Another voice

A friend twisted his knee badly playing football last week. In considerable pain next morning and able to bend the knee only with difficulty he contemplated going to an Accident and Emergency unit at a London hospital. The alternative was to assume his injury was what he took it to be — a twisted knee, no more — and that there was no point in queuing for many hours only to be told to bandage it up, take a painkiller and anti-inflammatory tablets, borrow a pair of crutches and try to rest the knee as much as possible. Such things he could organise without specialist advice.

But he opted to go to A&E after work. For two reasons. First, what if it were more serious than it looked? Second, maybe the queue would only be for an hour or two at most, and he would be able to join a group of us for dinner later that evening, as planned.