Never thought my life would be like this

   

When I wake up on a work day (it doesn't matter whether it's early or late), I get on station and figure out which truck I'm on; there's a screen in the mess room that shows the fleet number – my truck – beside mine and my crewmate's names and our call-sign for the shift.

I go to the key safe, use the appropriate code and take out the keys matching the fleet number (assuming that the keys don't belong to a truck still out on the road).

Then I go to the drugs room, using my ID card to gain entrance. Inside, I use a specially allocated smart key to gain access to the drugs lockers to take out my meds for the shift.

I then have to separately access another safe to get my morphine ampoules which I have to sign out and have witnessed. I also have to ensure that the numbers between the book and safe tally before closing the safe.

So once I have my drugs, I go back to my truck and start to check it over. Engine, and all lights (incl. hazards and blues) on for a walkaround while also checking for body and tyre damage. Inside, it's a once over to make sure you've got enough of everything in every compartment before booking on with control.

That's a couple of dozen checklists, protocols and codes before you ever hit the 999 response button for your first call of the day. So we 'go green': thank you and 'red base out'; wishing us a nice shift as they drop a 84YOM possible stroke on us. On blues right of the traps, barrelling up the Kingsland Road idly wondering wagwan with the Hackney crews that has a Smithfield City truck being pinged up to Stokie (Newington).

On scene and schlepping up the narrow windy stairs; we've taken our chair but we're praying the patient can walk if they need taking. Family are sensible and can pinpoint exact time of change in consciousness in their grandad. A FAST test confirms neurological deficit and once we have a witnessed onset and relatively stable obs, we're fixing to be on our way toots sweet with a blue call ahead to the nearest stroke centre.

But that's not as straightforward as one might initially surmise. First of all, there's a difficult extrication; a patient with balance issues and clear neurological deficit is not the best candidate for taking down multiple flights of crooked stairs in an ambulance carry chair.

Brief consideration is given to calling in more resources but the ambulance adage – 'what are they gonna be able to do that we can't?' – comes into play and we elect to extricate alone to ensure staying within the time window for bringing in our stroke patient on blues. It wasn't pretty but we got there.

Aside from the logistical challenge, there was also the profound emotional quotient to consider. At the height of the initial wave of the pandemic, people saying goodbye to ill family members had a realistic expectation of never seeing them again. In this instance, we'd managed to convince family that taking their 78 year old grandfather to hospital was time-critical and it was only the urgency of the situation which gave us the persuasive edge.

We did get that nice little old man into a stroke centre within the window for a witnessed onset but sadly I never got to find out how it went for our granddad. We were at the end of a run of nights and I didn't (as is proper) retain any patient details.

And that was just the first call of the night; crappy coffee from the 24-hour on Whitechapel Road never tasted so good.