"There's a fire!" someone shouted. At first, people standing on the Tube platform just looked around nervously as they assessed the situation. A false alarm, surely? My flatmate Toby and I hesitated, too, wondering whether it would be quicker to walk or take a bus to lectures – this was a few years ago and I was still at medical school.
Then some people picked up their briefcases and made for the exit, while others continued to stand, almost defiantly, refusing to believe that their journey was being disrupted. Then an alarm sounded and there was an announcement asking us not to panic but to evacuate the station. Suddenly, everyone was hastily making their way to the escalators and out of the station.
People jostled and pushed. "There's a bomb!" someone shouted as Toby and I left the platform. This rattled the crowd even more. They pushed and jostled at the bottleneck leading to the escalators.
Someone was knocked to the floor and scrambled to get up. Then someone pushed the emergency button and the escalators shuddered to a halt. Some commuters were thrown forward and several more stumbled. Hysteria seemed to be breaking out. Toby and I watched from the bottom as grown men clambered over each other. It was then that we saw an elderly woman fall over. Rather than stopping to help her up, the crowd continued pushing. "She's being trampled on," said Toby in horror.
Blinded by panic, people were actually treading on her. Toby pushed forward. "We can't leave her," he said and before I could respond, he was leaning over her, using his body to shield her. He helped her to her feet and we led her away from the throng. She had cuts on her face and hands, and her glasses were broken. She was very shaken and dazed. We decided to stay and help her rather than join the chaos.
We waited until the crowd had subsided and then the three of us calmly walked up the escalator and into the sunlight, along with several others who had been unwilling to join the stampede. Of course, there wasn't a fire or a bomb. It was a false alarm. The fire brigade arrived and soon the station was open again. Those who had panicked stood looking sheepish. We helped the woman into a cab and resumed our journey. The only injuries that had occurred were because people panicked. Someone had been hurt, not because of the original risk but because of people's fear of it.
It was an edifying lesson and one I was reminded of last week. Since the first reports of the swine flu epidemic there has been a steady flow of people turning up at A&E worried that they might have the virus. But with the news that a six-year-old girl had died from it, the department was besieged.
On call in A&E, I have watched people pour through the doors seeking reassurance and advice. This is despite notices at all the entrances requesting that people with "flu-like symptoms" should not enter the hospital unless they require emergency treatment.
There are two reasons for this: firstly, hospitals are full of sick people who often have compromised immune systems. Secondly, the legions of people descending on A&E departments threaten to bring the over-stretched service to its knees. Often the people coughing and shivering in the waiting room had already telephoned NHS Direct or their GP and been told to stay at home and take paracetamol and plenty of fluids. But they insisted on coming to hospital anyway – some had even called ambulances. This means people genuinely in need of emergency treatment are put at increased risk.
The Department of Health has now called on the public not to panic, because it affects vital services, and instead to stay at home and get better. I couldn't agree more. The real risk to health right now is other people's panic.
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