Random Acts Of Reality

Sweating

Reynolds — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 21:26:00 +0100

Yes it is uncomfortably hot at the moment, and yes I have been going to plenty of 'faint' and 'near-faint' calls. One or two 'swine flu' cases (for which we have lovely new masks and guidelines to leave people at home - I wonder if this will continue with the normal winter flu' that are normally much more dangerous)

Thankfully I've not had too much lifting of heavy patients, in this weather the sweat dripping from my nose isn't just because I'm lugging some 20stone+ heart attack victim down five flights of stairs.

OK, it's mostly due to me lugging some 20stone+ heart attack victim down five flights of stairs - but the heat doesn't help.

I did have a very tricky extraction the other day. We were sent to a young man with a high temperature who was unable to move. We turned up to find our patient not only at the top of the house, but in a bunkbed.

A bit of talking with him revealed a fear of swine 'flu as well as an utter inability to move anything below his neck.

He hadn't been in any trauma, so the chances of a neck injury were slim, likewise the speed at which this had happened made me think that it wasn't some sort of progressive disease. However he did mention that it had al started with a tingling sensation in his feet that moved up his body.

I was put in mind of a disease that I can spell, yet never pronounce as it uses them furrin words.

Now, if he were on a normal bed we might try to simply manhandle him into our carry chair, unfortunately he'd managed to make it to his bunkbed, which as well as being quite tall had a rail around the outside of it.

Clearance from the bed to the ceiling was around one and a half feet.

Our plan was to get our split scoop under him and get him out that way. What didn't help was the the room was a sweatbox and out patient was almost glowing due to his high temperature.

I would need to get close to him.

So I found myself straddling the lad while puffing and panting, trying to get the scoop under him - my size twelve boots trying to find balance on the mattress, him possibly breathing droplets of pig death virus in my face (we'd already used out one pair of masks earlier in the shift).

Did I mention that the boy was a shade under six foot and had the build of a rugby player?

It took a long time to get him on the stretcher, and by now I was dripping with sweat. We then had to rotate, carry, twist and use brute force and ignorance to get him down from the bunk.

It was only once we had him down that I did a comparison of me and my crewmate.

I am 6'1", size twelve boots, has a bad back and knees, tight trousers and a still slightly painful testicle. I'm not as flexible as I used to be. I was the one clambering around the bed in the enclosed space between the mattress and the ceiling.

My crewmate on the other hand is slim, 5'6", younger than me, pole dances for exercise and used to be a gymnast. She obviously has no painful genitalia, she also has untight trousers and is much, much younger than me.

So, while I was killing myself trying to get the scoop under the patient she was clapping and shouting encouragement from the bedroom doorway*.

We took the boy to hospital and heard nothing more.

Sitting outside the hospital finishing my paperwork I realised that we both needed something cold and sugary to drink - so I called up Control and told them that, while they may well see our ambulance driving down the road to the nearest shop, it was so that we didn't keel over and drop dead**.

I think Control understood, it may have been the extended time we spent on scene, or it may just have been the breathless manner in which I spoke to them.

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*I exaggerate a bit, she wasn't shouting encouragement.

** I say 'we', what I actually mean is me. The one who did all the work.

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Before people get the wrong idea, she did indeed help, I exaggerate for effect - but I was still the one stuck on top of the bed and when I queried this with her she just laughed and said that I'm always the first one to climb a wall or get in through a window when the chance appears and she has too much fun watching me get on with it. I make a rod for my own back really...

Powerless (2)

Reynolds — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 15:59:00 +0100

We are led into the living room by the patient's daughter, she shows us her mother - small, birdlike and perched in a chair. A tiny thing of skin and bones in a nightdress, head bent over, not making eye contact.

The GP had called us, the daughter handed me the letter the GP had left.

'Weight loss, chest infection, depression. Lost the will to live'. The letter said more, polite words to introduce this woman to the doctor at the hospital, but this is what it boiled down to.

Barely able to stand, unable to walk, we had been called to take this woman into hospital.

We explained what we were going to do and lifted her incredibly light body into our carry chair. Younger than my mother, but looking so much older we wrapped her in a blanket to keep her warm.

Into the ambulance and the normal tests were run, pulse, temperature, blood sugar. We took her blood pressure, her arm so thin we had to use the cuff we normally use for small children. Through this poking and prodding the head never lifted up, the eyes barely opened, the mouth spoke no words. Her vital signs were normal, this was an illness of the mind.

You can tell when there is someone with depression in the room, it is an aura that all but the most oblivious can notice - the people around them talk quietly, walk softly, try not to disturb them. No-one wants to say the wrong thing, hurt the person more than they are already hurting.

The ambulance moves off and I start with some simple questions, yes or no answers, my voice kept soft.

She answers and emboldened I start to talk to her about other things. Slowly her eyes open and her head lifts up. She tells me about tragedies, about illness, about loss. When you have depression it is impossible to remember the good times, only the times that keep you low, under the thumb of this illness.

I wish there was something I could say to make her feel better, but I know that nothing I say can help. I want to tell her that it will be all right, that one day she will feel happier - but I can't say that because it probably isn't true. I can make sick people happier just by talking with them, but I know that this illness has me beaten. She will sit there and she will refuse food and she will probably die.

And I feel powerless to help her.

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This is the second attempt at this, the first one vanished into the ether and was, I think, a lot better than this post.

Heat Advice

Reynolds — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 16:58:00 +0100

There is a week of predicted high temperatures in the UK. The recent mostly high temperatures have resulted in us being exceptionally busy over the last few days - 5,200+ calls per day.

Please follow the advice given and try to keep cool.

Heat exhaustion (AKA heat prostration and heat collapse). This is the most common heat-related injury, and its basic mechanism is the same as heat cramps. The basic causes are heat exposure, stress, and fatigue. (It doesn’t have to be particularly hot before heat exhaustion is a possibility — wearing multiple layers of clothing that limit the effectiveness of sweating will do the job just fine. So, if you’re out hiking, take off layers; when you stop to rest, put on layers.)

The signs and symptoms of heat exhaustion are:

Dizziness, weakness, fainting, nausea, and headache.

Onset while working in a high heat/high humidity/poor ventilation environment and sweating heavily. Infants, the elderly, and the unacclimatized may experience onset at rest.

Cold, clammy, skin; ashen pallor.

Dry tongue; thirst.

Vital signs within normal limits, although the pulse may be rapid and the diastolic blood pressure (that’s the bottom number; the pressure when the heart isn’t contracting) may be low.

Normal or slightly elevated body temperature.

What to do about all this: Take off any excessive layers of clothing, particularly around the head and neck. Get out of the hot environment (say, into the back of a nice air-conditioned ambulance). Drink a liter or so of water (slowly, so nausea doesn’t develop). Loosen restrictive clothing, lie down with your feet up, and use a fan for cooling.

I suggest that you go and read the whole article from the excellent Making Light then spend a few hours going through the archives. Although good luck trying to find an ambulance that has working air conditioning - I spent a long hot day in an LDV ambulance with the windows wound down gradually going deaf from the sirens. In a contest between hearing loss and headstroke, I guess I picked hearing loss*. Air-con seldom works in the newer ambulances either, and by the time it gets fixed there is normally snow on the ground...

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*All of which makes me laugh at the people who cower when we go past on sirens, remember folks - I'm sitting under the bloody things all day and if the air-con doesn't work I'll have the window wound down working on my 'trucker's tan'.

Powerless (1)

Reynolds — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 06:03:00 +0100

She tells me, at the start, that the reason that we have been called is that she fell over. Her friend is comforting her in the bedroom, but she's crying and her mascara is running.

"I just tripped over", she tells me.

I look her over, it seems that there is nothing too seriously wrong with her on the physical level. But still she seems upset, sitting quietly, then suddenly bursting into tears.

Her boyfriend comes with her to the hospital, he strokes her hair and tells her that it will be alright.

Something in the front of my brain tickles, his actions seem 'off' somehow - not in any way that I could describe, but in some vague way his actions ring as false.

They argue about a phone - she wants to phone her dad, he won't give her the phone.

Now it's not the front of my brain that is tickling, it's my whole body.

We get to the hospital, the triage nurse looks at her and seeing no obvious injury sends her to the minor injury waiting room. I voice my concerns, but the nurse still thinks that the waiting room is the best place for her.

It's busy and loud, not the best place for this young, tearful woman.

Before we get there she turns to me and, between sobs, tells me that she and her boyfriend were arguing and he pushed her. Pushed her hard.

I head back to the nurse, I explain that I'm really not happy to sit her out in the waiting room as she has just admitted to me this domestic abuse. The nurse now agrees and we sit her somewhere quiet.

Before I leave I crouch on my haunches in front of her and hand her a tissue, she's still crying. I offer to call the police for her, but she refuses. I tell her that the police have specially trained teams, that there are people that she can talk to. She still refuses.

The best I can do is show her how to use a hospital phone to call her father.

I leave the hospital, walking past her boyfriend who is pacing outside.

"Will she be alright?", he asks me.

"I'm sure she'll be fine", is the only answer I can give.

And inside I feel powerless.

Rebuttal

Reynolds — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 10:42:00 +0100

First off, apologies for the lack of blogging, but I've been working a 60 hour week, coupled with a two day conference and other stuff (including being contacted a lot about Nightjack - about which I appeared on Channel 4 news, but which I, myself, missed.)

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I was woken from my sleep by a text message from a friend telling me that I was in the News of the World. As far as I know the publishers hadn't planned anything with them so it was a bit of a surprise.

He sent me this picture of the article.

I was somewhat perturbed. Actually I was flaming furious. You see, despite the mistakes, it also implies other things.

For comparison you can read the original post here.

Firstly, I didn't say anything, I wrote it. Over three years ago. Hardly news. I'm also not based at the Royal London hospital - we have these things we call ambulance stations. And they get the name of the book wrong. So far not exactly quality reporting.

(And why I do have more than one blog, I think they are mixing up 'blogs' and 'posts', which while annoying is perhaps a little petty to bring up)

The ambulance arrived and took the baby to hospital (sorry 'brain bug tot'), the baby didn't travel in the neighbour's car at all.

The implication is that the baby definitely had meningitis (which it didn't) where in the actual article I try to show that it isn't meningitis. Also things have changed for the better and FRUs are waiting on scene for long times a lot less often than when I did it.

I would guess that the News of the World got hold of a copy of my book - reached page four (where this story is printed) and got no further because they smelled something they could get outraged about. Rather than, say, doing some work and seeing how busy the ambulances were that day (three years ago).

While I've never expected quality journalism from the redtops, it still surprised me how easily they twisted the facts to say what they wanted to say, while getting even the basics wrong.

The sad thing is that this sort of coverage will probably make my bosses look a little less favourably upon me, even though I had nothing to do with the paper printing it, or with putting their own spin on things.