In the Resus Room the other day, the patient an elderly female patient presenting with a vague chest pain and a pair of (overly) doting children, a son and daughter. The patient herself is quite stoic and calm, bemused by all the ado, the children less so.
We generally allow only one visitor at a time into the Resus room. First up is the daughter. She fusses and coos and adjusts the blankets. The patient pats her daughter’s hand and says, “This is my favourite child. She’s the best.”
“I’m sure,” I say, “you say that about all your kids.”
“No,” she says firmly. “She’s my favourite.” The daughter postively beams.
The son trades places with the daughter. He fusses and coos and adjusts the blankets. The patient pats his hand and without batting an eye, she says, “This is my favourite child. He’s the best!”
