Brief Encounter. March 1 2018.
Last month I spent six days in the cardiac ward of the wonderful Whittington Hospital.
I was in the Mary Secole ward, there were 5 patients, 3 of us with heart problems and two elderly men who had badly bruised faces from some sort of accident.
After spending five days in bed my feet become quite numb from diabetes, so I very carefully walked to the loo. On my way I thought I would say hello to the chap with half his face black and blue.
He was short and stocky and for some reason I thought he was Irish, I stood next to his bed and leaned forward to say good morning.
He looked up at me with what I have to say was a quite aggressive expression.
He said something so fast that I could not understand him; he repeated it, this time in a very agitated way.
I tried to lip read but he had a rather long top lip, which hid the rest of his mouth.
He said again, this time with feeling.
When I am in a position of not catching what someone says to me, I usually say.
“Yes you could be right”
This did not seem to satisfy him and he once again he went into a steam of words as before.
One of the nurses came in to see what the commotion was all about. I think she was Eastern European, maybe Bulgarian, she also had a very strong accent which I found hard to understand.
“ Michael, what’s all the fuss” she said.
“ARFkithiRfEcKYer FEckier” he said pointing at me, again without a trace of humour.
The nurse looked at me in disbelief and said.
“ Michael said”
“ Tell the fecking idiot he is standing on my fecking foot”