Entering the flat, the general state of disrepair, mess and the 3-litre bottle of strong cider I tripped over tended to give the impression that it was owned by an alcoholic. We got into the living room to find a large man lying senseless on the floor, while his daughter was sat over him stroking his hand, trying to reassure him. A quick check over, some oxygen and a chat with his daughter revealed a history of alcoholism (surprise!) and the occasional alcoholic fit. He was a big man, so we packaged him up in our carry-chair and carried him down three flights of stairs. All the time his daughter was saying how strong the nice ambulance men were – which only goes to show that she wasn’t paying attention to my reddening face and struggles for breath …
We got the patient into the back of the ambulance where he started to fit again, this time lasting about 2 minutes. He also decided to bite his tongue and vomit, which meant that the back of the ambulance (and myself in some part) was covered in bloody, cider-smelling vomit. I think I’ve mentioned before how I can’t smell alcohol on someone’s breath, yet I can smell cider when it has been vomited all over my ambulance … and it turns my stomach. We packaged him up and ‘blued’ him into Newham, where he had another two fits (despite some rather strong sedation) and by the end of our shift he was still in Resus’ having infusions of phenytoin and Pabrinex.
So, a busy night without the chance to see our station, with at least one mopping out of the ambulance … pretty standard really.
The vomit in the ambulance took place at the end of our shift, so we couldn’t even get back to station to use the mop. Unfortunately, with the increased number of calls we have, getting back to station is becoming rarer than ever.
Yes, I know I’ve written before about kicking down doors. However, in this post I offer people advice in making the beating down of their door as hard as possible. So please excuse the repetition. Like all good health-care professionals I regularly ignore my own advice.
There is a visceral pleasure in kicking down a door. Once or twice I’ve managed to see someone who is really ill trapped behind a locked door, occasionally there has been someone who has just been unable to open the door. And just the once I have kicked down a door that the patient refused to open because they were schizophrenic and didn’t want to open the door – not that I knew that at the time.
I’ve even been surprised at the ease in which I can kick down the doors of the flats that I live in. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that I am scared with the ease in which the doors can be broken. Oh well, it’s not as if I have a lot to steal anyway …
My experience of kicking down doors has taught me which security features are useful when trying to prevent someone from stealing your TV and video.
If you have a deadlock-type lock, then use it – always. The skill of kicking down a door relies on breaking either the lock, or the wood holding the lock; deadbolt-type locks are a lot more secure than the normal Yale type lock.
If you are in the house and have a bolt on the door, then use it. It takes a lot longer to kick down a door when there is a bolt in the way. Another trick behind kicking down a door relies on applying the force of your kick to the (hopefully) single point of resistance. If there is a bolt at the top or the bottom of the door it makes it a lot trickier to break that door.
Windows in the door are a bad idea – they are a weak point that can be easily broken, and then a skinny hand can reach through and unlock the door.
If you really want to be safe then have a bar across the door. I’ve seen it once or twice, and if someone has a bar across the door then there is no way I’d be able to break that door down. Just make sure you don’t collapse behind it.
One of the perks of this job is the need to cover football games. Well … it’s a perk if you enjoy seeing your local team play. Personally, I can’t stand football but overtime is overtime, and it does make a nice change from the usual jobs I go to. So, this Sunday I got to see West Ham play against Derby.
The LAS provide ‘Major Incident’ cover for these games, we don’t look at sprained ankles or minor injuries (that is the job of the St John’s ambulance). We also don’t look after the players who get hacked down and are unable to walk, only to watch them turning somersaults a scant 5 minutes later when their team scores a goal (that is a job for the private medical firms).
So, unless a stand collapses, there is a major fire, a bomb goes off or someone drops dead in front of us, there is very little we have to do. At the West Ham ground (my local football club), there are four ‘road crew’ present, along with at least one major incident support vehicle, one radio operator and an officer. The road crew sit down near the pitch, while the officer and radio operator sit in a VIP box overlooking the whole ground.
Today I was given the role of ‘safety officer’, which doesn’t mean I’ve been promoted, it just means that in the event of a major incident, I’m supposed to watch out for the safety of the ambulance crews present, liaise with the police and fire service about any hazards that might be a problem, and to make sure that any crews that attend the incident are not getting too stressed. I also have to talk to the person in overall control at the incident about any issues within this sphere that may occur.
We were warned that there was an increased chance of violence at this match because some hooligan ‘supporters’ were appearing before the magistrate tomorrow, and that some of their ‘crew’ might want to cause some trouble. Luckily for us, that did not happen, despite a 2–1 loss.
It was really cold down there in the stands, I had my undershirt, shirt, body armour, fleece and hi-visibility all-weather jacket on, but I was still freezing. Anyone listening carefully as I walked around trying to keep warm would have heard a clink-clink-clink-clink sound as my frozen balls knocked together.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not a huge fan of football (overpaid idiots, getting more money in a week than I get paid in a year for booting around a plastic ball), so I spent most of the match listening to music (The Magnetic Fields) on my smart-phone, while stamping around trying to get some sensation back in my toes.
As a quick aside, who needs an iPod Shuffle? My smart-phone can do the same thing and more – it can even make phone calls …
Half-time came and went so we joined the St John’s Ambulance for a cup of tea and a sandwich, rather than watch a bunch of scantily clad young women prance about. Then we were back in the cold, where I tried to stay awake while West Ham, perhaps predictably, lost …
With the exception of someone having a crafty cigarette and setting off a fire alarm, it all went rather smoothly. I did find it funny that the people in the stadium knew what the ‘Inspector Sands’ announcement meant, and did nothing but laugh quietly at it.
At the end of the match we have to stay around until we are ‘stood down’ as the last few supporters leave, so we sat in the ambulance, with the heater going, wrapped in our own blankets (remember, we know what those blankets have been wrapped around, yet we still used them – that is how cold it was).
We then started making our way back to station …
… to come across a policeman who had tried to stop a car – only to have them speed up (possibly accidentally) and hit him. He