A brief - yet warm - encounter

Infusion connection; I've had dozens

Yesterday, for the nth time since August 2021, I entered a hospital, n being a large number I’ve never computed.

I was early and needed the loo. Toilets aren’t prominently labelled in hospitals and I wandered distractedly. A woman of a comfortable age, not wearing any uniform, recognised my distraction and guided me sympathetically.

At the Imaging Department a nurse called out my name, struggling slightly with Roderick. She introduced herself as Sophie and, off the cuff, I asked her who she’d been named after. She said, “Why, is it famous?” I could only come up with Sophie Tucker, the American singer born in the 1880s and known for comical and risqué songs. Sophie said a neighbour used to call her that when she was young. “Bet he was old,” I said. He was.

Sophie asked me whether I had any allergies and I said “Holly.” It’s never been relevant to my medical treatment but it encourages light conversation. Sophie said she’d christened her daughter Holly.

Sophie was briefly out of the small preparation room and my eye roved. A large lettered card noted that an outpatient was due an “air enema”. I imagined what that would feel like. As if one were a balloon, perhaps.

Disposable gloves were said to be nitrile. A new word. Distinguishing them from a more familiar, but allergenic, substance, name now forgotten.

After the imaging an infusion connection (see pic), inserted into my arm, was removed. I told Sophie I was on blood thinners because this can cause excess bleeding from even tiny perforations. She worked with great care, told me to check before I left the hospital. That she’d attend to it.

I was struck by the sympathy in her voice, enhanced, perhaps, by a Midland accent. Convinced it couldn’t be faked.