Thursday 12th April 1990   Morning surgery 09.21

“SEPTICAEMIA! SEPTICAEMIA!” Dr Lewis’s voice rang through the surgery. “We’ve got a collapse in the waiting room. Help me, please!”

Dad is a bit slow in responding to emergencies, these days.  By the time we arrived, everything was under control.
The patient was lying on his back on the floor looking pale and sweaty.
Mr Emrys Roberts, in for his annual diabetic review, was holding the patient’s legs up because of low blood pressure.
Mrs Gail Granger, who had come about her hip, was supporting the patient’s arm so that Dr Lewis could put a drip up.
Mrs Joan Jordan, from the Post Office, was kneeling on the floor next to the man and talking quietly: trying to reassure him.
Harriet, our nurse, was sorting out the oxygen.
Mary Thompson, from reception, was calling an ambulance whilst Penny Parry had been dispatched to find Mrs Green, the patient’s wife. Mrs Green had popped out to the shop to buy bread and milk while her husband was waiting to see the doctor.

Dad and I were looking a bit sheepish as we wondered what to do.
“Why don’t you go and put the kettle on, Desmond?” said Dr Lewis.

That was the thing that I most enjoyed about Dr Lewis’s emergencies; we would all sit down and have a cup of tea and a biscuit afterwards.

Teamwork.