At one of the hospitals where I worked, we could provide paediatric care to those who were up to 19 years old if they were in full-time education.
Adult theatres is always busy. Not to mention, care quality isn't always as in depth or as adaptable to individual needs as it is in paeds. Sometimes, when emergency lists are very full, the adult hospital would try to expedite patients receiving care by sending those that meet our criteria to us.
One of these patients was 19. Had gotten into a fight at the pub on Wednesday (It was now Friday) where a rogue punch had broken their jaw in two places.
They were assigned on the ward to one for the bays that had 4 beds, with the occupants between the ages of 2-7. We quickly got them moved into a private room.
They walk into the anaesthetic room. Jaw swollen like two half-eaten gobstoppers were shoved under the skin and a glorious, myriad of colours like some abstract artwork. All purples and reds. The icing on the cake was them sauntering in (a swagger, if you prefer), with a cigarette tucked behind one ear. On they hop onto the bed, pulling said cigarette out and sticking it between their swollen lips and they say "Oiy, gimme a light!"
The anaesthetist and I stare. With identical incredulous looks on our faces as the anaesthetist points to the machine as says "You can't smoke in here, there's oxygen."
"Well, Guess that'll make it smell extra fresh!"
Our confusion grows.
There's a pause.
Clearing my throat I go forward, introduce myself and start my checks. As I go through the questions, Zed says "Hey, you really not gonna let me smoke?" To which I reply, "Sorry, we're here to fix your jaw, getting fresh burns from an O2 explosion isn't on your consent form."
"Dang, I could consent to that?"
I shake my head, "Sorry Friend."
"Aww, You ain't no fun"
I wink and say "It's the NHS, we don't have the funding for fun."
They laugh and we begin to cannulate them.
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