I'm sitting in a corridor in Basingstoke hospital. Across from me is a door marked resuscitation. There was some screaming emanating from inside, then an alarm sounded and lots of doctors went in and out saying 'resus'. Two women (not dressed in scrubs) came out in tears.
There are people here with real medical emergencies, but I'm not one of them!
I've been flown here in an air ambulance after falling off my horse in the polo arena. I fell on my head, then walked to the clubhouse where I had a little lie down. The next thing I remember was waking up with no idea where I was, and Aurora looking very concerned. Apparently I had had some kind of seizure and Aurora had to hold me down to stop me writhing off the sofa onto the floor.
When she phoned 999 because of the seizure they decided to send a chopper because there were apparently no normal ambulances. I was mortified with embarrassment at the prospect but she couldn't stop them.
Within minutes there was the sound of a helicopter landing in the arena (I was under strict instructions not to move my head) and pretty soon a team of medics were swarming around me. They soon established what I knew already - namely that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me, and all I needed was a nice cup of tea and a lie down.
Anyway I was examined to the max, and I felt a bit like a king when everyone gathered blankets to keep me warm and someone even removed my boots for me!
They decided I was fine, but I should be checked out at a hospital because concussion injuries can be hidden and only manifest themselves later (ask Liam Neeson).
They tried to organise a 'truck' (ie a normal ambulance), but there were still none available, so after some discussion about the relative merits of the Southampton hospital helipad and the Winchester kings school playing grounds, they finally opted to fly me to Basingstoke.
I walked to the helicopter, but had to lie in the stretcher for the flight because there were already 4 people (maybe more!?) in it.
I felt a bit bad wasting NHS resources, but secretly I was quite excited about going in a helicopter - that's a bucket list item ticked. And Aurora was happy because the helicopter had cleared all the pesky leaves out of the arena. We invited the crew to come back next weekend for some bacon butties and polo.
The ride was actually rather boring since I was just staring at the ceiling. I craned my neck to look out the window, but just saw fields. Don't think we were much above 3000 feet.
We landed in a field - from my (disad)vantage point I could see a cloud of leaves being blown up as we touched down.
Things moved pretty fast early on. The helicopter took about 5 minutes to arrive, and the trip to Basingstoke took 12 minutes, but as soon as I entered the hospital things slowed down to a positively glacial pace.
After a while, the triage nurse arrived: 'So Mr. Darwin, I understand you fell off your horse playing polo, is that correct?' Good grief, what a middle class injury. Or non-injury, in my case. And what a fool I feel when there is a girl screaming in pain two cubicles down.
And so here I find myself, surrounded by people who actually have something wrong with them, waiting for a doctor to see me and wishing I had brought a book.
