Whilst most jobs and
occupations attract varying degrees of stress it is reasonable to
claim members of the emergency services face a higher number of stressful
situations as a matter of daily routine. As crews of emergency ambulances
deal with people and attend cases of accident, sudden illness and trauma
generally within minutes of the situation occurring, it is reasonable to
suggest they experience an exceptionally high percentage of stress. A
frequently posed question was, and remains: "How do you cope?" Whilst the
reply of; "with difficulty" is frequently true, it is generally a case of
professional skill and ability coming to the fore, coupled with the
knowledge that you are responsible for the survival and wellbeing of the
patient. It is often after the patient has left your care that thoughts,
palpitations and tremors have a noticeable effect. Everyone learns to tackle
this in his, or her, own way. However, one method to quell such thoughts is
to concentrate on happier aspects of work; every ambulance crew member can
relate examples of the 'funny' aspects of the job. In this case the word
"funny" meaning things going wrong, poking fun at friends and yourself and
what is classed as 'black humour' - one small aspect of the complex make-up
of operational crews - a hard to define but essential aspect of that select
group of people to whom I was privileged to belong for three decades. My talks, in addition to providing light entertainment to my audiences,
endeavour to give an insight into the arduous and frequently
hazardous role performed by the men and women crewing those big white
ambulances which travel, mostly unnoticed, on our roads; crews for whom I
have enormous admiration and respect. Like my books,
although each tale refers to true incidents experienced during my
operational ambulance career, names, places and any recognizable detail has
been altered or remain unmentioned to protect patient confidentiality.
For your further information I give
below a few extracts from my stories.
THE DRIVING TEST
I reported to the ambulance
station to take my driving test, rather concerned as it was to be a police
examiner. When he arrived I discovered the examiner was an elderly and
rotund police sergeant, bright red face, sweeping walrus moustache and
bulbous nose. Heaving himself into the cab without a word, he collapsed
into the seat and commenced patting the bulging pockets of his tunic,
pulling out an old brass lighter and a large and well-worn pipe which he
carefully lit. Filling the cab with foul smoke, the sergeant looked across
at me and beamed. “Ow do. When you're ready lad, off we go.” He leaned
forward studying me closely. The deep voice boomed. “You ex-army son?” I
nodded and said ‘Third Hussars, tank crew’. An expression of pleasure spread
across his face. “I were a Tanky in the last lot. By gum it were nobut
rough. I remember the time...” Settling into the seat he launched into a
rambling anecdote about the desert campaign, I could feel the sand between
my toes and hear shells exploding around me. All the while he puffed at that
foul smelling pipe, filling the cab with acrid smoke. After some minutes I felt I
ought to do something, so we lurched and juddered out of the yard and in a
similar fashion I drove around town, loud noises of protest with each gear
change......
THE DOG
The
out-patient crew, Pauline and Maggie, collected Mr Black, a pensioner living
alone. He had recently had a leg
amputated and was confined to a wheel
chair. Pauline fussed around ensuring he was well wrapped against the cold
wind before they wheeled him to the ambulance in his chair. Pauline was
about to return his chair back to the house when he asking her to ensure the
dog was in as she was on heat. Pauline obligingly shooed a big black dog
into the house. Locking the door they took their patient to hospital. Later in the day Maggie and
Pauline were detailed to return Mr Black home. This time they used their
carry chair from the ambulance to his door. At the door he stood on his one
leg, saying he could hop in. With his arms around their shoulders, Maggie
unlocked the door and pushed it open, upon which a black mongrel dog rushed past
them and ran off. Their patient gave a strangled scream and a string of
oaths, at the same time swinging on the shoulders of the crew whilst
attempting to kick the dog with the amputated leg. Then Pauline
felt something by her side and looking down saw an obviously well cared for
pedigree Golden Labrador with what looked like a very satisfied expression
on it's face....
ANOTHER DOG
Stepping through the
front door we were regaled by the stench of urine, rancid fat, boiled
cabbage and body odour. Our shoes sticking to the
worn carpet added to the certainty that the house was bordering on
dereliction, a description which could be applied also to the tenants.
Entering the dingy and poorly lit living room we saw an unconscious man laid
on the floor, an elderly lady sitting in a greasy armchair and a large and
scruffy mongrel dog laid in the corner grumbling and growling at us, to whom
the woman repeatedly shouted “Shut up.” Kneeling by the man’s side, in the
dim light not noticing the pool of urine, I checked his respiration, very
aware of the pungent smell of beer. Almost on cue the patient snorted,
coughed and stopped breathing. As Pete opened the resuscitator and applied
the mask to his face I commenced CPR; a not unusual situation. Unfortunately
at that point the dog sidled up to me and, after a few investigative sniffs
of my sleeve, fixed it’s front legs around my upper arm and started doing
what dogs do...
THE
WRONG ONE In
1972 the Asian community were expelled from Uganda with the result a large
number of confused and bewildered people were accommodated in disused
military barracks in this country. Two former RAF stations near to our
station, on what the MOD called ‘care and maintenance’, which meant they
were slowly falling down, were hastily converted and filled to overflowing
with refugees. Our workload went up many, many percent overnight, but
naturally resources remained the same, it was simply summed up as extra
work! We felt sorry for the Asians, as if being thrown out of their
homes at short notice was not bad enough, coming from a hot country to the
cold wilds of the UK must have seemed like the end of the world. Medical
resources were stretched to the limit and we ambulance crews were almost
worn into the ground. In addition to transporting people, we had the problem
of finding them, for few spoke English. We also discovered that even common
names, similar to our Smith or Jones, were completely un-pronounceable.
Eventually the inevitable happened one Saturday afternoon when, arriving for
a collapse case, we almost left with the wrong patient........
THE
999 CALL
It was in the black hour
before dawn when the emergency telephone broke the still of the ambulance
control room. An excited voice, the Yorkshire dialect thick enough to cut
with a knife, garbled what sounded like the name of a farm and demanded.
“Coom at wunce, ‘t missus is about to ‘ave the bairn.”
Calmly the Controller asked how could they get to the address. A silence,
then the voice, now nearer to panic cried. “Aint yer got none ‘o them big
white things wi ambulunce writ on’t side.”
