As you know, I'm a paramedic and sometimes that involves some pretty interesting experiences. But more often than not us medics come into contact with some pretty crazy people. We see life. And for a lot of us, that is what keeps us in a job with low pay and terrible hours that practically kill our social lives! But sometimes seeing life, we only see the dumb-arse end of the scale. In fact, it's our bread and butter.
Last night, I was called out to over half a dozen jobs, which was busier than usual for our little station. Of those, only one person actually needed to go to hospital. I could understand being called out to people if they were panicking, but here's a prime couple of examples of the sort of thing we do.
Late in the evening we got a call to a stabbing in the town centre. I was pretty excited. Makes a change from picking up old people covered in their own bodily produce. Finally, I might actually get a chance to save a life for a change! We waited for the police to arrive before going in. It is standard practice for us to do this since our employers are too cheap to buy us anything useful like a stab vest or belt clip for our radios.
I get in there, really looking forward to working on a genuine casualty and find a young bloke with a few abrasions across his abdomen. Fucking twat didn't have a single cut or penetrating wound on him but had called us anyway. My adrenaline cooled and solidified to a block of black depression and I stacked it in my soul with all the other false alarm based blocks I have made over the years. Recently, I'm finding the constant contact with idiots harder and harder to bear. What part of 'accident' or 'emergency' do these people not understand? The most infuriating thing is that somewhere else in town a baby could be choking, with just moments to live, and we're tied up with a bloke that seems to have self inflicted scratches he's blaming on a bloke with a 'blade', an extremely blunt one.
It turns out that a baby was choking, apparently. We were headed back to base when we got the call. Dinner was ditched and we hot footed to the disaster, aware that seconds count, feeling the crushing yet lifting weight of responsibility on our shoulders, rehearsing, checking drug protocols. Adrenaline really pumping this time. Trouble locating the address. We found it after a few minutes of controlled panick and major pressure. Legged it in to find baby sat, pink and smiling.
"She was choking, and coughing up sticky stuff!" hyperventilates big fat mum in her greasy dressing gown. She's vomited milk more likes. My eyes meet my colleague's. They roll in unison.
Baby smiles and gives a little wink. "I'm not as dumb as my mum and dad," she's thinking. "But I needed to puke out the shit they're trying to feed me!"
It's cooking hot in the room and baby is well dressed. We'll be back later for convulsions no doubt. I check her over and my first impression is confirmed, there is nothing wrong with her. She vomited as babies do. But someone forgot to find out if mum and dad were too stupid to breed or not. These people should have a licence. Pass an exam. I suppose they love the little miss, and can't help being a bit dim. But why call us?
I left, wiping my feet on the way out, muttering like Mutly.
After a 40 minute doze in the small hours we got a call to an elderly man with chest pain.
We rushed to it some miles away but not with the same gusto as our earlier false alarms. Stabbings and babies are rare and emotive you see.
The sun was coming up to light a well kept flower garden. Maybe not a fuckwit then. But we found our patient sitting patiently on the side of a bed, fit as you or I. Fuckwits come in all classes. Heart attacks have a certain outward character that most medics will recognise without the need for ECG. It allows us to change gear as soon as we glimpse the patient. Are we in a hurry or not? It depends on the vital signs, colour and demeanor, observed within seconds of seeing our patient. This man had none of those time critical characteristics. My gears grinded down in a sleepy haze. Turns out he had the pain for a month. It hadn't changed. It was under investigation already. He just decided that he couldn't wait another two hours for doctor's surgery to open before seeing another medic to tell him what all the others had already told him. To this moment, I still don't really get what he wanted, because he didn't even seem that panicked. It doesn't say 'hand holding and reassurance for old problems under investigation' or 'here for a second opinion' on our vehicle sides. It says 'Accident and Emergency'. 'I don't want to go to hospital,' he said. So why call an ambulance?? I knelt at the end of the bed, my head still swimming from the drunken feeling of being awake when most normal people are well asleep, in bed with their partners or perhaps someone else's partner, and wondered if someone I knew was waiting for an ambulance to really save their life while we were with this individual of a certain type (you know what type!).
I was angry. I joined to save life and when I get the chance I'm good at it and I care about the outcome. But the job puts you into contact with these people because the triage team can't say no and the company refuses to fine time wasters. I joined the ambulance service for a career making a difference to the life expectancy of people in dire need. But it's official; only 10% of our work involves genuine emergencies. If you were satisfied with only ten percent of what you did at work, how would you feel? Would you quit? Find a new job?
What should I do? You tell me. What should you do? Think before you call.
