Mike Shevdon: Sixty-One Nails

The crowd shuffled forward, penning me in. My head felt light and a sudden nausea had me swallowing hard. The tingling numbness crept up my arms and tightness banded round my chest, leaving me panting for air. My jaw ached and my mouth went dry. The numbness spread to my tongue so it felt fat and useless in my mouth.

A gap opened up ahead and the crowd surged forward, spilling down the steps onto the platform. The stairs wrongfooted me and I grabbed out sideways to steady myself, only to feel the shoulders to either side shrug me away. Unbalanced by the sudden space ahead of me I tumbled down the steps, rolling into the ankles of the people in front. Cursed for my clumsiness, I sprawled at the bottom of the steps as people stepped over me.

I finally realised what was happening: I was having a heart attack.

I tried to reach up and catch hold of one of the coats floating past my fumbling fingers. I could hear acerbic comments made over me about drugs and drunkenness. I wanted to tell them I was sick, that I needed an ambulance, but my tongue wouldn't form the words. It flopped uselessly in my mouth, producing only incoherent groans. Why didn't one of them stop? Couldn't they see?

Fear clamped around my frantic heart as I realised I was going to die before anyone called for help. A wave of pain crushed the breath from me. Panic seized me, churning my stomach. My vision blurred with unshed tears. I couldn't get enough air.

If you're ever going to have a heart attack, don't do it on the Underground. Pick a back street; you'll get more help from passers-by. As they walked on past, the darkness swallowed me and the world fell away.

My final thought was for my fellow commuters.

Bastards.

I heaved air into my lungs and threw my head back, arching my spine. My throat burned and my eyes shot open. Watery colours in London Underground livery swam before me as I tried to focus and failed. I held that breath then let it out in a wretched coughing gasp, collapsing back in a series of choking sobs.

Shivers racked me. Cold and fear coursed through me. My heart hammered in my ears, its beat loud and irregular. Cramps knotted in my stomach, leaving me breathless with pain. Somewhere in the back of my head part of me was evaluating this calmly, telling me Just breathe, idiot, while that same quiet voice informed me that I should be dead by now, actually, so no matter how painful, this had to be an improvement.

I would have been thrashing on the floor, but for the person knelt sideways behind me, leaning over and pressing their warm hand against the cold bare skin of my chest, holding me tight against the side of their thighs. I ceased struggling and worked on breathing.

The face above me came into limpid focus. An old lady with pale skin sprinkled with faded freckles was addressing a bluejacketed attendant from the Underground.

"I know," she said, "but I can hardly move him in this condition, can I? Just give him a moment."

The public address system drowned out his reply with an announcement: "Due to intermittent power problems on the platforms, this station is closing. Please make your way calmly to the nearest exit. There is no cause for alarm."

Another cramp twisted in my stomach and I curled around it, gasping as the light dimmed around me. I screwed my eyes shut and ground my teeth while she spoke calmly over me.

"I am a doctor, and I know perfectly well what I am doing. I'm quite capable of dealing with a minor emergency like this one."

I tried to tell her I was having a heart attack and needed the ambulance but this was interpreted only as further groaning.

"It's on its way, madam," he replied.

"Tell them to cancel it. He has no need of an ambulance. By the time they get here it'll be too late."

He held her stare for a moment then turned away to issue instructions into his handheld radio. I finally managed to get enough oxygen inside me to be able to say something.

"I think I do need an ambulance," I croaked.

I lay on my side in the recovery position, her open hand resting on bare skin beneath my shirt. She leaned across, bowing her head over me, giving us a moment of relative privacy.

"Tell me truly. Are you from the other lands, yes or no?" Her words were quiet but insistent.

"Other lands?" I coughed.

"Yes or no?"

Her question pressed on me in a way I didn't understand. I felt the answer worming its way up out of my gut until I blurted it out. "I live in London. I was born in Kent." It seemed to be a relief to tell her.

"Very well."

She sat upright and the light faded. For one terrible moment I thought I was having another heart attack. Then I realised that the fluorescent tubes along the platform had dimmed and were pulsing with greenish light as they flickered uncertainly. A murmur rose among the people waiting to exit the platform and the attendant looked around. He began talking rapidly into his radio, only to find that it too had failed. He tapped it against his palm, pressing the talk button.

There was a distilled moment, crisp in every detail. The floor underneath me was suddenly chill in contrast to the spreading warmth in my chest and I noticed tiny droplets of condensation forming on the hard tiles. A breeze whipped down the tunnel, plucking an abandoned newspaper from a seat, strewing broadsheets down the platform. The gust pulled at coats and hair as people turned their backs. I assumed a train would follow it and hurtle onto the platform, but the breeze died again just as suddenly, leaving sheets of newspaper floating gently down onto the tracks as the lights flickered back to brightness.

The heavy pressure subsided and she took her hand away and moved so I could roll gently onto my back.

"An ambulance?" I suggested, looking up at her.

"Nonsense, young man, you feel better as every moment passes."

I was about to protest about the chest pains, the cramps and the tingling, when I realised that I did feel OK. The numbness had gone, there was no frantic heartbeat, no tightness in my chest and no indigestion. Could I have imagined it all? Could it be a hallucination brought on by stress and low blood sugar?

While my mind fought to rationalise the situation, the lady fastened my shirt buttons. I lay there stupidly while she carried out this act of decorous sensibility until she stood in one easy movement and offered me her hand. I sat up gingerly, expecting any moment for the clamping chest pains to reassert themselves, finding instead only how cold I had become on the floor.

Two men ran down the platform towards us. From their uniforms I would guess the attempts to cancel the ambulance had been unsuccessful.

"That's all right, madam, we'll take over now."

For an odd moment I thought I heard the old lady swear under her breath, but then she turned to face them, all smiles and praise for the speed at which they had arrived. One of the men knelt down beside me.

"How are you feeling, sir? Any dizziness, nausea?"

"No, no. Nothing now."

"Any chest pains, sir? Any tightness of breath or pain in the arms?" He held a stethoscope against my chest and listened to my heart. "Are you on any medication? Any pills?"

"No, no. I'm not taking anything."

"Any history of heart disease, diabetes, strokes, epilepsy?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Has this ever happened to you before, sir?"

I shook my head. "No. I'm fine now."

The platform attendant filled in the gaps. "We saw the gentleman collapse on the monitors in the control room and I was asked to assist. By the time I reached him the lady doctor had turned up."

I looked around for her, wanting to thank her and explain, but she'd gone. Where did she go?

"She was here a minute ago."

His colleague looked up and down the empty platform. "No one here now."