A Day at the Beach.

   

A Day at the Beach.

  I was twenty-five, married, and we had a two-year old girl. I was a newly qualified physician, in the days when I lived in the region of the Cinque Ports. I had a day off, and we had driven from Ashford in Kent, where I was an intern, to Folkestone, one of the remarkable ports in Southern England, from which founders of that mighty Empire had sailed forth.. It was my day off, and in those days the slaves that made the British Health Care System work, didn't get many days off.. So, Irene and I and our baby girl in her carriage sauntered along the main strip, heading for the beach, relaxing and admiring the wonders of southern England. Cars were parked along the main street (there were no parking meters in those distant days) , when we heard a scream emanating from one of the parked cars.

    "There's a woman screaming in that car," said Irene, indicating where the noise came from. We ran over to the car and when I pulled the door open. A screaming mother looked in horror at her coughing blue baby in the car seat, desperately gasping for air. The baby was cyanotic and gasping for air.

       "I'm taking the baby to the hospital," I said to Irene. " Look after the Mom and meet us there."

    I grabbed the blue baby, pulled it out of the car-seat, turned it upside down, stuck my finger down it's throat and pulled out a plug of mucus, thumped it's back and compressed its chest and yelled to the shocked mother, "I'm taking the baby to the hospital". I ran out into the middle of the busy street, baby under my arm thumbing down the traffic to take us to the hospital. Cars passed by, folks turning around to see what was going on, but not stopping.

     A milk truck stopped, "what's the problem, mate?" he asked.

     I need to get this baby to the hospital, " I said.

     "Hop in," he said and drove us to the hospital.

     I grabbed the emergency doctor and said, " I'm an intern from Ashford General, this baby nearly asphyxiated." That was taken seriously and the baby was whipped up to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.

       By the time we got the baby looked after, the mother and Irene had arrived at the pediatric unit and the baby was stabilized in an oxygen tent and was a nice healthy pink. The hospital social services looked after the mom and Irene and I and our little girl headed back to our car. I phoned the pediatric unit the following day. The baby's X-Ray confirmed the diagnosis of pneumonia and he was doing well on appropriate antibiotic treatment.

     A few days later, while I was writing histories at the ward desk I got a phone call.

      "Yes?" I responded, wearily.

      "Dr. Smith?"

      "Yes,"

      "Group Captain Dalgleish, here. I want to thank you for saving my son's life!"

       "I was glad to be able to help, Group Captain." I said.

        "I felt very bad about spoiling your day off," he said sincerely. "Let me know if there is anything I can do for you in the future."

         I have often wondered if I should have asked group Captain Dalgleish, if they needed another doc in the RAF.