Paramedics yet again…

This morning a friend messaged me to say he was in town and would take a look at my phone, which since I put it into a Snakehive case, has been showing a screen that I don’t want. I could get rid of the screen, but it annoyed me a lot.

I wanted him to come to my home, but know he’s always pressed for time, so I went to him. It is bitterly cold, and by the time I got home I was not able to breathe. The cold air had completely altered everything. I dialled 999, frightened that I would pass out before anyone put me through. Then, one gasps out what is needed, one’s birthdate etc annd then they go through a list of questions about Covid-19. They don’t accept one saying you don’t have it. You have to answer each question.

This takes five minutes. I was so afraid that I would be unconscious in my bedroom. I lay gasping and then I heard a siren. I crawled to the top of the stairs and waited. They parked and came in and restored me.

They aren’t happy about the Covid questions either.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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