On The Same Page: P stands for platinum . . .

At Emergency, the personal, platinum touch is always preferable.

AS USUAL, my summer has resulted in a trip to the accident and emergency department.
I have come to the conclusion I am something of a plonker when it comes to injuring myself.

Take 2016, for example. I slipped on the golf course and ended up on crutches; in 2017, I got run over; this summer, I whacked my head and got concussion.

So that's where I was one day not long ago. Waiting for a scan that will eventually confirm there's nothing wrong inside my skull other than, perhaps, that I should use my brain a bit more and not get myself knocked about so much.

Unfortunately, it took the better part of seven hours sitting in A&E to get that diagnosis.
It was somewhat embarrassing sitting there with double vision while people in far greater stress than I came in and were, quite rightly, seen first.

It has to be said the staff did a great job in difficult circumstances.

Anyway.

So I'm sitting in A&E and, as luck would have it, Mrs P, who is a nurse, is working her shift in another department. Obviously, when she has a break she comes over to see me.
I'd been there maybe an hour or so when Mrs P, resplendent in her uniform, comes in to the waiting room.

Naturally she is concerned her simmering hotplate of a husband has been injured and is waiting to be seen. She brings me a coffee and sits for a quick sympathetic chat before she has to return to her duties.

She gives me a kiss on the cheek as she departs.

Through the difficulties of my vision I can make out some confused glances from my fellow waiting room occupants.

They get even more confused a couple of hours later when Mrs P returns to check on me again. This time she's brought me coffee and a sandwich. She sits next to me, holds my hand, feels my forehead and asks how I feel. Just like a nurse would.

Again, as she leaves, she gives me a little kiss on the cheek.

This time I feel I should explain, particularly to the big guy who has been sitting opposite all morning playing on his phone but who now has a "what the ... ?" look on his face.

I can't resist it. I've been getting a bit bored, so — as a bit of a laugh — I say: "I paid for the platinum service".

He nods and goes back to his phone.

Later in the afternoon I've been through for the scan, got the all-clear and now I'm back in the waiting room as some paperwork is being readied for my departure.

Mrs P returns just before she's due to end her shift and go home.

She listens as I tell her all is well. The double vision is settling down and I do, in fact, still have a brain inside my head.

Naturally she is delighted, and on her departure to get the car celebrates the good news with a hug and a proper lip-smacker of a kiss.

Still seated opposite, the big man has worked out there's some sort of connection between Mrs P and I.

He ventures with a grin: "How much for the platinum service?"

Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief that laughter helps avoid frown lines. Your own tales and feedback are welcome on kevin.page@nzme.co.nz