Paracetamol

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Recent experience of hospitals with my Dad and son, reminded me of Naval medical services. Not people to encourage you to be off work, you often tended to 'get on with it' rather than put yourself through the shame of visiting sick bay.

Put it this way, sympathy wasn't a quality listed on the MA's job description.

The process started with the MA. and usually went like this...

MA - "what's up with you then?"
Me - "Ive got flu/stomach pain/arm hanging off"
MA - "OK, take these paracetamol"

Paracetamol was the cure all, and was what kept the Navy running smoothly.

Of course MA's didn't do home visits, so regardless of your condition you had to get there. Hubby once cycled, sweating profusely the few miles from Weymouth to Portland with what was later diagnosed as Gastroenteritis.

I rarely used the medical services, but on one occasion had no choice and even had a very short ride in a Pussers Nee-Nar.

I was in training at HMS Daedalus, and in the gym, being shouted at by the PTI, as they did and probably still do. He wasn't very impressed by the class effort and decided we needed to do one last circuit of the gym equipment as punishment.

Although a young energetic thing back then, gymnastics wasn't my forte, and while flinging myself over a box, I caught my knee and landed somewhat untidily, flat on my face on the concrete floor rather than mat. I'm sure it was highly amusing for my classmates, but I was left with a very painful bloody and broken nose.

An MA arrived in the Nee-Nar, made the decision that this was too big a job for paracetamol alone, carted me off to sick bay and an audience with the Principal Medical Officer (PMO). I can't remember his name but this was a big bald scary guy. Had a set of wind up teeth on his desk, he said to cheer his patients up....all very good unless your nose was broken and laughing very painful!

Nor was giving me a hand mirror and asking me if my nose had changed at all.....it was squashed sideways across my face! Oh how I wanted to punch his face in!

I was given two options, 1. Allow him to re position it immediately, painful but most effective, less chance of future misshape, or 2. Leave it to settle and then re-break it. Not a lot of choice there then.

An hour later, I'm lying in a cool dark room, high on morphine with my cute, upturned snout back where it ought to be. An MA came in some time later to help me up and get me back to Wrens Quarters where I was to stay in bed for the rest of the day. Who knew that morphine made you lose the use of your legs! I stood up and immediately crumpled up in a heap on the floor. How ladylike.

The following day, I was back in my class, still entertaining my classmates who happily retold the story of my backside disappearing over the top of the box, followed by a big 'slap' as my face hit the floor, followed by the jokes of me boxing for the Navy because I looked like I'd gone ten rounds with Henry Cooper.

Sympathy and concern for fellow shipmates eh?


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