6 days ago
My Life: I'll never forget a bare-bottomed bank robber's escape from CUH
'HE'S gone, he's gone.'
A pyjama-clad gent gesticulated wildly, piercing the silence of a normally uneventful post-surgical ward.
He was markedly alarmed, as was this student nurse. It's not every day you have a patient escape during your shift.
To add salt to open (post-surgical) wounds, this wasn't just any patient.
Just hours before, this wanted man had undergone surgery for an open fracture to his leg, which he sustained while attempting to outrun Gardaí.
Fortunately, for him, his next escape — albeit short-lived — would be more successful.
All the while, we had no idea our controversial hero had been surreptitiously knotting bed sheets together for his grand exit.
His leap from the hospital window was enough to make Hollywood stuntmen swoon.
I'll never forget the view that greeted us as we stared incredulously from the hospital window.
The defiant sight of him hopping onto the back of a motorbike will be forever ingrained in my mind.
His hospital gown was blowing like grass in a storm. He seemed completely unaware of the faces gazing down at him from above.
It was the early 90s so there wasn't a camera phone in sight to capture this defining moment.
That image of him riding away, bare-assed to the wind, won't be found on Facebook. It exists now only in our memories.
The calm atmosphere on the ward that night gave way to chaos. I was only about 24 at the time so my first instinct was to laugh uncontrollably.
The face of the senior nurse on the other hand was etched with terror. I always loved being on with her because she was such a fabulous and deeply conscientious person.
She was so deeply conscientious, in fact, that the worry was all-consuming for her.
He had tubes coming out of him, which would have fallen out on the motorbike. His injuries required urgent care, but he had left with nothing but a hospital gown. The atmosphere turned heavy.
There were gardaí coming to take statements and reports. While our patient was making the most of his freedom, there was no escape for us.
News coverage of the manhunt beamed through television screens across the country. Every tabloid featured details of this salacious tale.
Artist Úna Keating at her studio in Crookstown, Co. Cork. Picture: David Creedon
I don't think there was anything I could have done to foil his escape. For the most part, he had been surrounded by gardaí, but there came a point where they had to leave.
I had been asked to keep an eye on him but this wasn't a possibility. His care was my priority but there was no way I could have managed a flight risk too.
There were still other patients to tend to after all. In the hours that followed the escape, we waited with bated breath for news of his whereabouts.
It was about two days — definitely more than 24 hours — before he was located. We didn't see him again after that.
I can only assume his treatment was completed in a more 'secure unit'.
It was business as usual after that and the incident went unmentioned.
Years rolled by before I bumped into the senior nurse I had been on with that night.
We howled with laughter at the memory of his bare bottom.
When viewed through a modern lens, it's remarkable to think that the escape was coordinated without mobile phones or technology of any kind.
I wouldn't go as far as to say the stunt was admirable, but it was certainly impressive.
I often think about where this gentleman might have ended up. My life, after all, took a very different turn.
I'm no longer nursing and have now carved out a career as an artist. The possibility that he may have changed his own life for the better fills me with hope.
He was only in his 20s at the time, so who knows where he is now? Perhaps, he became a teacher or maybe even a priest. We can only wish the same for his get-away driver.
When I cast my mind back to that peculiar night, I laugh to myself because this man was among the easier patients I dealt with.
He was quiet post-op, as many patients are. I don't remember him laughing and joking but he was polite.
We came across a lot nastier from the public, but funnily enough it was never the criminals.
Luckily, 99% of patients are wonderful. Our night with this patient was undoubtedly the most adrenaline-filled night in the post-surgical ward.
For the most part, the atmosphere in this part of the hospital was very subdued.
I myself became accustomed to a faster pace after transitioning into emergency care where I spent 15 years.
Here, I met a whole host of colourful characters including a lovely lady in her 90s who was accidentally thrown out of a dumper truck after her 100-year-old husband pressed the wrong button.
'I was cleaning the gutters,' she told me. Thankfully, she was fine.
I couldn't help but laugh at the way she regaled me with the story.
From escapees to old ladies, there is one thing that nursing has taught me. Laughter is always, most certainly, the best medicine.
