So…

What happens when I watch too much “Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy”, have a Dremmel multi-tool hanging around, an aluminum Pocket PC case and just a bit too much free time on my hands?

A Pocket PC case with “Don’t Panic” hand-engraved in it.

Then add a rather thrown together theme into the mix…

It is true you know, the devil does indeed make work for idle hands.

I love the Rhinoskin for my Dell.  Given that I take it everywhere with me, and I have a job that sometimes requires me to *ahem* get physical, it has protected my beloved Pocket PC through everything that I’ve thrown at it.

Yes it is sad, yes it is geeky, but have I ever said I’m anything but a geek?

I’m off to see Derren Brown tomorrow…  It should be fun.

 

The P.R.U. (Physician Response Unit) is a doctor and paramedic team who run from the Royal London hospital.  Their role is see patients who might not need a trip to hospital, and to treat them at home – thus saving the patient having to wait around in A&E for a couple of hours, and freeing up emergency services for more serious cases.  They also provide support for more serious incidents where a doctor on scene is a really good idea.

I’ve had a couple of jobs with them, normally it’s something simple like a patient with a chest infection, or other minor illness.  A lot of patients in our area don’t have a GP to see them, and so A&E and the ambulance service are their first, and only, port of call.

The P.R.U. is manned by a doctor, and a paramedic, they drive around in a blue Subaru which was donated by a firm of solicitors.

The last time I saw their statistics, they managed to treat a patient at home without needing an ambulance, or hospital visit, 30–40% of the time.

(They also wear the orange HEMS jumpsuits for some strange reason…)

I mention them because I had a job with them the other day.  I was called to a little old lady who’d collapsed in the street.  I got there first, and started my assessment – she was frail looking, but fully aware of what was happening to her.  Her pulse was on the low side of normal, and her blood pressure felt a little low (just off the pulse), then just as I’m about to check her blood pressure using out normal tools, the P.R.U. rolled up behind me, and three orange clad people jumped out.

I gave a quick handover to the doctor, and he continued assessing the patient while I measured her blood sugar.  Her blood sugar was normal, but her blood pressure was pretty low, a quick look at her heart rythmn didn’t show anything unusual, and neither did a further physical examination.

Meanwhile we were waiting for an ambulance.

I was asked if I wanted to cannulate the patient (put a needle in a vein so that drugs or fluids could be given), but as it’s been three years since I last cannulated someone, and she was a nice little old lady (instead of some stinky obnoxious drunk) I declined – I’m not that cruel to inflict my rusty skills on someone who is actually nice for a change…

There was still no ambulance to send, so it was decided to take the patient to the hospital in the back of the Subaru as the patient wasn’t getting the investigations she needed laying around the local market.

All I can say, is that she looked a lot healthier sitting in the back of the car, than laying on a market bench.

The P.R.U. (when it is running, manning the vehicle is apparently a bit of a nightmare) is a quality addition to the local NHS, and someone has definitely taught the doctors how to be nice to ambulance crews.  It’s just a shame that the Royal London doesn’t get any extra money to run this service that covers the gaps in local GP provisioning.

Just one more bit of the NHS being run on charity…

Something that popped in my head as we were waiting for Alabama 3 to start, was offering the gig as a product. 

Imagine recording the concert live onto MP3, straight from the mixing desk.  Then you could copy the MP3 onto cheap, low storage USB memory keys for selling to people as they leave the venue. 

USB keys are pretty cheap these days and if you add on a pound or two for making a profit, you’ve got a nice little money making scheme, and a cheap way of promoting your band.

Or am I being daft?

Last night Alabama 3 played the Shepherds Bush Empire, and having a a pair of tickets, my brother an I went to see them…

I’m a bit of a fan.

If you’ve never heard of them, Alabama 3 are a mix of dance with country and western, add in an ironic look at revivalist preachers and socialist thought, and you are part way there.

They also work closely with MOJO, and the band was giving their fee for the night to that organisation.  Mojo are trying to raise £500,000 to create a retreat for folk who have been released from lengthy prison stays after being found innocent, so that they can be rehabilitated back into society – something that the government doesn’t provide.

The ‘Book of Love’ started off the night by DJing, and he had to DJ quite a bit as the support act “Shane McGowan and his Popes” couldn’t play as Shane was drunk in a ditch delayed at Dublin airport.  The thing that got my brother and I singing was that he played  ‘Rodeohead’.  The book of Love also looked fairly cute in granny glasses, not bad for the “fourth most tattooed man in England”.

Opening track was ‘Power in the Blood’, which go the crowd jumping, a crowd that had a fair number of cowboy hats – as an aside, cowboy hats on women are cool, on men…stupid.

All the favourites were played, the atmosphere was excellent, and it was well worth the price of admission.  They played some of the stuff from their new album, and I’ve got to say, it sounds pretty good.

You can see their latest video streamed here.  There are also downloadable tracks on their site.  If you want their best album, this is it.  It should be on every CD rack.

Barely two days since moaning about matern-a-taxis, than I get sent to another one.

"We have a job for you", said Control.

"Of course you do, I was just about to have a cup of tea", I replied, "so...what is it".

I looked at the display terminal in the car.

"It's a bloody maternity", I was outraged, "One minute contractions - I bet they'll be ten minutes apart when I get there".

"I reckon they will as well", replied Control.

So I dutifully shot down there, to a place fairly well known to me - it's a large housing unit for teenagers, they all have social workers and are looked after pretty well. To be honest I think it's a pretty good place, I've never had any trouble there and the residents tend to get a fair bit of support.

I entered the accommodation, to find a young woman having a contraction, while standing in a puddle of fluid.

No problem I thought, the waters have just broken.

"I really want to go a poo", she said.

"Oh bugger", thought me.

It's one of the guides as to how close you are to delivering the baby - if you want to go a poo, then birth probably isn't too far away.

Then she had another strong contraction, then another - they were one minute apart...

So I turned on my breezy, "relax - everything is fine, nothing to worry about" personality and quickly phoned Control to see when the ambulance was. I was told it was on it's way and they turned up pretty quickly, but by then birth was too close, so we decided to "stay and play".

A midwife was called for, and she told Control she would make her way there in her own car. I do have a slight problem with this. If an ambulance crew needs a midwife, it's generally as an emergency, otherwise we transport the patient to hospital. If it's an emergency then shouldn't we pick up the midwife and get her to the job on Blue lights and sirens?

The ambulance paramedic and myself let the ambulance EMT do must of the mucky work. Not because we are cruel (particularly), but because it was his first ambulance delivery, and it's a good experience.

A lovely baby girl was born at 10:29, and we let the father cut the umbilical cord.

Then, after all the screaming, poo, blood, fluid and pain, the midwife turned up.

Luckily for us the birth was uncomplicated - it took maybe a shade longer than I like, and apparently the birth fluid was stained green (to my eyes it looked normal, but then I do have strong prescription glasses). The fluid being green means that the baby may have pooed while being born, and that could be a sign of distress.

I also managed to use all my very bad jokes during the delivery, which is a sign of how long the delivery took, because I have a lot of bad jokes.

It's always good to be involved in the birth of a baby, everyone is happy, you hopefully end up with a pretty little baby, and dad normally bounds around taking photos of everything. It always feels like a "job well done".

We don't get much training with birthing, and when we do deliver it's normally in an awkward place, with poor lighting and loads of people panicking. It'd be nice if our training encompassed a little time in a maternity unit, rather than sitting in a classroom for a morning.

But in an uncomplicated birth, it really is a case of just catching them as they pop out.

Anyway - I gave me a big grin on my face for the next few hours.

First off, I’m apparently mentioned in the current issue of Web User magazine.  So if you come from there, Hello – you can get to the archives from the sidebar over on the right, oh, and it’s best to wipe your feet on the way out.

Lots of little interesting things today, nothing too serious thankfully, and given the warm weather, thankfully no decomposing bodies.

First off, there is an emergency GP doing the rounds who seems to have some strange ideas.  Examples of his work are the elderly woman who is dizzy and has jaundice, a man with all over muscle pain for two weeks, and an elderly man with “fluid on the lungs”.  All these were prescribed antibiotics, and were told, “It’s probably an infection, but I don’t know where”.  I’m not sure if it’s the same GP, but if it is, then they really are pointless.

This is probably why the Primary Care Trusts like the ambulance service – because we don’t faff around, but take everyone who is ill to hospital, and leave the well ones at home.

I went to a little old lady who had fainted.  Absolute darling (if only because she laughed at my “you should take more water with your gin if it makes you dizzy” joke), but who didn’t want to go to hospital because she cares for her disabled husband.  They lived in a warden controlled flat, but the wardens in those places aren’t supposed to do any ‘caring’ work.  Our patient wouldn’t go to hospital and leave her husband – so, falling back on my nursing experience, I got control to call the social services that look after that family.  After promising that everything would be fine, she agreed to go to hospital.

Why did I go through Control to contact the social workers, rather than phone them myself?  Well…Control record all the phone calls they make – so if someone promises to do something, then we have the proof…

Not that I have a lot of experience dealing with social workers at all…

Yesterday I went to the same street twice – on two occasions, twice to ‘Dick’ street, and twice to ‘Harry’ street.  Today I went to the same street (outside my area) twice as well.  I wonder if something is trying to give me a message?

I got a job as a “15 year old Suspended at school” (suspended is a polite way of saying ‘dead’), I don’t think my foot lifted off the accelerator pedal at all to the school, and I suspect that a lot of rubber was left on the pavement as I power-slid around the corners (who says computer racing games are no use?).  I hit the school at about the same time as the ambulance crew (who had also driven like maniacs), and we ran up three flights of stairs, across the school, and down three flights of stairs.  I saw the girl laying on her side, rolled her over, and had a huge sigh of relief as she recoiled in horror from my ugly face staring down at her.

The patient had very little wrong with her, much to all our relief.

We were all understandably happy, but then the adrenaline crash hit us pretty hard, and coupled with the physical exertion of running, I felt like crap for half an hour, until a nice cup of tea worked it’s magic.

However…

Tomorrow, I shall be on the hunt.  I shall be hunting for a specific lollipop man (or whatever they are called these days).  When I find him, I shall be shoving his stick where the sun doesn’t shine.

The reason?

Picture the scene - I’m racing down the road on lights and sirens, I think I’m going to a dead 15 year old, I am driving, as previously mentioned, at a stupidly fast speed.

So what does this bloody idiot do to a kid waiting on the other side of the road?

He tries to get the kid to run across the road before I get there!

This sort of thing makes me want to go stabby…

The other interesting job yesterday (for with one exception, today was a day full of maternitys and elderly chest pains) was a maternity, but one with a difference.  The patient was supposed to have a home delivery, but the delivery was taking too long, the mother was getting tired, and the baby had meconium stained amniotic fluid.  Meconium is babies first poo.

The midwives decided that it would be better if the baby was delivered in hospital, so called for an ambulance to transport the mother to hospital.

What was different was that the patient lived on a houseboat.

Cue myself, carrying a load of heavy, expensive equipment down narrow docks, narrower walkways and unbelievably narrow boat walkway.  Then out again carrying even more  (of the midwifes equipment).

We have a new version of our computer priority system, one that seems to classify most of our maternity calls as top priority ‘category A’ calls.  This means that I get sent on them.  So I turn up, the mother wonders why I can’t take them to hospital (being on the rapid response car means that I shouldn’t transport anyone), and I stand there making sure that they know that the pain they are currently feeling is slight compared to what is about to happen…

It also surprises me that they will tell Control that the contractions are a minute apart, and yet when I turn up and ask them, the contractions seem to slowed down to one every five or six minutes.

Hmmm

And congratulations to Liz, a frequent commenter who just lost her bump and gained a baby.  And whose blog site, for some reason I can’t load…

I did have one interesting job today, a diabetic with an exceptionally low blood sugar.  I turned up first, gave her some glucagen (which raises blood sugar), and the ambulance turned up.  We got her in the back of the ambulance, and because her blood sugar was so low we thought that giving some sugar straight into the bloodstream would be a good idea.  Our brave paramedic popped a cannula into the back of her hand and got a kick in the head for his trouble. 

Oh, and plenty of laughter from his crewmate and myself.

Obviously he wasn’t hurt, and the patient never meant to kick him, she was just confused.  But it was such an amusing thump with a hilarious hollow sound as she bounced her foot off his skull…

A fairly busy day today, with two interesting jobs – I’ll tell you about one now, and the other I’ll save until tomorrow in case I don’t do anything fun.

For the first time in ages I got sent to a decomposing body.  Social housing people had been around the elderly gentlemans flat a week earlier, noticed a bit of a smell, but ignored it.  When they came back a week later and the smell was still there they decided to talk to the caretakers.  The caretakers beat down the door – looked at what was in the bedroom and called the police.

The police then passed the job on to us, so that we could confirm death.

The first thing that you notice when dealing with a ‘decomp’ is the smell, it’s quite unlike anything else – it settles in the back of the throat and stays there for some time.  I was sucking mints and drinking tea for some time after leaving the flat to try and get the taste out of my mouth.

The other thing is the flies.  You find yourself in a room with flies that have grown, and fed on the tissues of a dead person.  Sometimes they land on you.  For hours afterwards you can feel them crawling on your skin (I can still feel them now, about eight hours later).  It doesn’t make me feel dirty, but it does make me scratch.

The sight of the corpse isn’t too bad after all that.  The eyes are gone, and the skin is either dark brown or black.  The thing that makes you realise that the thing in front of you was once alive is the hair.  The hair is the same as when the person died, in this case it was white, clean and neatly brushed.  The entry points to the body (the eyes, the nose and mouth) are crawling with flies and maggots, and this is the only movement you’ll see.

The patient looked to have died in his sleep, he was laying in his bed and it looked like he had simply passed away without waking.  Not a bad way to go.

I can see this being my end, as I plan to outlive all my relatives, I don’t talk to my neighbours at the moment (because, in part, they don’t speak English) and at the rate I’m going I doubt I’ll be married.

I hope I make a really stinky corpse.  Perhaps making a young trainee EMT vomit in disgust, so that everyone at their station can have a good laugh at their expense.

So.

Greece won.

And I can still type legibly (just).

The only people to vote for the UK was Ireland.

And I didn’t think we deserved those votes.

I must admit that it was nice to see the poisoned Yushenco present the prize – given that the Ukrainian entry was a very political chant.

Now….

…more vodka.

Nighty-night all (stalkers included).

I would like Boznia & Herzegovina to win.

*hiccup*

Ukraine was good as well.

The UK entry was…crap.  So ‘null points’ for us would be fun.

 

Normal service will be resumed on Monday when I have to work the first of four dayshifts.  And yes, I have been reading all your stalking posts in my comments.  Feel free to to hunt me me down and say ‘Hi’…

…just bring some caffine based beverage.

You can get the CD of the whole Eurovision thing here.

My order is in the post…

Tom is thinking that he could have written more eloquently about the whole thing if he hadn’t sunk way too much vodka.

A further Woganism that had the Reynolds household trying desperately not to wee in their pants.

“The last time I saw legs like that – they were standing in a nest”.

Comedy gold.

Mmmmm vodka good.

Disclaimer: Tom is breaking his own rule about not posting when drunk – still every rule has an exception…

I have spent more Eurovision Song Contests with my family than I have Christmas Days.

My brother rather uncharitably says that this is because I’m not paid double on Eurovision day…

Any Americans and people not of this continent will have to bear with me when I say that this is probably the television event of the year – if only because of Terry Wogans absolutely inspired commentary.  An example from last year – “Ukraine has given a lot of votes to Russia, wise thing to do – Russia is bigger than them”.

Or this year “The lyric is ‘I was blind in the morning’, the drink is a terrible curse”.

So I now find myself downing pints of vodka and orange watching Norwegian fools prancing around the stage in full on glam costumes, Moldovian’s with painted on costumes and the complete pants that is the UK’s contribution.

Terry Wogans commentary gets funnier as the night continues as he gets progressively more drunk.

Something that I am looking to emulate.

I also managed to book my flight and hotel in Copenhagen for the Reboot meetup.  Should be an interesting two days – that is if they send me the invoice so I can pay for the tickets that I’ve registered for.

However, for now, there is vodka to drink and bad European songs to laugh at.