A&E

I think this was only the second time that I’ve taken myself to A&E at the Bradford Royal Infirmary in what’s now almost 20 years in this city. As on my previous visit it transpired that there was nothing seriously wrong, which was a relief after a day of trying not let worst case scenarios develop too far in my mind.

It started with waking at 05:30 with ongoing chest pain the like of which I’d never experienced before. By a more respectable time in the morning I’d more or less decided that I should go and get it looked at - this is after all one of the things where the advice is ‘go straight to A&E.’  I am usually very much in the ‘wait and see what happens’ camp, but probably the added context of knowing I’ve been pushing myself into the red over the past few weeks persuaded me to be sensible.

So, a taxi ride across to the BRI, and then a fairly quick move through triage (bloods and heart trace) before sitting in the waiting area for three hours awaiting test results, reading my book and watching A&E life. Then I was called through by a doctor, who explained my heart was fine and I didn’t have any blood clots, so whatever it was was ‘probably muscular.’ This was of course reassuring, but given I was still experiencing exactly the same pain and discomfort that had brought me in, not entirely a resolution. But that was the end of it from an A&E perspective, so back home I went, still hurting but thankful to all the people in the NHS that had been applied to case during the day.

Writing this the morning after, I’m happy to say that things have eased a lot overnight, which is also reassuring. I am aware of the pressures and demands on a large city A&E department and it was with reluctance that I added to it. This did still seem to be the right thing to do though.

With all this going on, safe to say I wasn’t out and about taking photos. But blipping habits never rest, so here’s a visual reminder of my visit.