In the pub there was Frank’s chair, at the club it was Frank’s table and at football Frank’s seat. He was here so often we eventually christened the second room Frank’s cubicle. We had no other patient come in as often as Frank and believe me, we get some in here a lot.
His visits fell into one of three main categories. Firstly, he came in when he’d had problems at work. Sometimes he fell off things. He dropped things, mainly on himself. He bumped into things and from time to time things collapsed with him inside.
Then came the visits after leisure activities. Despite his age he seemed to think creaks and strains on the pitch should be run off. He usually visited us match day plus two, but once or twice he was stretchered in from the field directly. His wife talked him out of rock climbing and suggested country walking, but then there was that landslip and sure enough it slipped onto Frank.
We’ve termed the third group miscellaneous because we couldn’t think of another term to describe the motley selection of other things he pitched up at our door suffering from. Once he tried to eat a snake for a bet and it bit him, so he rolled up, Ozzy Osbourne-like with a swollen face, needing a complete set of shots. And then he burnt himself trying to swap the battery on his daughter’s car. He was doing fine with running it under cold water until he managed to spray it over the floor, slipped and cracked his wrist on the floor. At least 6 weeks in plaster kept him away from us because he just couldn't get up to his normal mischief.
Despite everything we have come to love Frank. He’s always smiling and leaves every time promising he’ll be more careful and that was the last time we’d see him. Sister Boo vetoed inviting him to our Christmas party, so we raised a glass to him instead. What else can you do with the only man who has ever come into an A&E department with something inserted in his rectum and admitted he stuck it there himself because he thought it would feel good.