Opportunities

I’m about (but not straight away) to say something that probably makes me appear very selfish…

As a rule, I have in the past tended to be quite self-effacing (check definition) when it comes to being given opportunities.  To be more specific, if there are not enough places to get to an event,  I tend to be the sort of person who will offer up his place to another.  I like to do things that help other people out, even if it inconveniences or harms me.  On a number of occasions, this attitude has least that I have missed out on things that I particularly wanted to do, but there weren’t enough places.

We have a major duty coming up, the first of the season. As always, I said that I would prefer to cycle, but would do anything. Others have been less open-minded ( almost demanding that they be allowed to do whatever…)

As is probably to be expected from an organisation like this, we’re short-staffed. This means that people ( myself included) have been given roles that are less than ideal. Admittedly, I’m on a vehicle, which isn’t terrible, but I probably wont get anything, as is normal when I crew an ambulance… Nevertheless, I’m pretty nonplussed. I’ll do whatever is needed. I figure that at some point this might earn me brownie points, and besides, in my opinion it is the right thing to do…

Now it is possible that, at the last-minute, I’ll get reassigned to a bike. Its happened before, and rumor has it that it has been considered. Naturally, this hasn’t gone down well with some of the others. One person has even gone so far as to encourage me not to take my cycle uniform, so someone else can do it instead ( read: him).

Now I’m sorry. I appreciate that people are disappointed with their roles on the day. However, if I am given the opportunity to cycle, I’m jumping at it…  I don’t often get to ride a bike, and I am usually very willing to go wherever I am needed.  I see no reason to go against this, just because I’ve been offered a better position and someone else hasn’t.

Of cause, I’m far too tactful (read: timid) to actually challenge that other member on this.  I just let it lie, and of cause this probably means he’s assumed I’ve agreed with him.  It could be interesting if the situation actually comes up (though I doubt it).

Don’t Make Me Angry

It’s a schools rugby game.  Not a small one either, the final in the local schools league, which means everyone is taking it that much more seriously.

We’re over by the side, well out-of-the-way, but close enough that we can see and hear what’s happening on the pitch. The windows are all rolled down, and we’re just lounging in the cab of the ambulance, enjoying the sun and chatting about everything and anything.  In short, it’s shaping up as another Q word duty.

A loud yell.  A thud, two bodies against the floor, and a groan from the crowd.  Silence.  Must have been a nasty tackle.  We watch, waiting for the players to get up.  One does.  He’s a little scraped up, but nothing that’ll stop him playing.  He looks down at his dazed  competitor, offering a hand.  And freezing, his face dropping.  The crowd goes silent again, and then, through the breeze, “Medic!”

I slip through into the back of the truck while my crewmate jogs out to the pitch.  Grabbing the gases and the response bag, I scoot out of the back of the vehicle and walk over.  I’ve got all the kit, but there’s no need to rush.  My crewmate is in charge of this one, and he doesn’t look that flustered.  He certainly has yelled anything at me yet.

I can see from two meters off that our rugby player is in pain.  A lot of pain.  From a meter off I can see why.  His shoulder is most definitely out-of-place.  I look to my crewmate as I drop the kit down.  ”What do you need?”

“We’re not going to get anything done here.  I think shuffle to the back of the vehicle and check things out in the peace and quiet.”

“Spinal?”

We both look at him craning around, looking at everything that is going on and the crowd forming around him.

“Probably not.”  We say together, and grin awkwardly.  We’ve been working together a while now, we know each other too well.

“Right, so entonox, scoop, cot?  Nah, scratch that, we can scoop him straight into the back, will be better on his shoulder.”  I eye up the terrain, nothing particularly challenging.  ”So straps, anything else?”

“Sounds good.  Though, perhaps some crowd control?”  The last bit is quiet, for my ears only.

I look around at what looks like  both entire teams craning to see what is going on. “I’ll see what I can do.”  I stand up and start in a reasonable tone: “Alright guys, let’s have some space to work please.”  A couple of people shuffle back, but it appears that a dislocation is just too interesting to leave.  ”Seriously guys, you aren’t helping.  Give us some room.”

Slowly everyone backs off, far enough at least to let me get out and bring the kit back.

Someone who looks distinctly like a coach steps in front of me, deliberately blocking my path.  ”What’s going on?”

I ignore the obvious answer of we’re treating someone, going instead for “I’m just getting some equipment, then we’ll get our friend back there moved into our vehicle.”

“How long’s this going to take?”

“As long as it takes.  We need to be sure we don’t do any more damage.”

“Can’t you just put it back in and walk him off?  We have a game to finish here.”

“Only if you fancy explaining to his parents why he will never use his arm again.  Besides, you have three other pitches you can use, if you’re in a hurry.”  I know that I’m skating the edge of being rude, but you’re annoying me and I have a patient to look after.  He looks grumpy.  ”Look, the sooner you let me get this kit, the sooner we’ll be out of your way.”  I don’t think that’s an appreciated comment, but at least he does move.

A brisk walk to the ambulance, a brief argument with the scoop stretcher, and then I’m on my way back with magic pain killing gas in one hand and jack of all trades lifting equipment in the other.  And yet again I’m facing a crowd, and this time I’ve got minimal patience left.  ”GUYS!”  A single syllable projected across the entire field.  Even I’m a little stunned by the silence that rolls back.  ”Move OUT of my way.  Give us room so that we can do our job.”  Youth Leader training kicks in.  Act assuming compliance.  I step forward purposefully and the crowd spreads out, dispersing before my eyes.  Recognise good behaviour.  ”Thank you guys.”

My crewmate looks at me, eyes wide and jaw lowered.

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch something.”  The residual annoyance makes it a little more of a snap than I intended, but I soften it with a grin.

Our patient manages a strained laugh through the pain as my crewmates’ mouth snaps shut with a click.  He takes the entonox from me, apparently grateful for something to do to cover the confusion, and I start explaining the lift and shift process to our patient.  Once his pain has gone away a little (and he’s high enough not to care about what’s left), we scoop and scoot, and the rest of the job is a fairly routine transport.

As we’re packing up at the hospital, my crewmate looks at me over the cot we’re re-making.  ”Are you okay?  You sounded pretty annoyed back there with the crowd.”

I shrug.  ”That was just lack of patience.  You’ll know when I’m angry.”  He looks at me questioningly, and I just smile.

Pain Scores and Young Children

An important lesson I learned today while on duty.  There is very little point asking a small child for a pain score.

This particular little person had fallen down a couple of steps, and had been brought down to be checked over.  He didn’t have any pain anywhere significant (like the back of the neck), and neither did he seem to be in any particular distress.  Normal practice suggests that I then try and have him quantify his pain level, so that I can work out if there’s something more going on.  I go through the rigmarole of explaining ‘where 1 is next to nothing (as I gently poke him for demonstration) and 10 is the worst thing you have ever felt’, and his first answer “9″.  Now in my experience, people who have 9/10 pain and and show no signs of it have either been really lucky (and so 10/10 is relatively low), have an incredible pain threshold (but even so…) or might possibly be stretching the truth a little.  Looking at this little guy, his mother and I went for the latter.  So I asked him if he was really sure it was 9/10, and stressed how important it is to tell the truth.  So he now says 6, because that’s his age.  Cue much rolling of eyes from me, my crewmate and his mother, and I give up.

The important lesson here, I think, is that I had made the mistake of treating this child like a little adult, and tried to apply a technique aimed at adults to someone who didn’t really understand what I was asking, let alone why.  Children are not little adults, though it can be easy to forget this sometimes, and remembering this is important.

CPR Saves Lives

The title says it all, really.

CPR is easy, simple and saves lives.  And that’s all there is to it.  Everyone should feel they can do something if someone stops breathing.

I know I’m late to this particular party, but this is easily one of the best first aid awareness campaigns I have seen in a long time:

Courtesy of the British Heart Foundation.

If you have to do CPR, you can’t really make things any worse.  You won’t get sued.  You won’t get arrested.  Just go for it.

Organ Donation and the Church

If you have been following the news in the UK (specifically, Wales) recently, you’ll know that they are currently considering a bill that will mean that everyone will be assumed to be an organ donor, unless they opt out.  I am in favour of this (and wish the English government would do the same).

I am a registered Organ Donor (and carry a Donor Card), registered with the Anthony Nolan Trust as a potential bone marrow donor and, now that the law has changed, I have been single (and all that entails) for a sufficiently long time and I now have enough weight, I intend to become a blood donor.  I strongly believe that those of us who are lucky enough to be healthy should be doing as much as possible to help those who are not (which in part explains how passionate I am about my volunteering).

Now, I’m not saying that everyone should be forced to donate blood, or bone marrow.  While I’d love it if you did, I know that this can cause (a small amount of) disruption to your life and could make you unwell for a while, and I don’t want people to go into that without being willing.  However, to be blunt, once you are dead, the location of the organs in your body are the least of your worries.  (http://xkcd.com/659/)  If you are unfortunate enough to die at a stage when your organs are useful to others, then using them to allow one or more people to live on seems perfectly logical.

I know that it is scary, considering your own mortality, and that of the people you know.  But this legislation isn’t going to change your chances of dying of something (no matter how many scare stories are bandied around about doctors killing some to save others).  And it will decrease the 1000 people a year (cite) who die while waiting for a transplant.

Many people are thought to be willing to be an organ donor, but just haven’t got around to registering, and I’d wager most of these never will.  This will help those people follow this through without any trouble, and those who are against it will still be able to say no.

This post was prompted by a news article I spotted earlier, about the church speaking out against an opt-out system. This made me grumpy… While I am not religious, I don’t have a real problem with religion. Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, as long as they don’t harm others.

This will harm people. The church has no problem with organ donation (cite). Why are they arguing against something that will save lives?

If you want to find out about blood donation, go here.

More information about bone marrow donation is available from the Anthony Nolan Trust. They are particularly looking for young male donors.

Organ donor registration can be done here.

(All links for England and probably good for the UK in general. Google is your friend if you need the details for elsewhere.)

If you want to sign up, do, and I encourage it. If you don’t, don’t. If that means that you need to opt-out, do so. At least you will have thought about it.

It’s your choice, and always will be. I may not like your decision, but I’ll still fight to ensure you can make it.

Hitting the Speed Bumps

Image via Wikipedia

As an organisation (or, at least, in my part of the organisation), we are very keen at helping out the local ambulance service. By this I mean we will send out crews on ambulances (and occasionally on bikes) to help the service respond to 999 calls. Understandably, this could only be done by experienced members, and one of the criteria for the ambulance work was a certain number of hours third crewing on those shifts. This means working with two experienced members to build up some experience dealing with patients potentially more serious than anything I’ve ever dealt with before, which I’m strongly in favour of.  I don’t think I’d be happy going out on a shift without doing this first.

Unfortunately, since I qualified, it is no longer possible to third crew on any of our vehicles. Something to do with weight limits on the vehicles (which, given many of them are  transit vans modified into ambulances, not necessarily their original design role). This is very frustrating for me, as it means I can’t gain the experience needed to do NHS support.

To make matters worse, there are very few of us in this position (probably about 3 or 4), and so nobody at county level cares enough to do something about it. As far as they’re concerned, there are enough people to cover the shifts, and so there isn’t a problem.  This leaves me, and those few others, in a catch-22 situation: without having the needed experience, we aren’t able to gain the experience.

Needless to say, this is very frustrating.

A little while back, there was a possible solution. Our CRU lead sent us an email looking for interest in doing NHS cover on the bikes over Christmas. The roads get very busy in BigCity when everyone is doing their Christmas shopping, and the bikes can get around a lot easier than road ambulances. A load of us (apparently) applied, and it looked like it would go ahead. I even delayed heading home for Christmas around this.  A couple of us entertained the thought that this might count towards us getting some experience towards the ambulance work.

Of cause, it never happened. And we only found that out for certain a couple of days before the period was due to end. The reasons given was lack of  interest (yeah right), other duty commitments (*looks at depressingly empty duties book*) and lack of funding (*sigh*). Some of the more cynical amongst us suspect our useless County CRU lead is also to blame, but ho-hum.

All I’ve got to hope, in the nicest possible way to my patients, is that I get something interesting to do on the normal shift. Which, given my track record on a vehicle (nine or ten shifts, one patient transported for a minor injury) seems rather unlikely.  The only time I might have had an interesting job, someone kicked me off my truck (story to follow).

I think, as far as possible, I’ll try to stick with the bikes. At least on them I get something to do (and some useful exercise), giving me some experience treating, even if it’s not transporting someone…

My friend and I are already planning what out of county events we want to do.  Hopefully we’ll have a good yeah helping out our colleagues in the big city. At least there they know how well a bike unit can work…

Related articles

• Ambulance Excitement (walkingplasterdispenser.wordpress.com)

Why I Volunteer

One of the most common questions I am asked (along with ‘Are you paid for this?’ and ‘What’s the worst thing you’ve ever dealt with?’) is ‘How do you do this for free?’ This usually happens about the time when I’m trying to stop a drunk student from drowning in their own vomit, while avoiding getting vomited on myself, and their friend is on the other side trying not to vomit. My stock answer is ‘Because it’s fun!’

Even more often, when I’m knee-deep in the worst of the politics and fighting against the people who are too quick to tell us what we are incapable of doing and the people who don’t care and the people who don’t want to lose their power, I wonder why I do it. I spend hundreds of hours a year doing work for a cause I passionately believe in, and in return I get people try to work against me because I want to improve things and they don’t want to leave the happy little rut that they’ve dug themselves.

A short time ago, I dealt with a patient at a Half Marathon, while working on a bicycle. They weren’t particularly unwell, but they had fainted and were a bit shaken up. They hadn’t run anywhere near that distance before, and weren’t used to all the sensations of their body saying ‘that wasn’t such a good idea, let’s not do that again’. All put together, they got a bit worried, and worked themselves up in to what I’m pretty sure was a full-blown panic attack. And I don’t just mean a bit of hyperventilation that quickly cleared up. They were genuinely terrified, kept fainting from the unbalancing hyperventilation does to your body, which just kept making things worse.

In the end, I called an ambulance for them and got them shipped off to the main treatment center, where someone would have the time to care for them and help them calm down properly. As soon as they were sent off, I was sent to another collapse, and I put the entire incident out of my mind.

After the spending the rest of the day zipping up and down the course, I was stood down and headed to the main First Aid post to grab some personal kit and help pack everything up.

While I was there, I bumped in to my patient from earlier. They had just been discharged and were going home with their mother. They both stopped when they spotted me, and my patient asked if I had been the person with them out on the course.

“Yes, I think so. How are you now?” I replied.

“Much better now, thank you.”

“Do you know what was wrong?” The mother chimed in.

“I can’t say for absolute certain, but I think you had a panic attack.” I went to explain how a panic attack was a scary condition, but usually self-limiting and nothing to be overly concerned about. My patient nodded along with my explanation, and then commented that she couldn’t really remember what happened.

“I just remember being convinced that I was going to die, but I remember you being there, and talking to me, and holding my hand, and I knew that I would be okay.” I didn’t really know how to reply to that.

To me, the treatment didn’t seem that much. A simple, non-life-threatening condition that, even if I did nothing, would most likely pass on its own, which I passed on to someone as soon as it looked like it would take a long time to deal with. Fifteen-ish minutes on scene, before moving on to the next job, patient already out of my mind.

But in those fifteen minutes, I helped out a terrified person, taking away some of their fear just by being there. And to that person, I made all the difference.

This is why I volunteer.

Ambulance Excitement

Image via Wikipedia

Okay, I’m really rather excited again.

First things first, it looks like I’ve passed the last bit of my ambulance crew training.  This means I’m now fully qualified to crew an ambulance (eep!) and transport an emergency patient (ahh!).  I have a year’s probation to complete, but that only limits who I can crew with (which doesn’t change anything, because I can’t drive).  Given the number of sleepless nights the course caused me, as well as how long I spent training, this is really good news.  It might mean I can’t cycle as much as I’d like to (which is sad ) but it will definitely open up a few new opportunities of events I can get to.

Second, I have just heard when I am getting my first duty on an ambulance: at the end of the week…  I qualified on Sunday…  In the upcoming three-day event, I am on an ambulance for two days (during which I’m almost certain to get something…) and am in charge of people on the remaining one.  This is even more scary.  I have never had actual responsibility at a major event. Well nothing more than “Keep an ear on the radio, I’m just going to the loo.”  Being in charge of about one-third of the foot patrols present is not something I’d expected to do, not least because I’d expected to spend most of the days as a foot patrol myself, or in a treatment centre at best.

So yes, life is getting interesting in the Organisation at the moment.

Oh, and try not to get injured if you’re attending a three-day event this weekend.  It might just be me taking you to A&E.

…

Well, try not to get injured anyway…

Cycle Response Run

We’re standing by outside the recruitment post.  Our bikes are attracting a lot of attention: a push bike with Ambulance blazoned across it is an unusual sight.

“992, 992 from Control.”

I turn away from the kids I’ve been explaining the bikes to.  ”Go ahead Control.”

“Respond under emergency conditions to romeo-one-five.  Collapsed child.”

I peer at my map, matching up R15 to where I currently am.  Bloody hell, we’re the other side the city.  I turn to see my partner already mounting up.  To the kids: “Sorry guys, got to go.”  I jump on to my bike, kick the stand away, and push off.

My partner pulls off ahead, and I slip in behind him.  I was good, and left my bike in a low gear when I pulled up.  We accelerate away, shifting up the gears until we’re racing along the road at a respectable rate.

It’s dusk, the perfect time for visibility.  What’s left of the sunlight makes our fluorescent jackets glow, while it’s dark enough for the reflective strips shine in every light.  Nobody should fail to see us as we race past.

We’re in luck.  Most of the route is a closed road. We have the tarmac to ourselves.  We make good time, getting half way to the far side of the event to the other before we know it.

We’re getting to the busy part now.  Slowing down a little, we weave between clumps of people, earning a few glares as we take a turn faster than perhaps people would like.  We shift down, cutting out speed to safely navigate around the dawdling obstacles.

The crowd thickens.  The spaces between the groups narrow.  We start to lose speed, stuck behind people wandering along, not expecting two cyclists to try to barge their way through.

On goes my siren.  They sound a bit weird, too high-pitched, but they certainly grab people’s attention.  People turn and stare.  A path opens up in the crowd, and we regain a little of our lost momentum.

One group turn and stare.  We approach, weaving left and right, trying to find a way past.  My siren is still going full blast, and it’s joined by my partner’s electronic buzzer.  The harsh sound cuts across the sounds of the crowd, making people wince, but still they stand, staring at us like rabbits in our headlights.

We’ve slowed to a crawl, nowhere to go.  Frantically we wave at them. “Make a path!”

Comprehension dawns.  They dawdle out of our way, and we pull off again.  Finally, a clear path opens, the crowd finally getting the hint that the loud, horrible noise means ‘we’re in a hurry, get out of the way’, not ‘everyone stop and stare’.

We career around the last few corners, the road finally clear again. We almost reach a sprint as we close in on our destination. I’ve been listening in to the radio as much as I can, in the hope that we get stood down, or someone got their first. No such luck.

We skid to a halt at the mouth of the road, screeching disc brakes announcing our presence better than any siren. The road is short.  If anyone was collapsed there, we’d be able to see them.

My partner circles up and down the road, scouting the area, while I hold a slightly breathless conversation on the radio, confirming the location of the call. Control tries to call back the original caller, while we lean up against our bikes, catching our breath.

Eventually they stand us down. Apparently our ‘collapse’ had got back up again when his parent’s didn’t give him all the fuss he wanted.  Of cause, they hadn’t thought to stand us down.

We took the slow route back to the first aid post…

Related articles

• Cycle Response (walkingplasterdispenser.wordpress.com)
• Cycle Response Training – Part 2 (walkingplasterdispenser.wordpress.com)
• Cycle Response Training – Part 1 (walkingplasterdispenser.wordpress.com)
• Four new cycle paramedics trained for Great Yarmouth (bbc.co.uk)

Cycle Response

Okay, I’m possibly a little excited.  Actually, scratch that, I’m acting like a kid on Christmas morning.

The last parts of my cycle responder uniform turned up this morning.  This is (and yes, I say it again) extremely exciting.

I’ve wanted to join the cycle responders for years now.  The first time I tried to get on the course, it was cancelled two days before.  The next time, after I’d spent some quality time with the cycle response policy, I didn’t think I had a hope of meeting the fitness requirement. That, and the high price for the uniform, I nearly gave up on it.

Somehow I persuaded myself I could do it.  Somehow, we’d raise the money.  Somehow, I’d pass the fitness test.

And I did it.  I passed the tests.  I am planning fundraising with a fellow responder.

This just left waiting for the uniform.  It’s special purpose uniform, so doesn’t get ordered often, and usually has a long lead time. I fully anticipated having to miss some events because I didn’t have the right uniform.

It’s now here.  All of it, in its hi-visibility yellow glory.  Now I feel like a proper cycle responder.

And just in time.  My first event is in just over a week and a half from now.  I can’t wait!

This sounds a little sad, but it feels like a dream come true.  I never thought I’d get to do this.  This is so much more important to me than the upcoming ambulance aid course I’ve been invited to.  True I might be able to go around in an ambulance soon, but I can go out on a bike now.

So yes.  A little excited, I think.