Zooming might just save your life…

In my off-the-shoulder hospital gown, mask momentarily lowered to make for a less grim selfie!

We’ve been zooming with 7 or so friends every Thursday since the first lock down began – nearly a year ago. We call it ‘Thursday night theatre drinks’ because in the old days BC (guess!), we’d be meeting for a night out at the theatre together.

This is a Thursday evening like any other. After a jolly hour or so on line, I pop up to the loo while my wife Luisa carries on chatting. Walking back down the stairs, I began to feel a little odd (hunger probably) but sit down at the table to re-join the banter…

…. I feel as though I’m surfacing slowly from a deep sleep. I can hear Luisa talking about me in an urgent voice. I slowly open my eyes to find myself lying on the floor by the fire. Oh, and the zoom is still happening, but I seem to be the subject of the conversation. What the hell…?

Meanwhile, Zoom friends leap into action, giving Luisa the practical and emotional support needed. Juliet instantly calls an ambulance, and holds the phone up to her PC, so Luisa can answer the operator’s urgent questions. Another friend, Alex, is one of the voices telling Luisa to get me off the damn chair – and onto the floor to get the blood back to my brain.

The ambulance team arrive in no time at all. Calm professionals take over from my poor wife – reassuring and friendly. They rush me off to Lewisham hospital. COVID protocol means Luisa can’t come with me. The friendly paramedics do the paperwork en route and make me warm and comfortable. They also keep me safe in the ambulance, until there is a bed free, and then whizz me in. The A&E waiting area is so quiet – as fears of infection and closed pubs have reduced casualties.

The amazing staff rapidly run me through a battery of tests – ECG, chest X-ray, blood and then a thorough chat with the doctor. He has been working really hard on COVID in the ICU until very recently. Hearing about his dark experiences, I feel rather ashamed of my own blasé attitude. At midnight, he smiles and says they can find nothing wrong. He shares some good advice for the future – vital for someone with a history of occasionally passing out – and I come home.

Thank goodness for the NHS, thank goodness for my wife, thank goodness for our friends, and thank goodness for ZOOM – for creating a life-saving virtual community this Thursday evening.

I don’t think I’ll be complaining about endless ZOOM calls any more – well, at least for a day or two.