Meathman's Diary: Every family has its own traumatic A&E story...

My mother was never one to make a fuss about pain. She was very much of the 'just get on with it' generation.

So, one evening in January 2001, when Ma unusually complained of feeling unwell, we took notice. It was hard not to notice. She was crouched over the back of an armchair. She could neither sit nor stand to find comfort and her breathing was laboured. She had pain all across her shoulders, up her neck and down her arms and back. A decision was made to take her to Tallaght Hospital.

We got her from the car (she didn't want an ambulance) to the A&E Dept, managing to find a chair in the busy waiting area beside blue double doors that swung constantly in and out. Hurried ambulance crews clattered trolleys with stricken patients through them every few minutes, bang, bang, 'mind yourself there, thank you'.

One hour, two hours passed, then three and then four, then snap. Helplessly watching Ma's eyes glazing over and her speech slurring, we could take no more of her being hidden in plain sight.

In a sort of pincer movement, we cornered a passing doctor against the double doors. "Can you not see she's in agony, she can't hold her head up," we exclaimed, pointing at Ma now slumped in the chair, the colour draining fast from her face.

Whether by accident or design, it seemed to have the desired effect as they came for her just minutes later. They took her to a nearby cubicle and we waited just outside. Seconds later the curtain was ripped back and Ma, now horizontal and motionless on a trolley, was being whisked to the Coronary Care Unit. She had had, and was having, a massive heart attack.

We stood at the entrance to the CCU not wanting to get in the way, praying they wouldn't stop, bow their heads and step away from the bed. We were then ushered into a room where a doctor with a nurse alongside him told us Ma was in a "bad way", with "significant damage to the heart", that she "may not pull through" and to "prepare ourselves".

Mam died in Tallaght Hospital but not until the May of 2020 aged 79. She miraculously survived the heart attack, recovered and blessed our lives for a further 19 years. In that time she saw her husband of almost 40 years pass, welcomed and doted on four more grandchildren, travelled, saw her youngest son marry in Italy and lived life to the fullest she could... all without fuss.

That was our Ma's A&E vignette and millions more stories have followed since that dreadful night in 2001. Every family has its own A&E experience and they remain with you, vivid and visceral. The unconscionable waits, the noises, the despair, the resignation and the lack of dignity juxtapositioned with the care of angels, the compassion of consultants, the good humour of catering teams and the porters who become your support blanket.

It just doesn't seem a lot has changed in those 22 years...maybe we just need to make more of a fuss!