Cardiac Arrest (1994–1996): Season 2, Episode 7 - Running on Vapours - full transcript
— | need to speak to Scissors.
— Over there.
Thanks.
| think this is a fractured neck of femur.
Good spot, mate.
Never easy to pick a Garden one.
Cheers.
Walk.
Doctor, King of England, makes no difference.
All patients on my ward do what | tell them.
Extra saline for Mr Andrews, please.
You have antibodies to HIV
and the biopsy confirms Kaposi's sarcoma.
You have AIDS.
| see,
lL refer you to Dr Singh at the General. He's
the best HIV man in this neck of the woods.
Thank you, Dr Yates.
What's my CD4 count, please?
Um... Not bad. 210.
We'll see what Dr Singh says,
but we can repeat the count here in one month.
OK.
Now, you don't need me to tell you
that HIV-positive doctors
shouldn't be carrying out certain procedures.
Erm... As far as | remember,
the rule of thumb is
that you shouldn't be doing anything
with sharp instruments inside body cavities,
so normal practice
as an anaesthetist should be fine.
You need to chat with occupational health
about that.
— OK.
— Right.
(Clears throat) One month.
Be near enough Christmas, James.
— Rough night, eh, Phil?
— (Bleeping)
(Man's voice on pager)
— All done, Geoff.
— Thanks.
Dr Kirkby here. Fire away.
Glucose 42.4, Thank you.
Casualty took forever to try and get him
an ultrasound. What's going on?
There were five admitted last night.
The only one in Crippen Ward is Alf Grocott,
the bloke with CA lung who was in last month.
Yeah, thanks.
— This DKA...
— Oxford Handbook of Clinical Medicine, Phil.
Page 738. Is Karen here today?
Yes.
Alf.
Doc.
Like a bad penny, eh?
(Turner) Andrew. Shall we make a start?
Dr Turner, you know
I've got to cover Dr Yates’ outpatients today.
| would have thought a post—take ward round
took precedence over a clinic.
Since Claire was suspended, every Wednesday...
Oh, yes, yes, yes. You go and help Dr Yates.
I'm sure we'll manage.
— Thank you.
— Right, Phil Let's start upstairs. Dartos Ward.
Obviously most of your duties are in theatre,
but occasionally you get asked to go to resus.
This is Nick Stevens,
he's the new SHO in anaesthetics.
Hello.
Poor chap. Must not have seen it.
That's all your bits and pieces over there.
So are you attached to any particular team?
No, I'm giving clinical duties a miss for a few
weeks. Concentrating on teaching and research.
OK?
There's a fairly active programme
of postgraduate education.
There's meetings on a Thursday.
The meetings?
Thursday Lunchtime.
I'LL show you the postgraduate centre.
— And Mr Grocott.
— Ah. Thank you, Sister.
Back last night
with a recurrence of his pleural effusion.
Also, | thought | could feel
a hard, knobbly liver edge.
Hello again, Mr Grocott.
Hello, Doctor.
Now, sir,
if you could just slide down the bed a little.
Yes, thank you. That's fine.
Arms by your side, please.
Now, how is your breathing? Worse?
A bit.
Yes. I'm sorry you've had to call upon us again.
| think you'll be with us a few days, sir,
while we get you right.
— Then we'll get you home.
— Thanks, Doc.
Once you've drained the effusion,
| suggest pleurodesis with tetracycline.
Yes, Dr Turner. And that's the Lot.
Excuse me, Dr Turner.
Phil, | wanted to ask you.
How have things gone?
— Caroline?
— Are all men complete bastards?
— Why?
— Step class was cancelled last night
and | got in early
and found Mick at it with some slag.
— Oh, darling, I'm so sorry.
— (Sobbing)
Oh, sshh...
Two of us are doing the jobs of three.
The hospital claims they're looking for locums
but | doubt they can be trying very hard.
We're on call more often, we're stretched
during the day. Andrew and | are deadbeat.
Since Claire left, we've all had to...
Well, you have my complete sympathy, Phil.
Oh. | nearly forgot.
Wembley?
The international next Wednesday night?
A present from one of my private patients.
I'm chairing a regional gastro meeting so...
Thank you very much, Dr Turner.
Oh, it's... What | really meant, Phil,
was how have things gone in general?
It's been a good job, thank you, Dr Turner.
If a chap's face fits, he'll be looked after.
That's what the old prof said to me
when | was his houseman.
| remember one of the registrars had to polish
the old boy's Bentley every morning.
That's a thing of the past now, of course.
But patronage, Phil, never will be.
Do you think that
| could ask you for a reference, Dr Turner?
| think I've already answered that question, Phil.
Any thoughts on your future?
General medicine.
The Central Teaching Hospital rotation.
| doubt there'll be many superior candidates.
I'm on the interview panel.
Portal hypertension is a fascinating condition.
Fascinating.
One manifestation is, er, caput medusae.
Slain by Perseus, if I'm not mistaken.
What does a case look like, Mr Docherty?
A case looks like a box for putting things in.
(Chuckles)
Mr Tomlinson. Mr Docherty to see you.
— We're putting your stent in tomorrow.
— Taking it out.
Taking your stent out tomorrow.
Sister, that chap looks awfully familiar.
Are you sure he's not one of my patients?
He's your registrar, Mr Docherty.
Ah! Haha... Hors de combat.
— Well done, that man.
— Mr Docherty.
Everyone's talking about your retirement.
— (Scissors) | just wanna say I'm sorry.
— I'm not.
Thank you, Scissors.
— Hiya.
— Hi.
— What's up with you?
— Nothing.
Someone's been spicing your tea, then.
No. I've been out of medicine for a few days
and it's bliss.
There's no more arguments.
No more nurses nagging me.
And when | get up in the middle of the night,
it's to go to the loo.
You'll be pleased to hear
there were no genital injuries,
at least...none caused by the crash.
— Ernest. Can | have a word, please?
— Certainly, Adrian.
| thought I'd tip you the wink. The managers
have decided to ask you to stay on.
— Ah.
— Our registrar's been stretchered off
and his out—of—court settlement
will drain funds on the new consultant's post.
Adrian, do you know that a hospital consultant
who retires at the age of 60
can expect, on average, to live another 13 years,
whereas one who retires at the age of 65
has a life expectation of only two years.
If that's all, Adrian, I'll continue my ward round.
— I'm just about to do the pleurodesis.
— It's OK, I'll do it.
Cheers. I'm like a blue—arsed fly
at the moment.
Doc, there's something | wanted to ask you.
What's all this about me Liver?
Almost certainly it's the cancer.
It's spread.
Yeah.
It's bad, innit?
Yeah.
Will | see Christmas?
| can't say.
How about the one after?
Thanks, Andrew.
— I'll get the stuff for your Lung.
— All right.
Yates is my name. | work here.
Dr Yates, I'm sorry.
| was on Dartos Ward with the septic Lady.
Now, don't fret.
You can't be in two places at once.
You still haven't told your daughter it's cancer,
have you?
No, | haven't. She'll be here any minute.
| don't reckon I'm in her good books lately.
| told the padre to sling his hook.
| mean, I'm no saint,
but | reckon I've done my bit.
And then this happens.
Makes a mockery of all that religious claptrap,
doesn't it?
If it's easier, Alf, | can tell her.
No.
Right. There you go.
An X-ray in the morning.
Then you can go home if you're up to it.
Home tomorrow, eh, Dad?
Aye.
Just a touch of the old trouble, eh, Doc?
I'LL leave you to it.
Caroline...
Let's go and get a coffee, eh?
OK.
The leak
must have originated from this hospital.
I've as much right to confidentiality
as any other patient.
Whoever is responsible
will be severely disciplined.
We will be taking advice as to whether
to contact any of your patients for testing.
In the meantime, | hope you'll agree
that it would be best for all concerned
if you were to take a leave of absence.
You'll notice that no specific reason
has been given for the leave.
As soon as | became aware of my diagnosis,
| contacted the director of public health.
| have agreed to relinquish clinical duties
until we receive her guidelines.
As long as | respect the bounds of safe practice,
I'm not a danger to patients or staff.
| will continue.
Instead of conducting a witch—hunt against me,
concentrate on finding the git
who leaked my diagnosis.
Yes?
Double time for catering staff over Christmas
is out of the question.
Doctors and nurses can make do with
what they find in the vending machines. OK?
— Mr Docherty. Lovely to see you. Coffee, tea?
— No, thank you.
You may have inadvertently
received the impression
that your retirement would have been
welcomed by this administration.
A young man has died
and we must provide financial support
for his widow and his orphan daughter.
Now, that is money you would have used
to fund my successor.
No, Mr Tennant.
| wish no part in your brave new world.
(Indistinct chatter)
Prawn cocktail. Your favourite.
| suppose you haven't read the papers
this morning, then.
Course | have. Who hasn't?
Now have a crisp.
Aren't you gonna ask me how | got it?
— Presumably from unprotected sex...
— (Laughter)
with an infected woman...
or man.
How long have you known about my social life?
Medicine's such a conservative community.
Coming out would ruin your career,
Why should | have made it harder for you
than it already was?
Now, are you gonna have a ruddy crisp or what?
And with the Christmas holidays,
we won't get the result till next week.
— OK.
— James?
I'd just like to say what contempt | have
for whoever leaked the story to the papers.
— Merry Christmas, Dr Yates.
— Merry Christmas, James.
— The boy needs a father.
— The father's not been around.
— He's around now.
— Adrian, Steven is not your son.
| don't believe you. It's too much
of a coincidence. | demand proper access.
He's 12 years old and still bowls underarm.
He needs me!
No, Adrian. You need him. There is a difference.
Just a couple of IV rotas need doing please, Phil.
And there's chemo in the treatment room.
I've never drawn up chemotherapy before.
It had gone five when it was ordered.
The on-call pharmacist said she won't
draw it up unless it's an emergency service.
Try telling that to the patient.
Chemotherapy
is drawn up by specially trained pharmacists
wearing more protective clothing
than an American footballer.
You can argue policy till you're blue in the face.
In the end, it's the patient that suffers.
I'll give it now.
Thanks, Andrew.
Ready?
The patients are put to sleep
then brought to the operating table.
| cut them open, fix what's wrong inside,
and then...zzzzip.
Sew them up again.
How much do they bleed?
Oh, lots.
When the blood gets this high, we all get in
a special boat and do the operation in there.
— | bet you're really scared of blood.
— I'm not.
| think if someone took some blood from you,
you'd be a real softie.
Would not.
— Didn't hurt.
— Press hard.
Don't tell your mum
and I'LL buy you that toy for Christmas.
Go and get changed, and remember...
This is Mr DeVries.
Could you, er...
run off a blood group for me, please?
All right, trouble?
— What's the matter with your arm?
— Nothing.
Right...
This was the letter of resignation
I've had typed at the start of every year.
Had the need ever arisen,
| could have had it dispatched without delay.
Hmm...
That girlfriend of yours is a bit skinny, isn't she?
— You must enjoy the sound of bones cracking.
— (Laughter)
Mate?
I've had a bit of a setback.
My landlord's asked me to move out.
| would take him to court.
No one wants to live where they're not wanted.
— But with Christmas coming up...
— The answer's yes.
God. Didn't even have to threaten
unprotected sex with Nasreen.
With Nasreen, unprotected sex
means not wearing a crash helmet.
Why the hell's he still working here?
Don't get me wrong. | feel sorry for the bloke.
But with our kind of work, anything can happen.
He could infect a patient
or another member of staff.
He should do the decent thing and resign.
(# Jazzy version of
Hark The Herald Angels Sing)
Christmas in plaster.
| should be out there getting plastered.
I've normally worked.
My parents are divorced, so spending it with one
rather than the other just causes massive rows.
It seems this place was the only family | had.
Dan's already got loads of presents.
| wish | had leukaemia.
Hello, kids. I'm one of the doctors from casualty.
I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you.
We've had Father Christmas come into the
hospital. | tried to save him but now he's dead.
So none of you'll
get any presents in the morning.
(Children shout)
— Oi!
— (Shouting continues)
(Phil) He's just come up from casualty.
He's got respiratory failure, he's got liver failure,
he's got septicaemia, his clotting's way off.
Refer straight to pathology outpatients, I'd say.
I've got to get straight to casualty.
(Bleeping)
(Man's voice on pager)
— Dr Collin.
— /t’s me.
— Alison.
— It's Christmas Day!
Is it? Happy Christmas.
— Why do you have to go out tonight?
— Cos they're my friends.
— Vd rather stay in with you,
— It's OK to go out once in a blue moon.
— Go to hell
— |'m gonna go whether you like it or not.
(Vicar) Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
— Give us this day our daily bread...
— (Alf groans)
I'm sorry, Vicar.
Dad's having none of this. How a loving God...
— (Bleeping)
— .,could do this to a good man...
Well, perhaps you'll fare better.
Probably | won't.
(Coughs)
(Gasping for breath)
(Sobs)
Shan't... Shan't be going home this time, son.
No.
(Sobbing)
(Vicar talking, indistinct)
There were times
when | wanted to talk to him about it.
But...
It was cancer, wasn't it?
At least he didn't suffer knowing what it was.
That at least.
There are phone calls to be made.
Thanks for all you did, Doctor.
If we can get him out of that bed.
There's a patient waiting in casualty
who needs it.
They all turn into heartless so—and—so's
sooner or later, don't they?
Uh-huh.
(Knocking on door)
Happy Christmas, Andrew.
(Bleeps)
(Woman's voice on pager)
It's Phil.
(Woman) He’s got a headache.
Is it OK to give him some paracetamol?
— Will you accept a verbal message?
— Yes,
Good. The message is sod off.
(Lively chatter)
Ho...ho...ho...
Ho—ho—bloody—ho.
Ho—ho—ho. Merry Christmas.
Ho... Ho—ho...
Happy Christmas, Dr Kirkby.
Happy Christmas, Dr Collin.
— Happy Christmas, all.
— Dr Yates. What are you doing here?
(Laughter)
Happy Christmas!
— What?!
— Brilliant.
Oh. While I'm here, | thought I'd take a look
at that fellow with emphysema.
— Right.
— Tim and Janet'll be waiting.
Right, right. Because we're not gonna be local,
Dr Turner's very generously agreed to cover me.
We'll be fine. This is brilliant.
— Festive joys! Happy Christmas.
— Happy Christmas.
Pam's making a formal complaint
about you swearing at her Last night.
And Mr Mcintyre needs his chemo drawing up.
| know.
Yeah. | couldn't work it out either.
Well, maybe you could ask Andrew.
| have.
OK, OK. Look, | realise
that the pharmacists have been asked
not to come out unless it's an emergency.
But this fellow needs his chemotherapy.
— And I'm telling you that it’s not my problem.
— Fine.
— (Ringing tone)
— (Man) Switchboard.
Hello, could | speak to Dr Turner, please?
— At his home.
— Hold on, f'll try and put you through.
— Hello, merry Christmas!
— Dr Turner. Phil here.
— Phill
— Yes, sorry to bother you tonight of all days.
It's about Mr Mclintyre's chemotherapy. | can't
find anyone who knows how to reconstitute it.
Susan, it’s Phil
We must have him round for dinner one day.
— There is a day nurse, isn’t there?
— Yes, Dr Turner.
And i'm sure you'll be fine.
Happy Christmas, Phil
(Line goes dead)
— Hey, Geoff.
— Hello, Doctor,
What did Santa bring you for Christmas, then?
— Nothing.
— Emma, you fibber!
— Tell the doctor what you got.
— A Game Gear and some other toys.
Oh, fantastic. Well done, Geoff.
— Happy Christmas.
— Thanks. Same to you, Doctor.
(Geoff groans)
— Dad!
— Geoff?
Doctor? Doctor!
He's got massive laryngeal oedema.
Hydrocortisone and Piriton.
Let's get that adrenalin going, please, Debbie.
— Has he reacted to his chemo before?
— No.
It must have been mixed up wrongly.
We're in. Well done.
Output's fading.
Let's get that adrenalin going, please.
Phil, start CPR. Debbie, adrenalin, a milligram.
Atropine, three milligrams.
Phil, start CPR now!
(Continuous tone)
Atropine.
Get an adrenalin ready
for after the next ten cycles.
Andrew, we've been going for over an hour now.
IF you wanna go, go.
Phil, get a milligram of adrenalin ready.
(Phil) | think we should stop now, Andrew.
Thank you, everybody.
Leave everything where it is, please.
This is gonna have to go to an inquest.
Sorry, Phil.
— Over there.
Thanks.
| think this is a fractured neck of femur.
Good spot, mate.
Never easy to pick a Garden one.
Cheers.
Walk.
Doctor, King of England, makes no difference.
All patients on my ward do what | tell them.
Extra saline for Mr Andrews, please.
You have antibodies to HIV
and the biopsy confirms Kaposi's sarcoma.
You have AIDS.
| see,
lL refer you to Dr Singh at the General. He's
the best HIV man in this neck of the woods.
Thank you, Dr Yates.
What's my CD4 count, please?
Um... Not bad. 210.
We'll see what Dr Singh says,
but we can repeat the count here in one month.
OK.
Now, you don't need me to tell you
that HIV-positive doctors
shouldn't be carrying out certain procedures.
Erm... As far as | remember,
the rule of thumb is
that you shouldn't be doing anything
with sharp instruments inside body cavities,
so normal practice
as an anaesthetist should be fine.
You need to chat with occupational health
about that.
— OK.
— Right.
(Clears throat) One month.
Be near enough Christmas, James.
— Rough night, eh, Phil?
— (Bleeping)
(Man's voice on pager)
— All done, Geoff.
— Thanks.
Dr Kirkby here. Fire away.
Glucose 42.4, Thank you.
Casualty took forever to try and get him
an ultrasound. What's going on?
There were five admitted last night.
The only one in Crippen Ward is Alf Grocott,
the bloke with CA lung who was in last month.
Yeah, thanks.
— This DKA...
— Oxford Handbook of Clinical Medicine, Phil.
Page 738. Is Karen here today?
Yes.
Alf.
Doc.
Like a bad penny, eh?
(Turner) Andrew. Shall we make a start?
Dr Turner, you know
I've got to cover Dr Yates’ outpatients today.
| would have thought a post—take ward round
took precedence over a clinic.
Since Claire was suspended, every Wednesday...
Oh, yes, yes, yes. You go and help Dr Yates.
I'm sure we'll manage.
— Thank you.
— Right, Phil Let's start upstairs. Dartos Ward.
Obviously most of your duties are in theatre,
but occasionally you get asked to go to resus.
This is Nick Stevens,
he's the new SHO in anaesthetics.
Hello.
Poor chap. Must not have seen it.
That's all your bits and pieces over there.
So are you attached to any particular team?
No, I'm giving clinical duties a miss for a few
weeks. Concentrating on teaching and research.
OK?
There's a fairly active programme
of postgraduate education.
There's meetings on a Thursday.
The meetings?
Thursday Lunchtime.
I'LL show you the postgraduate centre.
— And Mr Grocott.
— Ah. Thank you, Sister.
Back last night
with a recurrence of his pleural effusion.
Also, | thought | could feel
a hard, knobbly liver edge.
Hello again, Mr Grocott.
Hello, Doctor.
Now, sir,
if you could just slide down the bed a little.
Yes, thank you. That's fine.
Arms by your side, please.
Now, how is your breathing? Worse?
A bit.
Yes. I'm sorry you've had to call upon us again.
| think you'll be with us a few days, sir,
while we get you right.
— Then we'll get you home.
— Thanks, Doc.
Once you've drained the effusion,
| suggest pleurodesis with tetracycline.
Yes, Dr Turner. And that's the Lot.
Excuse me, Dr Turner.
Phil, | wanted to ask you.
How have things gone?
— Caroline?
— Are all men complete bastards?
— Why?
— Step class was cancelled last night
and | got in early
and found Mick at it with some slag.
— Oh, darling, I'm so sorry.
— (Sobbing)
Oh, sshh...
Two of us are doing the jobs of three.
The hospital claims they're looking for locums
but | doubt they can be trying very hard.
We're on call more often, we're stretched
during the day. Andrew and | are deadbeat.
Since Claire left, we've all had to...
Well, you have my complete sympathy, Phil.
Oh. | nearly forgot.
Wembley?
The international next Wednesday night?
A present from one of my private patients.
I'm chairing a regional gastro meeting so...
Thank you very much, Dr Turner.
Oh, it's... What | really meant, Phil,
was how have things gone in general?
It's been a good job, thank you, Dr Turner.
If a chap's face fits, he'll be looked after.
That's what the old prof said to me
when | was his houseman.
| remember one of the registrars had to polish
the old boy's Bentley every morning.
That's a thing of the past now, of course.
But patronage, Phil, never will be.
Do you think that
| could ask you for a reference, Dr Turner?
| think I've already answered that question, Phil.
Any thoughts on your future?
General medicine.
The Central Teaching Hospital rotation.
| doubt there'll be many superior candidates.
I'm on the interview panel.
Portal hypertension is a fascinating condition.
Fascinating.
One manifestation is, er, caput medusae.
Slain by Perseus, if I'm not mistaken.
What does a case look like, Mr Docherty?
A case looks like a box for putting things in.
(Chuckles)
Mr Tomlinson. Mr Docherty to see you.
— We're putting your stent in tomorrow.
— Taking it out.
Taking your stent out tomorrow.
Sister, that chap looks awfully familiar.
Are you sure he's not one of my patients?
He's your registrar, Mr Docherty.
Ah! Haha... Hors de combat.
— Well done, that man.
— Mr Docherty.
Everyone's talking about your retirement.
— (Scissors) | just wanna say I'm sorry.
— I'm not.
Thank you, Scissors.
— Hiya.
— Hi.
— What's up with you?
— Nothing.
Someone's been spicing your tea, then.
No. I've been out of medicine for a few days
and it's bliss.
There's no more arguments.
No more nurses nagging me.
And when | get up in the middle of the night,
it's to go to the loo.
You'll be pleased to hear
there were no genital injuries,
at least...none caused by the crash.
— Ernest. Can | have a word, please?
— Certainly, Adrian.
| thought I'd tip you the wink. The managers
have decided to ask you to stay on.
— Ah.
— Our registrar's been stretchered off
and his out—of—court settlement
will drain funds on the new consultant's post.
Adrian, do you know that a hospital consultant
who retires at the age of 60
can expect, on average, to live another 13 years,
whereas one who retires at the age of 65
has a life expectation of only two years.
If that's all, Adrian, I'll continue my ward round.
— I'm just about to do the pleurodesis.
— It's OK, I'll do it.
Cheers. I'm like a blue—arsed fly
at the moment.
Doc, there's something | wanted to ask you.
What's all this about me Liver?
Almost certainly it's the cancer.
It's spread.
Yeah.
It's bad, innit?
Yeah.
Will | see Christmas?
| can't say.
How about the one after?
Thanks, Andrew.
— I'll get the stuff for your Lung.
— All right.
Yates is my name. | work here.
Dr Yates, I'm sorry.
| was on Dartos Ward with the septic Lady.
Now, don't fret.
You can't be in two places at once.
You still haven't told your daughter it's cancer,
have you?
No, | haven't. She'll be here any minute.
| don't reckon I'm in her good books lately.
| told the padre to sling his hook.
| mean, I'm no saint,
but | reckon I've done my bit.
And then this happens.
Makes a mockery of all that religious claptrap,
doesn't it?
If it's easier, Alf, | can tell her.
No.
Right. There you go.
An X-ray in the morning.
Then you can go home if you're up to it.
Home tomorrow, eh, Dad?
Aye.
Just a touch of the old trouble, eh, Doc?
I'LL leave you to it.
Caroline...
Let's go and get a coffee, eh?
OK.
The leak
must have originated from this hospital.
I've as much right to confidentiality
as any other patient.
Whoever is responsible
will be severely disciplined.
We will be taking advice as to whether
to contact any of your patients for testing.
In the meantime, | hope you'll agree
that it would be best for all concerned
if you were to take a leave of absence.
You'll notice that no specific reason
has been given for the leave.
As soon as | became aware of my diagnosis,
| contacted the director of public health.
| have agreed to relinquish clinical duties
until we receive her guidelines.
As long as | respect the bounds of safe practice,
I'm not a danger to patients or staff.
| will continue.
Instead of conducting a witch—hunt against me,
concentrate on finding the git
who leaked my diagnosis.
Yes?
Double time for catering staff over Christmas
is out of the question.
Doctors and nurses can make do with
what they find in the vending machines. OK?
— Mr Docherty. Lovely to see you. Coffee, tea?
— No, thank you.
You may have inadvertently
received the impression
that your retirement would have been
welcomed by this administration.
A young man has died
and we must provide financial support
for his widow and his orphan daughter.
Now, that is money you would have used
to fund my successor.
No, Mr Tennant.
| wish no part in your brave new world.
(Indistinct chatter)
Prawn cocktail. Your favourite.
| suppose you haven't read the papers
this morning, then.
Course | have. Who hasn't?
Now have a crisp.
Aren't you gonna ask me how | got it?
— Presumably from unprotected sex...
— (Laughter)
with an infected woman...
or man.
How long have you known about my social life?
Medicine's such a conservative community.
Coming out would ruin your career,
Why should | have made it harder for you
than it already was?
Now, are you gonna have a ruddy crisp or what?
And with the Christmas holidays,
we won't get the result till next week.
— OK.
— James?
I'd just like to say what contempt | have
for whoever leaked the story to the papers.
— Merry Christmas, Dr Yates.
— Merry Christmas, James.
— The boy needs a father.
— The father's not been around.
— He's around now.
— Adrian, Steven is not your son.
| don't believe you. It's too much
of a coincidence. | demand proper access.
He's 12 years old and still bowls underarm.
He needs me!
No, Adrian. You need him. There is a difference.
Just a couple of IV rotas need doing please, Phil.
And there's chemo in the treatment room.
I've never drawn up chemotherapy before.
It had gone five when it was ordered.
The on-call pharmacist said she won't
draw it up unless it's an emergency service.
Try telling that to the patient.
Chemotherapy
is drawn up by specially trained pharmacists
wearing more protective clothing
than an American footballer.
You can argue policy till you're blue in the face.
In the end, it's the patient that suffers.
I'll give it now.
Thanks, Andrew.
Ready?
The patients are put to sleep
then brought to the operating table.
| cut them open, fix what's wrong inside,
and then...zzzzip.
Sew them up again.
How much do they bleed?
Oh, lots.
When the blood gets this high, we all get in
a special boat and do the operation in there.
— | bet you're really scared of blood.
— I'm not.
| think if someone took some blood from you,
you'd be a real softie.
Would not.
— Didn't hurt.
— Press hard.
Don't tell your mum
and I'LL buy you that toy for Christmas.
Go and get changed, and remember...
This is Mr DeVries.
Could you, er...
run off a blood group for me, please?
All right, trouble?
— What's the matter with your arm?
— Nothing.
Right...
This was the letter of resignation
I've had typed at the start of every year.
Had the need ever arisen,
| could have had it dispatched without delay.
Hmm...
That girlfriend of yours is a bit skinny, isn't she?
— You must enjoy the sound of bones cracking.
— (Laughter)
Mate?
I've had a bit of a setback.
My landlord's asked me to move out.
| would take him to court.
No one wants to live where they're not wanted.
— But with Christmas coming up...
— The answer's yes.
God. Didn't even have to threaten
unprotected sex with Nasreen.
With Nasreen, unprotected sex
means not wearing a crash helmet.
Why the hell's he still working here?
Don't get me wrong. | feel sorry for the bloke.
But with our kind of work, anything can happen.
He could infect a patient
or another member of staff.
He should do the decent thing and resign.
(# Jazzy version of
Hark The Herald Angels Sing)
Christmas in plaster.
| should be out there getting plastered.
I've normally worked.
My parents are divorced, so spending it with one
rather than the other just causes massive rows.
It seems this place was the only family | had.
Dan's already got loads of presents.
| wish | had leukaemia.
Hello, kids. I'm one of the doctors from casualty.
I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you.
We've had Father Christmas come into the
hospital. | tried to save him but now he's dead.
So none of you'll
get any presents in the morning.
(Children shout)
— Oi!
— (Shouting continues)
(Phil) He's just come up from casualty.
He's got respiratory failure, he's got liver failure,
he's got septicaemia, his clotting's way off.
Refer straight to pathology outpatients, I'd say.
I've got to get straight to casualty.
(Bleeping)
(Man's voice on pager)
— Dr Collin.
— /t’s me.
— Alison.
— It's Christmas Day!
Is it? Happy Christmas.
— Why do you have to go out tonight?
— Cos they're my friends.
— Vd rather stay in with you,
— It's OK to go out once in a blue moon.
— Go to hell
— |'m gonna go whether you like it or not.
(Vicar) Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
— Give us this day our daily bread...
— (Alf groans)
I'm sorry, Vicar.
Dad's having none of this. How a loving God...
— (Bleeping)
— .,could do this to a good man...
Well, perhaps you'll fare better.
Probably | won't.
(Coughs)
(Gasping for breath)
(Sobs)
Shan't... Shan't be going home this time, son.
No.
(Sobbing)
(Vicar talking, indistinct)
There were times
when | wanted to talk to him about it.
But...
It was cancer, wasn't it?
At least he didn't suffer knowing what it was.
That at least.
There are phone calls to be made.
Thanks for all you did, Doctor.
If we can get him out of that bed.
There's a patient waiting in casualty
who needs it.
They all turn into heartless so—and—so's
sooner or later, don't they?
Uh-huh.
(Knocking on door)
Happy Christmas, Andrew.
(Bleeps)
(Woman's voice on pager)
It's Phil.
(Woman) He’s got a headache.
Is it OK to give him some paracetamol?
— Will you accept a verbal message?
— Yes,
Good. The message is sod off.
(Lively chatter)
Ho...ho...ho...
Ho—ho—bloody—ho.
Ho—ho—ho. Merry Christmas.
Ho... Ho—ho...
Happy Christmas, Dr Kirkby.
Happy Christmas, Dr Collin.
— Happy Christmas, all.
— Dr Yates. What are you doing here?
(Laughter)
Happy Christmas!
— What?!
— Brilliant.
Oh. While I'm here, | thought I'd take a look
at that fellow with emphysema.
— Right.
— Tim and Janet'll be waiting.
Right, right. Because we're not gonna be local,
Dr Turner's very generously agreed to cover me.
We'll be fine. This is brilliant.
— Festive joys! Happy Christmas.
— Happy Christmas.
Pam's making a formal complaint
about you swearing at her Last night.
And Mr Mcintyre needs his chemo drawing up.
| know.
Yeah. | couldn't work it out either.
Well, maybe you could ask Andrew.
| have.
OK, OK. Look, | realise
that the pharmacists have been asked
not to come out unless it's an emergency.
But this fellow needs his chemotherapy.
— And I'm telling you that it’s not my problem.
— Fine.
— (Ringing tone)
— (Man) Switchboard.
Hello, could | speak to Dr Turner, please?
— At his home.
— Hold on, f'll try and put you through.
— Hello, merry Christmas!
— Dr Turner. Phil here.
— Phill
— Yes, sorry to bother you tonight of all days.
It's about Mr Mclintyre's chemotherapy. | can't
find anyone who knows how to reconstitute it.
Susan, it’s Phil
We must have him round for dinner one day.
— There is a day nurse, isn’t there?
— Yes, Dr Turner.
And i'm sure you'll be fine.
Happy Christmas, Phil
(Line goes dead)
— Hey, Geoff.
— Hello, Doctor,
What did Santa bring you for Christmas, then?
— Nothing.
— Emma, you fibber!
— Tell the doctor what you got.
— A Game Gear and some other toys.
Oh, fantastic. Well done, Geoff.
— Happy Christmas.
— Thanks. Same to you, Doctor.
(Geoff groans)
— Dad!
— Geoff?
Doctor? Doctor!
He's got massive laryngeal oedema.
Hydrocortisone and Piriton.
Let's get that adrenalin going, please, Debbie.
— Has he reacted to his chemo before?
— No.
It must have been mixed up wrongly.
We're in. Well done.
Output's fading.
Let's get that adrenalin going, please.
Phil, start CPR. Debbie, adrenalin, a milligram.
Atropine, three milligrams.
Phil, start CPR now!
(Continuous tone)
Atropine.
Get an adrenalin ready
for after the next ten cycles.
Andrew, we've been going for over an hour now.
IF you wanna go, go.
Phil, get a milligram of adrenalin ready.
(Phil) | think we should stop now, Andrew.
Thank you, everybody.
Leave everything where it is, please.
This is gonna have to go to an inquest.
Sorry, Phil.