Here am I, lying in a hospital bed, calm and sedate as a kipper in a box. Three days have passed since an event that brought the fire, rescue, blood wagon and paramedics to the dwelling, all within two minutes of being called. The passage of time is like the Bellman’s map of the ocean for you literary types, ‘a complete and absolute blank’. So here I lie, supine and quiet, arms lying flat on the sheets, palms facing upwards, a pace maker neatly sewn into my chest. Then into this private space that is all mine pops the perky face of young paramedic with a happiest of grins. ‘Hello. Can we come in?’ she says. ‘Sure come in,’ I say. She beckons her companion out of sight, hidden by the wall enclosing the bathroom. He steps gingerly into the room, a huge, burly fellow with an open, rustic face. Both medics are in full regalia. ‘We had to come and see how you were doing,’ she says. ‘We’ve never had a call like yours. It was hilarious.’ Mystified, I ask her how so. ‘Well,’ says she, ‘We get this call and arrive within minutes. You’re slumped under the desk, out cold, cardiac arrest. We’re busy straightening you out, you being a bit crumpled up and all that, head in a pool of blood, when you wife comes in and says, “I have a DNR out on him.” (DNR – Do not resuscitate!). “Is that so? Do you have that in writing, madam?” says Bill here. “Well, actually no,” says she a bit sheepishly. “In that case,” says Bill, “we’ll have to bring him round if we can.” Then just as we’ve got you straightened out and lying comfortable with the mechanical pace maker fitted, you open your eyes. I’m bending over you and you look me in the eye and say, “Hello, miss! Are you the first of the virgins?” and promptly sink into oblivion again. That was that. We spent the rest of the time and our journey to the hospital laughing our heads off. You woke up once and I asked if you were a Muslim and you said, “I don’t think so, miss. I reckon I’m a bit of all three.” I had no recollection of that either, but she was a bonny young woman, just old enough to be my youngest daughter.
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