As my Dad lay dying, I desperately wanted him to wake up, just for a moment, so he could listen to the woman in the next bed. She had woken up; confused and scared.
“Sandra!” she cried. “Gary! I want to go home. Get me a taxi. I’m going home. Sandra!”
A nurse, calm and quiet, edged over and tried to comfort the confused lady.
“You can’t go home sweetheart. It’s nearly midnight. You’re in Barnsley Hospital.”
“I know where I am. Gary, get me a taxi. I’m going home.”
“Gary isn’t here, love.”
“Sandra then. Get me a taxi Sandra, I’m not staying here.”
Had my Dad been awake he might have said, not quite under his breath, “shut up, you daft old bat.” I said as much to him, but I’m not sure he heard.
The confused lady kept shouting. “They’re trying to keep me here Gary. Gary, help me! Get me a taxi.”
The lovely nurse did her best to calm the confused lady. She even tried to be stern, although it was on the sweeter side of strict. “Come on now, it’s after midnight, you’re disturbing people.”
“I don’t care…Sandra get me a taxi.”
The nurse tried a new tack. “Here love, the doctor wants you to have this medicine. It will make you feel better while we wait for that taxi.”
The confused lady responded: “Get away with you. I may be sick BUT I’M NOT DAFT. You’re trying to put me to sleep.”
I laughed. The nurse laughed. And my Dad would have laughed. But he was already on his way; having been beautifully cared for by the NHS in the last few hours of his life.
That is only a small summation of the NHS: caring, dedicated, full of integrity and with a smile on its face. It’s an institution we should treasure.
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