No work tonight, for I am ill.

‘Coming out both ends’ as we say in this part of the world.  I suspect that it is the revenge of last nights (cold) dinner.  My normal takeaway was closed, so I had to try a new place – forced to because there was little else open.  I was forced to eat something that I haven’t had for over two years now.

A kebab.

It appears that, with my normal diet of chicken salad wraps, my immune system has been a little out of practice, and so I now have nausea, flatulence, diarrhea and some rather painful vomiting.  Brings back happy memories of being on anti-HIV medications.

I’m scrawling this message in that blissful 10 minutes after a really good vomit, when, for a short time, everything seems alright with the world.

My manager phoned me to ask if I needed anything.  “A Bucket”, would have been the truthful reply.

Sure it’s “Anything I can do to help”, now – but when I get back to work it’ll be “Do you know how bad our sickness figures are? – do try not to be ill, there’s a good chap”, and “This is a formal/informal/written/verbal/warning/review/performance assessment”.

Still it’s not all bad, I was putting on a bit of weight, so the amount of *stuff* pouring out of me will be a benefit in the long run.  Until then, I shall be wearing a path between bed and toilet, and lamely sipping water in order to replace the gallons of fluids I seem to be losing.

If you don’t hear from me in a week, send out a search party.

 

I wonder if I should call an ambulance?

**Expletive Deleted** **Expletive Deleted** **Expletive Deleted** **Expletive Deleted** **Expletive Deleted** **Expletive Deleted**

Tonight I have been driving around going to Maternataxis, and a man who's legs have been twitching...

...since June.

I'd also be grateful if someone could please explain to me how you can get to 56 years old and think that gastric reflux is the same thing as choking to death.

Twice she asked me, "So you are sure it won't kill me?".

Then there was the person who regularly fakes an angina attack so he won't have to walk home after going to the pub with his girlfriend...

Don't ask about the hate-filled drive to a Maternataxi while my tasty-looking dinner was getting cold on station.

**Expletive Deleted** **Expletive Deleted** **Expletive Deleted**

While I have been going to these non-emergency cases, someone was stabbed to death about 400 yards from my ambulance station.

It's not that I missed out on an 'interesting' job (and trust me, I'm trying my best not to sound ghoulish about it). Instead it's that we have to send ambulances to so many calls that don't actually need an ambulance, and that my "for utter, utter emergencies only" unit is going to such complete and total **Expletive Deleted**

Twitching legs since June, or serious stabbing, which would you rather be sent on?


It's a good job this is my second, and not fourth night, otherwise I would be wanting to make with the stabby

So I wished for an interesting job, and I got…

A collapsed 50 year old female, probably from a low blood pressure.  A pleasant couple, and she had just been discharged from hospital that day (after investigations into a possibly related condition).

A middle-aged mother who was having a panic attack.  The crew reached her at the same time as me, so there was nothing for me to do.

I was then sent six miles to a worried mother and daughter, who had been asleep with the gas cooker still on downstairs.  Both were absolutely fine, but went to hospital in order to put the mothers mind at ease.

A 28 year old female, who had a high temperature for two days, and that night had started to vomit.  Otherwise healthy, with what I euphemistically call “No Priority Symptoms”.  The husband followed the ambulance to the hospital (1 mile away) in his car.

Then I was sent to a patient with two days history of chest pain, basically outside the Royal London hospital.  (Stopped me getting my 1 am bagels from the 24 hour bagel shop…)  The pain was probably related to a cough he has had, but it was hard to tell as he didn’t speak English, and my translation was via a friend who wouldn’t ask the patient what I told him to ask.

A maternataxi, where the ambulance crew asked what I was doing in that part of the world, just because I was so far from station, and they, like me, can’t believe that labour pains are a “Category A” emergency response.

Then I was sent six miles again to a young man with a mix of an asthma attack, and probably pneumonia.  I was able to start the lifesaving treatment that he needed (oxygen and a Salbutamol nebuliser), and the ambulance crew were only a few minutes behind me.  That patient was ‘blued’ into hospital, and spent the rest of the night in the resuscitation room.

My final call was to a male who was ‘dizzy’.  He met me outside his block of flats in his pyjamas and slippers, and refused to give any sort o medical history.  This was really infuriating, as there could have been something really rather wrong with him.  Thankfully the crew were right behind me, so we got him into the ambulance, and noticed that he had recently had a blood test.  Would he tell us what the blood test was?  No, would he tell us what medication he was on?  No.  Would he describe how he felt?  No.

We tried explaining that we couldn’t help him unless he started talking, because there are drugs we could have given him that react badly to some regular medications, but still he refused.

So the crew just took him into hospital, where he then proceeded to annoy the A&E staff.

So that was it, nothing interesting at all.

Apart from the radio/CD player in the car being broken…

Buggerit!

Miles driven – 97

8 Calls, 7 of them in under 8 minutes.

Longest run - 5.8 miles, shortest run – 0.7 miles

Average distance traveled to a call – 2.7 miles

 

Back to work tonight for a run of four night-shifts.  I’m hoping that my Muse isn’t delayed at customs as I fully intend that a run of nights will drag here back from her holiday.

Is it wrong to hope for an ‘interesting’ job, when it means someone is going to get hurt?

It has reached the time of year where, when I am on nights, I turn into a vampire – I will be leaving the house when it is dark, and will (hopefully) be returning before sunrise.  If I had blackout curtains, then I would not see any sunlight at all.  When I was working permanent nights as a nurse, I did have blackout curtains, and the department had no windows.

After a year of this, my skin was the envy of every Goth within 50 miles.

A quick update on my mother – as you may recall, I got you folks to bully her into visiting her GP about a suspicious-looking mole, she has seen her GP, been sent to the hospital, and the doctor there has scheduled it to be removed on Wednesday.  The doctor at the hospital didn’t like the look of it, so once more – thanks for bullying my mum.

She surprised and delighted me yesterday when she showed off her knowledge of what a Ferengi is…(We were talking about Lord Adonis at the time).

The ‘music to listen to while driving like a nutter’ comment thread has kicked up some interesting ideas – I think I shall be trialling most of the music that has been suggested (obviously via legal MP3 download sites).  There were some classic tunes that I had forgotten about, and already own, so I’ll be burning a ‘Racing’ CD in the very near future…

With night shifts, comes my head doing strange things to me.  For example – I’ve just woken up after thinking about my father.

CAUTION: Introspective wanky writing ahead – You have been warned.

The short version of my history with my father is that he left home when I was around fourteen (my brother was around twelve), and married another woman (without divorcing my mother first – an oversight on his part, he is after-all barely literate).  Since then I haven’t seen or heard from him, which was a bit strange as the split between mum and him wasn’t acrimonious.

So my attitude toward him has basically been ‘Fuck him’, it appears that he wanted us out of his life as quickly as possible, and he has succeeded admirably on that point.

So…why was I thinking about how I’d love to meet with him, tell him how excellent my life is?  I’d love to let him know that my brother is an excellent teacher and is getting well paid for his work.  I’d love him to see how his walking out on us only freed both my brother and I to go on to do things that we love doing.  I’d love to show him how relaxed and chilled out my mother is now.  I’d love someone to read this blog out to him, so that he could know that I’m doing better without him in my life.

Actually…I wonder if he is still alive?

So – for one moment after not thinking about him for years, I’d love to rub his nose in how good my family and I have it now he isn’t on the scene.

I’ve told you that night-shifts tend to break my head…

I promise – ambulance based posts only for the next week or so

My muse sent me a postcard from the beach today – seems that she is enjoying herself on holiday and won’t be back for a bit, so once more I plunge into my list of “things I should write about”…

One of the nicest things about working on the RRU is that I have complete control over the radio/CD player.  Also it is feasible for me to listen to my MP3 player while cruising around the streets of Newham.

A lot of the time I listen to Podcasts, mainly IT Conversations (and there is a very interesting ‘cast there that I’m listening to as I type this), but I do also have a large music library for when I’m feeling less cerebral.

At nights, when I’m cruising around the streets I love to listen to tracks from the Vietnam war era, “We’ve gotta get out of this place” takes on a special meaning depending on where in my ‘patch’ I’m currently in.  There are also a number of mellow tracks from that genre that quite nicely ease me into 4am.

If I’m in a foul mood, then I’ll select some Polyphonic Spree, Alabama 3 or some hardcore dance, as these never fail to cheer me up.

But the real pleasure comes when I’m running on blue lights to a call, and certain tracks are playing…

‘The Batman Theme’ (from the film not the TV series) always brings a smile to my face, as does Yello– The ‘Chase’ which has been used for countless films.  ‘Bat Out of Hell’ by Meatloaf is also a good track to race around to (although I should be at the location waaaay before the end of the track) as is ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ by Queen.  Actually, anything uptempo by Queen is a good ‘drive like a nutter’ track.

But listening to the same old tracks is getting a bit dull, so I now need inspiration. 

So I’d like your suggestions for - ‘Music thats good to listen to while breaking the speed limit/driving down the wrong side of the road’.

It seems that the Sunday Independent has been a bit naughty.  According to one of my readers they published an edited down post of mine (‘Care Home’?) without either letting me know, or paying me for it…

This isn’t the first paper to use bloggers as unpaid column fillers.  Even the Guardian, who are pretty blog-savvy did it to me once.

So I’ve decided to send them a little email…

The black dog has risen it's ugly head and coupled with a sore throat and abdominal pain, my muse appears to have buggered off to Spain for the weekend - so I bring you a post that has been sitting in my 'potential post' file for some time. I wrote this when I was still on an ambulance, as opposed to the RRU I'm currently on.

...

We got called to a "Female - epileptic fit" in the street - this was a call that was sent to us by the police. Now, I may be accused of being overly cynical, but when the police call us to an "epileptic fit", it is normally because they are arresting someone, and in order to avoid going to the police station the person fakes a fit. There are ways and means of detecting when this is the case, some of which I have mentioned previously. Even though this was the likely explanation for this job, we still rushed down there, fully prepared for it to be genuine.

We turned up to see a car being towed away, and the police that met us had a slight smirk about them, it's the finely tuned sixth sense I have that made me suspect that the police were hiding something from me. We were led to the patient, who was laying in a darkened alleyway, with her boyfriend standing over her.

As is my normal approach, I said something along the lines of "Hello love, can you open your eyes for me", I brushed the thick, long hair from out of her eyes, and, being unable to see the patient properly pulled out my torch and shone it in her face. At first I thought it was just a very unattractive woman, then I brushed the hair back a bit further and that caused the wig to slip...

This female was born a man.

Now, I have no problem with transsexuals. I know a couple in a social situation, and apart from the time I caught one of them going to the bathroom in pink dressing gown and pink bunny slippers, their gender doesn't pay any part in what I think of them (as with gay men, I just think, "Great! More women for me!", of course it doesn't work out like that, but I live in hope).

The hardest bit is working out wether to call the patient 'he' or 'she'. So I asked the boyfriend.

It looked as if the patient had had a genuine epileptic fit, and so we got her onto the ambulance, and started our treatment. I managed to get a lot of the details off of her boyfriend. We got her into hospital, where we found out that she was not unknown to the hospital. By now she was starting to come around.

As she, and the boyfriend didn't live in the area that we found them in, I asked what she was doing there - apparently, she had parked the car on the estate, then someone had stolen the keys. Given what she was wearing (pink furry moon-boots, tight leather miniskirt, tight pink top, and a leather/furry frock jacket), and what I saw when I peeked at her previous medical historyt - I wonder if she was one of those 'ladies of the night' that we often drive past.

I mean, most of them look a bit rough, but having been born a man might explain a lot...

It is the time of year when I find myself asking the same question to people who I find collapsed.

'Are you fasting?'

For it is currently Ramadan, when observant Muslims fast during the hours of daylight. We have a lot of Muslims in Newham.

But it is not just people with low blood sugar that are affected by the fasting.

My brother has two men at his work who are fasting at the moment. They are currently in real pain from their stomach ulcers. While we spend some hours asleep without eating, our stomachs are less active at that time. If you are fasting while awake, then you are being bombarded with the sights and smells of food, and your stomach responds appropriately.

So fasting is not just a simple matter of being hungry.

Some Muslims are exempt from fasting, most notably those who are pregnant or diabetic. But not everyone takes advantage of this exemption, so for example the baby we recently delivered on a kitchen floor was born to a mother who was fasting.

So far, I've not had a fainter due to fasting, but with around 20 days left to Ramadan, I'm expecting at least one.

I only tend to see the bad nursing homes. I'm not talking about nursing homes where the patients are abused in the traditional sense, but rather where they seem to have simply been... left.

I went to one the other day, run by a large prestigious private healthcare company, it is clean and looks very pretty. But I'd rather die than spend my final days there.

The patient was 90+ years old and had been bleeding from her vagina since 9am that morning. I was called at 11am. They had left her bleeding for three hours.

I met her laying on a towel on a plastic bed, there was no sheet, and the only bedclothes she had was a single sheet across her body.

Her room was clean, but was empty of anything personal - there were no pictures, no letters, no ornaments. Nothing.

I looked at her drug chart. She was on two types of painkiller, but for the past five days, those, and her other medications were marked as having been 'spat out'. I'm guessing that this was because of her advanced dementia, rather than an informed refusal.

If she was spitting out her medicines, I wonder if she was also spitting out her food and drink. There was a bottle of drink next to her bed, but there was no way that she would be able to reach it. Looking at her skin, she did look dehydrated.

The 'nurses' all walked with the speed of arthritic turtles, and I had to struggle to find one that knew anything about the previous visit the patient had made to the hospital. Actually I struggled to find a nurse that knew much about anything.

'I don't know this drug', I said to one of the nurses testing her, 'what is it for?'

I knew what the drug was for, but the nurse didn't...

One of the care assistants sat on the end of the patient's bed. The patient seemed a bit distressed at this, but it was hard to tell as she was staring at the ceiling. The carer suddenly got off the bed, and this obviously caused the patient pain as she cried out.

The care assistant left the room, and I was left trying to comfort the patient, holding her hand and apologising.

I wondered what this woman had seen, what she had lived through. I could imagine her dancing in the 1930's, being married and having children (her daughter was on the way to the hospital already), raising her children while living through the war, maybe working as part of the Land Army. I thought about her husband, probably long dead, and the friends she had also probably outlived.

It always depresses me to think that some people end up in homes like this, where the care is slipshod, and her life is now just an accumulation of numerous small acts of omission.