Rough Day

I’ve dealt with little kids with quite serious (though not life-threatening) injuries. I’ve treated patients with chest pains and irregular heart rhythms and ones who think they’re going to die and ones that fall asleep and I think they’re going to die. I’ve had arguments with young people, nearly lost youth members in massive crowds, and had a number of other heart racing situations when they’ve been around. Every time, as soon as the adrenaline has worn off, I’ve just shrugged and got on with things. I’ve felt tired, frustrated, irritated, and even downright angry after treating, but nothing that has ever lasted after I’ve signed out and headed home (well, except the tired, but hey, I work hard on duty… well, most of the time).

This happened nearly a year ago now, and I wrote most of this post at least six months ago.  It’s been sitting in my drafts box ever since, and now, I feel that it’s about time I brush it off and actually post it.  Youth problems always hit me hard. I genuinely care about the young people in my charge, be they patients, members of the organisation, or just that lost boy who came up to me in the street (a story for later, perhaps).  (Without trying to sound defensive, don’t take this the wrong way.  I care about their welfare, nothing more.  And I really dislike that society is such that I feel the need to point this out.)  There is a reason I am considering training to be a Paediatric nurse. However, I don’t normally have a problem putting this aside either.

This, however, was a step beyond.

It looked like a simple patient. I was technically off duty (everyone else had gone home, and I was only there because I’d bought some snacks from the local shop) and spotted a woman, with a couple of kids, who was probably just rather drunk. At first assessment it seemed to be a simple case of sitting with the three of them, trying to keep the mother uninjured and the kids occupied, until someone came to pick them all up. Then a report to our Safeguarding Officer to flag a concern, just in case this is a regular occurrence, and I’m done.

Instead, to cut a long story short, it turned in to a walk half way across the city, following this woman as she staggered and weaved home, chucked abuse at me for following her, and a protracted conversation with a police call taker while we walked. Throughout all of this, I believe I maintained a suitably professional image to all concerned (well, everyone sober enough to make a valid judgement), even when she left her kids in the middle of the road to challenge me for following her (I hasten to add that I chose that moment to also stand in the middle of this road, so that cars would at least hit me in my bright yellow hi-vis, before it hit the kids. And before anyone says anything, I know my safety is supposed to come first. There are some things you have to do…).

Much as I would have liked to, I have no power to remove the children from parents, even for their own safety. Following this tottering woman, until the police arrived, was my only option.  If the same circumstances came up again, I wouldn’t hesitate  to do it all again, even knowing the final result.

So yes, it was a worrying incident, but it was dealt with as swiftly as possible (my goodness! What a run around trying to get me, the police and woman in the same vague location), properly reported, and throughout I was calm, controlled and confident.  I even managed to make my verbal Child Protection report without a problem (as the police were involved and I had already spoken to them, an official written report would only be needed if the police needed a statement).

That is, however, until I started walking home. I was taking the long way, mainly to avoid the crowd that I’d attracted during the walk about. Nobody was being threatening (in fact, quite the opposite, they were completely understanding and a couple even a little grateful). I didn’t even get a quarter of the way up my hill before the shakes set in, shortly followed by the tears.

Any driver who happened to be paying attention to the pavement would have seen a man in a medical Hi-Viz, perched on someone’s step, looking in a right state.

Thankfully I have a good group of friends in the Organisation, many of whom are very willing to spend ages with a slightly hysterical guy immediately after a long duty.  I must have sat on that step for a good 45 minutes getting everything aired, repeating myself over and over, and taking up this good friend’s precious time.

To this day, I’m still not entirely sure what about this particularly got to me. Yes it was high-stress, but so was the patient probably having a heart attack, or the one on the boat in the harbour. If I’m honest, I’ve never really closely examined the situation in order to work it out.  It’s not exactly an experience I want to relive.  It’s hardly a moment to be overly proud of.

So I choose not to focus on it.  I got over it, eventually.  And, when it mattered, I held it together.  It might have been only just long enough, but it was long enough.  And that I think I can be proud of.

Advertisements

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

About The WalkingPlasterDispenser

So who is the Walking Plaster Dispenser? Well, I'm a volunteer First Aider, working with a well-known First Aid charity to help out random people I've never met before (or, more usually, when) they hurt themselves. This typically involves walking briskly (never run...) around after people who are silly enough to do sports or some other suitably daft activity in their free time. In my spare time, I am a graduate engineer, working my way through a graduate scheme with a big engineering company.

Trackbacks / Pingbacks

  1. Memories « The Walking Plaster Dispenser - February 20, 2011

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: