Just another day’s work…

Well…first year ambulance placement is over. It was a laff-riot shot through with all sorts of sadness, madness and tragedy. I know it was pretty much the same for all my cohorts; to varying degrees and intensities. In that time, we found ourselves front and centre in local and international news stories and major incidents. But it's never about what the reporters say, or don't say, or just flat-out concoct; that's actually another thing that becomes apparent rather quickly even after only a few weeks on the road (especially as a former hack). 

But aside from all that high-tension, high-stakes drama, there would also be numerous situations where we found ourselves dealing with the littlest of ‘little sick’ and wondering why, in the name of all that's holy, had we been called out while the mobile data terminal (MDT) was requesting crews to attend a stabbing or an RTC (Road traffic collision)? But if life gives you lemons...at least practice running a good set of obs and history-taking. 

If I were to tell 'war stories', I’d probably start with the night of the London Bridge attacks (I know: so much has happened in the meantime that we’d almost have to Google to remember what that was). Anyway, that evening started pretty sedately for me. We’d just dropped off an elderly faller at Homerton Hospital -- not literally mind you -- and we were heading back to area when we happened on a running call (one picked up in passing on the street rather than having it dispatched to us over the MDT). 

A young woman had taken a spill off her Boris bike while trying to mount a pavement at speed. She’d come a cropper and she lay on the road in front of our ambulance as we drove up. We stopped and attended and it quickly became apparent on examination that she needed hospitalisation. 

My colleagues immediately elected to put her on the trolley bed and take her in. However, her bike was too big to take in the back of the wagon and her companion couldn’t take both so it was decided that I would cycle her ride to hospital, following my colleagues in the truck. 

Thereafter ensued a surreal cycle ride to the hospital with me accompanying the boyfriend. The ambulance lost us pretty quickly in traffic and I wasn’t sure of the exact directions (I’m South London Irish after all) so – in full uniform on a Boris bike – I found myself, in a broad Irish accent, politely asking passers-by: ‘excuse me, would you happen to know the way to Homerton Hospital?’…

We got there without further incident -- mind you, we drew more than a few quizzical glances from Hackney's pedestrians and motorists alike as we made our unlikely way through evening traffic.  Our errant cyclist, as it turned out, had a fractured clavicle; which had been our pre-hospital prognosis after examination on scene ('?#LH CL'). It was when we got to A&E that we got word that things had come on top over in London Bridge. Our attitude once we heard this was to make ourselves immediately available and we went green ASAP to make sure that we were able to support our comrades as the major incident was unfolding. 

Our next call came in toots sweet and it was a Red1 cardiac arrest in East London. Our driver hit the blues and floored it: drove the wagon like he stole it. We were there hard on FRU (First Response Unit). Pulling up, the scene looked safe and a distraught relative waiting on the street  guided us to the address. Once in, we were up the stairs faster than greyhounds out of the traps (ok, that's dramatic licence: but we did move rather briskly and still made a pretty good fist of surveying the scene as we went). We took over on the patient’s chest as the First Responder filled us in, he'd arrived on scene with the patient literally only a minute ahead of us. The defib pads were on in the blinking of an eye and once we identified a VF reading (ventricular fibrillation; one of only two shockable rhythms), the first jolt went in. 

Another crew arrived PDQ (pretty damn quick) and once a line was open, we were giving fluids and adrenaline. We got a couple of ROSCs (Return Of Spontaneous Circulation) before the decision was taken to move the patient for expeditious conveyance. 

This proved a little problematic -- but largely anticipated -- as our patient was (shall we say) rather heavy and on the first floor with a narrow stairwell. Their extrication involved a carry sheet down the stairs to the front door with six sweaty paramedics involved (sadly, anticipation of the issues in this instance hadn't made it any easier), followed by a hectic dash to Bart’s Cath Lab (catherisation laboratory; a specialised cardiac department kitted out with sophisticated visualisation equipment). Another ROSC was achieved en route. 

Once we landed our patient and handed over, I remembered that just across the water, another crisis was still unfolding. And then it hit me. We were an international crew of medics – English, Bengali, Irish and Australian – and we’d handed an African patient over to an Israeli doctor, accompanied by a British Asian and a senior Irish nurse assisted by Spaniards and Greeks. And that, dear reader, was just business as usual…To me, in that charged moment, this just seemed such a wonderfully London way to respond to any kind of adversity….