A Day In The Life Of...
Rochelle J Pitcher
The day was like any other with the starlings signalling a time for feeding, where the local farmer's tractor tore up and down our country road on his way to feed the sheep, and the cows were commencing their slow and meandering journey to the fields for their Scottish breakfast.
I had cleaned the morning's dishes and put the laundry out to dry when my neighbour came running out of her house screaming, "Rosie, Rosie, cana ye help hen? Git down Rufus, noo stopping the barking. Ma hand is a nippin," cried Anne!
Her forefinger was spurting out blood. I felt faint. My legs were challenged to support me. Anne's panicked voice had caught me off guard. As a former city dweller I was a newcomer to the Scottish countryside; I thought a tough time was a morning without my coffee Americano. Hearing the pain in Anne's voice, I immediately forgot myself and in a calm but firm voice asked her to, "Hold your finger up high Anne, this will prevent the blood from spurting out while I run into the house and search for the first aid kit."
Where was the old Girl Guide motto 'Be prepared' when I needed it? Swiftly, I grabbed the TCP disinfectant, bandages, a pair of scissors, ran out poured the solution over the bloodied finger; grabbed a large bandage, wrapped and applied pressure to the bleeding wound. I still wanted to faint, but kept on with my deep breathing.
"Well Anne, that should hold it for now. I'll get the keys to my car and take you to the doctor's. You can see where the blood is still pouring out from the bottom of the bandage. We have to get professional help. Just lean on the fence while I get the car," I said.
"Yes," she answered as her body trembled. I had to hurry, my fear was that the cut was near an artery and she could bleed to death if we didn't get to a hospital. We lived miles from a doctor and an ambulance would take forever. Anne, alone at 76 lived with her rescue shelter dog. The very one she trusted had now put her life at risk. I needed to find the keys to the car. My panic was growing stronger. "Anne, are you ok," I asked in a forced calm voice.
"Och, aye, a wee bit faint," she answered.
On the way to the doctor's Anne explained how it happened: "I wisnae wise. As the cannie dog fetched his stick, I tried to take it from his mooth. I bent doon toe get it when his teeth dug into ma haun and Rufus bit me tae my surprise. Wis nae his fault. I widnae normally pit ma haun onywhere near his mooth but this day I wisnae thinkin," said Anne.
"When you see the doctor, please tell him that you will need a tetanus shot. In fact, I will mention it to the nurse," I said, knowing of Anne's Scottish gentle nature. The drive to the country hospital was on a narrow cow path back road with pot holes to match. When we arrived at the emergency entrance of the small country hospital I helped Anne out of the car. We were met by a wonderful nurse. I, in my loud American voice asked her to tell the doctor that a dog had bitten Anne's finger and my efforts to stop the bleeding had failed. I suggested she would be in need of a Tetanus shot. (This did not go over well).
Waiting rooms are purgatory-not heaven nor hell but that place in between where you wait to see what fate decides; not a place I enjoy. I must have read all the women magazines and caught up with the movie star gossip, when a quiet spoken nurse entered the room.
"Anne has had quite a shock. The doctor said that the cut was a millimetre from the artery. If you hadn't brought her in as soon as you did it could have been life threatening. She has had her tetanus shot and her hand bandaged. The doctor has given Anne a prescription to be picked up at the chemist," she said.
Poor Anne, she was as white as a ghost after her treatment. We drove to the pharmacy and were greeted by the loud and friendly voices of concern and affection for my neighbour and her wound. I was surprised that quiet Anne was so well known and loved. They wanted details of her accident and her helper. I was embarrassed with the attention and quickly had the prescription filled and suggested we get her home for a cup of tea and a cookie.
Arriving home I helped Anne out of the car. Rufus looked well and quiet as if he knew he was in the dog house for life. When I looked out of her kitchen window I noticed that dark clouds were forming over Tinto. I had minutes to get my laundry off of the clothes line. Anne knew how important the daily weather forecasts were since Scotland had no summer or sunshine to speak of this 2008th year. We didn't have a clothes dryer because of the prohibitive cost of electricity which made it more important to predict the comings and goings of those dark clouds over Tinto. Quickly, I poured Anne a cup of tea, dashed out, jumped over the fence (with help from the stepladder) grabbed my laundry hamper and as quick as you might see the fingers of a piano fortissimo, plucked the clothes pegs, dropped them into the basket and whisked the bed sheets, bath towels and personal unmentionables from the sagging clothes line. Success!
Now the torrential rains were doing their best to remind me that all was well with the world and it was just another one of those days in the life of the Scottish Borders.
