When they wheeled him into the A&E, it was obvious he was a drowning victim. It was February, the streets were oddly snowfree, yet the sky hung low like a leaden blanket, promising more trouble. Outside the ambulance sirens wailed, echoing down the hospital courtyard.
Looks like someones been hauled in, probably heavy, judging by the commotion, the senior registrar muttered philosophically.
The doors swung open and a chorus of voices burst from the corridor:
Come on, you lot, open the door and get him inside!
The reception door creaked ajar, and a man appeared, cradling a baby in a sling. Trailing behind, clutching his own head with both hands, was a woman whose face was as white as a sheet, shouting at the top of her lungs:
Is he alive? Really, is he?
I was on night duty that gloomy shift I never enjoy working weekends. Weekdays rush by, but the weekend feels like a slowmoving queue at the post office. With everyone on hand nurses, radiographers, lab techs the questions get answered faster than a cuppa in a break room.
Where should I take him? the father blurted, his voice cracking. Please, youre a qualified doctor, you can you can help
The senior registrar snapped, Put the little one on the trolley, surgeon, examine him, and have the ICU team on standby.
I stared at the infant and felt a chill. Id been in a similar scenario a year earlier. It was a December night, snow blanketing the city. Our night nurse, Mrs. Wilson, had rushed in frantic, looking for her son whod vanished after a playground sled ride while his mum was still at work. Hours passed, darkness fell, and the child never returned. We rallied the whole nightshift, called out to the emergency ward, scoured the grounds, and in the dead of night discovered a shallow trench on the hospital grounds, waterlogged, with a sleds imprint nearby. The boy emerged dressed in a blue jacket and a red knitted hat but it was too late. He looked just as he did then, the same age, the same tiny hands.
How long after he was found? I asked.
I cant say, the boys father replied, Neighbours found him floating in a ditch, still showing signs of life. They gave him mouthtomouth and started CPR in the car
Right, step aside, colleagues, the registrar said. Well handle the paediatrics.
I took the baby, removed his hat, and unzipped his jacket. His face was a sickly blue, pupils wide and unresponsive, pulse and breathing absent.
Was any water removed? I asked.
Apparently not.
We began artificial ventilation, filling his tiny lungs with humidified air. I turned him facedown, planted my knee on his back and gave a firm thrust. Water spewed from his mouth. I placed him on the trolley, delivered a forced inhalation, then three chest compressions, coaxing his little heart to pump.
Its cold, but the brain might still be salvagable, I thought, recalling stories of people surviving under snow drifts for days.
The wall clock ticked lazily: two minutes, three, five then something stirred inside him a faint, newbornlike whimper, as if hed wrested himself from deaths grip.
Back to ICU, we need to switch him to controlled ventilation, someone shouted.
Doctor, is he really alive? the mother, still dazed, gasped. Can we save him?
Lets hope, the team replied, and call for the airambulance paediatric retrieval unit.
We whisked baby Alex to ICU, the room falling into a tense silence. The monitors soft beeps and the dim flicker of the bedside lamp were the only companions to the struggling infants faint breaths.
The airambulance team arrived two hours later. After a quick assessment they declared:
The child is clinically dead; the brain has suffered irreversible damage. Turn off the ventilator and wait for the outcome.
A stunned hush fell over the staff.
The pupils are reacting to light, that means his brain is still active, the paediatrician protested.
The brain may be alive, but how long has he been underwater? Water in the lungs, ineffective CPR his organs are failing, the specialist countered.
I interjected, Lets try something else. We dont have a paediatric catheter on hand, but maybe you do?
Sure, we have one, but will it help? a rescue officer asked.
Lets give it a go, chorused the nurses.
They slipped a slender catheter into his airway, and suddenly a spray of bright yellow liquid burst forth, splashing everyone nearby.
Hes alive! Hes alive! we all shouted in unison.
Alright, well stay another half hour, then well wean him off the machine. If he breathes on his own, well take him home.
Three hours later Alex was out of the hospital, carried on a stretcher.
Two years passed. The case of Alex became a legend among the nightshift crew. I never heard what became of him until one Saturday afternoon when a stranger knocked on my front door. He was a tall man with a familiar face and a grin that tugged at my memory.
Do we know each other? he asked.
Im not sure, I replied, Did we treat you or work together?
Remember that boy? Alex?
From behind him peeked a boyish, smiling face. I recognised him instantly it was Alex, now a teenager.
Alex? I stammered.
Yes, Alex. Come on, say hello to your old doctor. Sorry we disappeared for a year we couldnt find your address, and youre always travelling abroad. Anyway, now were here, and youre welcome to visit whenever you like.
Please, come in, I said, still halfincredulous.
Alex recited poetry, raced around the room, examined my collection of seashells, and pressed them to his ear to listen to the sea.
Dad always said you must learn to swim or youll drown. Can you swim? he asked suddenly.
Of course I can, I answered with a grin, Enjoy every splash, kiddo.
Now Im a general practitioner in a town clinic, still on call for occasional emergencies. One day, during a routine health check, a tall, impeccably dressed officer in a navy uniform approached.
Good afternoon, Dr. Michael Benson, he said in a smooth baritone, Ive been looking forward to meeting you.
Good afternoon, Sergeant Alex Whitfield, I replied, checking my medical register, Do we know each other?
Absolutely, he replied, his bluegreen eyes sparkling with recognition.
Alex? Alex Whitfield? I asked, halflaughing, Is that you?
Yes, thats me. Fresh from the academy and straight to you. Wish granted. Im a Royal Navy officer!
