of staff.
But the place was unexpectedly hushed, with about 25 people waiting – some very old, one a young child, some glum, most calm, with only one swaying and moaning under her breath. Names were called, consulting room doors opened and shut. Sicker patients lay on trolleys in bays with curtains. I was lucky, I reckoned, to be here on a day and at a time when the atmosphere was bustling, but without any mayhem. I settled in for many hours, my fingers swollen like fat sausages, but not in howling agony, not an emergency. How long would it take?
After half an hour I was sent for an X-ray. Less than an hour later, a tousle-haired doctor in scrubs told me that, yes, it was broken and needed a cast. He phoned specialists in thumb, hand and wrist care, took their guidance and set to work. I asked about his day:........