Jimi Hendrix pubes

For those of you who do not know, Jimi Hendrix was a once-famous rock guitarist, who reached his height of popularity in the 1960’s. More information, and pictures, can be found at; http://www.jimihendrix.com For the purposes of this post, his hair is the only thing of interest. It was quite wild, usually in an Afro style, with a headband habitually worn around it. The reasons for this explanation will become apparent later.

Not all the interesting things that happen to you in the Ambulance Service happen as a result of 999 calls. It is a popular misconception that ambulances operate from specific hospitals, and are run by those same hospitals. This is not the case. In London, the whole area is covered by the London Ambulance NHS Trust, and the vehicles and crews are based on Ambulance Stations, at various points around the Capital. This means that they can go to any and all hospitals, usually choosing the nearest one to the incident, for convenience. In recent years, this has changed a lot, with specialisation, but at the time I am writing about (early 1980’s) an ambulance could go to almost any hospital, and as a rule, chose the nearest one to their own base. Where I worked, in the area between Notting Hill and Paddington, we tried, as often as possible, to use the small Casualty Department just off Ladbroke Grove. Our frequent arrivals here meant that we knew the staff well, and we were conversant with the layout of all the wards and departments. It was more or less a second home to us, where we could get the occasional cup of tea, meet up with other ambulance crews from different areas, and generally feel like part of the furniture.

This accepted familiarity also meant that we would help out, when we could. At that time, there was no computerised admission procedure, so we would fill out the name and details of the arriving patient in a large ledger book, like something Uriah Heep would have used in Dickens’ ‘David Copperfield’. These details were transferred to a smaller card, for the nurses and doctors to add comments to. If the staff were all busy, and we were at the reception window, we would also enter the details of people walking in off the street, as well as those of the person we had brought in.

One particularly busy night duty, there had been a lot of serious incidents. Added to the usual parade of unconscious drug users, violent drunks, and patients awaiting admission to the ward, it had all made for a difficult night for the staff. By the time things had quietened down a bit, around 4am, we arrived with instructions to take home a frail old lady, who had been waiting almost all day to return home after treatment earlier. The staff were having a well-earned tea break, when we entered their rest room to let them know we had arrived. After a brief discussion about keys, whether or not she had eaten, and what clothes and possessions she had, we heard the bell ring at the desk in reception. I told the staff to finish their tea, and that I would go and see what it was. In the small waiting room at the front, I saw a tall man, about 30 years old. He was of mixed race, with frizzy hair, and wearing a raincoat. He spoke politely, though he was obviously agitated, and asked if he could see a doctor immediately. I advised him that I would take a note of his details, fill in his card, and pass it to the nurse for assessment, and I began to do so. When I reached the section requesting a diagnosis, I asked why he had come to casualty at this late hour, and why he needed to see a doctor so urgently. “It’s my pubes”, he said, “they won’t stop growing”. This was uttered without a trace of sarcasm, and with complete sincerity, his face remaining severe and grave throughout, his expression one of concern, with furrowed brow. I thought at first that he must be mentally ill. I asked why he had not done anything about this condition previously, or seen his GP, instead of bothering a busy Casualty Department in the early hours. He was close to tears, telling me that his family doctor was of no help, and he could not be taken seriously, as it was not painful, or life-threatening. However, he told me, it was affecting his life in many aspects, and making him distressed, as well as depressed. I went back and told the staff. They were too tired to argue, and asked me to book him in, then someone would get round to seeing him eventually, and probably refer him to a psychiatrist.

We left, to take our old lady home, and had a bit of a chuckle about the ‘man with the pubes’. A couple of hours later, we had another job nearby, and had to go back to that same hospital. As soon as I dropped off my patient, I was met by an excited nurse, who ushered me into the rest room, hardly able to contain her giggling and obvious delight in something. ” You have got to have a look at that guy’s pubes” she hissed. She continued by telling me that she had never seen anything like it, in all her years of nursing. As the story unfolded, it turned out that they had brought the chap into a cubicle, deciding to have a quick look, before writing him off as a nutter. When he got undressed, he revealed a thatch of pubes, the like of which had never been seen before, by any of the staff. It was so amazing, that they were ringing other wards, so that their colleagues could get a look at the phenomenon. This man had been examined by more staff than if he had been at a private clinic, he must have thought that he had finally gone to the right place to get his problem sorted. Little did he know, that he was the subject of morbid curiosity, in the same way as John Merrick would have been displayed in Victorian times.

I was not going to miss out, that was for sure! I was given a white coat to cover my uniform, and I borrowed a stethoscope from a nurse. I would have to trust to luck that he did not remember me from earlier, or just presumed that I was one of the staff. I entered the cubicle with a flourish, barking in a loud voice, “good morning, what seems to be the problem?” He lifted the sheet, and raised his gown, no other explanation necessary. Luckily he was wearing underpants, though they were of the Y-Front type, so could hardly contain the veritable forest of pubic hair that greeted my gaze. From above the belly-button, extending down both thighs, almost to his knees, covering his genitalia to the point of invisibility, stood a four inch tall mat of hair, as frizzy as that on his head, and where the underpants intervened, sprouting like dark cauliflower florets, under some pressure. ” I cut it, and it just grows back like this really quickly” he told me, and I heard tiredness and resignation in his voice. ” Can you do anything about it please?”  “I will have to see” , I replied. Of course, what I did do, was to stifle my near hysterical laughter, then pass on my coat to the next in line to have a look, with the added inspiration, ” his pubes are like Jimi Hendrix’s hair, his pants even make the headband effect, you’ve got to see this!”

Sometimes, you just have to look on the lighter side.