Reservoir Dogs

Having hosted a great guest blog by Binder Smiff from Not-On-My-Shift.org a few weeks ago, he kindly gave me the opportunity to share my ramblings over on his blog! He wanted humour and buffoonery as a vague theme, and seeing as being a buffoon is a speciality of mine, it wasn't to hard to find something relevant! Anyway, this was my guest post! Enjoy!

"84 year old male, chest pain"

It was student season. For 4-5 weeks the university students were chucked out from the comfort of their lecture rooms to the unforgiving shift patterns of their respective mentors. It is during this time they home their skills and learn how to take a patient history, diagnose conditions and talk to people. Of course, always under the watchful eyes of one of us! I remember being chucked into the deep end all those years ago. staring blankly at an expectant patient and not having a clue what to say, there were so many awkward silences! It's just part of the learning process. 

We headed off to this particular non-descript chest pain and one route discussed what relevant questions should be asked. Chest pains are a very common call to go to and as such, it is one of the first things that students get well accomplished at doing. However, as today proved, it is often far too easy to get overly focused on one thing, and not looking at the big picture! 

The door to the care home was eventually opened and we headed in! It always amazes just how long it takes them, despite having called 999 and presumably expecting an ambulance to arrive! We followed the carer upstairs and were presented with our patient, who was lying on the floor! To me, it was painfully obvious why we were called. To me, the injury was obvious, as was the fact they had said chest pain just to ensure a quick ambulance. To the student, it was a chest pain lying on the floor and so the history taking began! 

To their credit it was an excellent example of history taking for a patient with chest pain. Unfortunately, they were concentrating so hard on trying to establish the history via the dementia patient's carer and his confused responses that they neglected to focus on what I felt was glaringly obvious. Not wanting to rain on the parade I allowed it to continue for a few moments. I turned to the carer and quietly asked her to get me a few things that I would be needing! (All will be revealed)

"So, from the top, tell me what we have?"

"Frank had an unwitnessed fall, unknown loss of consciousness and now has some discomfort in his chest, not radiating anywhere, says it feels heavy."

"Anything else?"

"Should I do an ECG?"

"Yes, that's probably a good idea. However, perhaps address the fact that his EAR isn't attached to his head first."

The student glanced with horror towards the patients head, and clearly for the first time, realised that lying next to his head in a small pool of blood was his ear. Completely severed. The look I was given was of distraught fear. On cue the carer arrived with 2 sandwich bags, 1 empty and 1 full of ice that I'd asked for.

"Can you pass me the ear please?" I said with a smile on my face. 

I thought it was about to be an ear covered in vomit! Apprehensively the ear was picked up and handed to me. 

So, there I was, standing in a care home, a student kneeling in front of me almost in tears, a patient lying on the floor grinning like the cheshire cat having a whale of a time and I was holding his ear in my hand. I couldn't help but think I was just a cut-throat razor away from Reservoir Dogs! It was most surreal. I popped the ear onto a sterile non stick dressing and put it in a sandwich bag. I then put that in the bag of ice.

"OK, from the top, what's the plan now?!"

"A dressing?"

"Excellent!"

Our patient, who was in no discomfort, was promptly wrapped in a bandage and thoroughly checked for more injuries. I couldn't help but ask the student to check for any more missing body parts to which they just glared at me. The ambulance arrived, an excellent handover was given and we left for a debrief in the car! 

The student felt awful. Part of me felt cruel for allowing it to go on as it did. The other part thoroughly enjoyed it! We have all been there when we were new and naive. It's easy to miss the blindingly obvious when our minds are telling us to look for something else. The first thing that went through my head as I entered the room was "WHY THE F**K IS HIS EAR ON THE FLOOR AND WHY DIDN'T THEY MENTION IT?!". Clearly, the first thing on the students mind as we walked through the door was "Chest pain, chest pain. chest pain!". 

It served as a valuable reminder that looking AT the patient is always a good place to start. Things are rarely as we expect to find them and despite being taught to expect the unexpected, the student fully expected to find a man with chest pain, not a modern day Vincent Van Gogh. I have no doubt, missing body parts will never be overlooked again! 

Super Strength Batteries

I've been blogging a few years now, and in that time I've had many a guest blog. However, I've never had one from a fellow ambulance blogger! To be honest I don't read many blogs, least of all ambulance ones. I just don't have enough time! However, I recently made contact with Binder, from not-on-my-shift.org after discovering his gem of a blog on Facebook! Despite having been blogging longer than me, I'd never seen it! I also saw his glowing recommendation for me, so felt compelled to make contact and say hello! (seriously, go and read ALL of his blog, it will have you laughing hard!)

To cut a long story short, a week later, I was in a harness, attached to a rope, and stuck 30ft up a wall hanging on for dear life. Far below me, was Binder, trying to convince me that letting go of the wall was a good idea. After a discussion with my inner psyche, I finally made peace with the fact I was sure to die, and let go of the wall. To my surprise, I didn't plummet to my death, I just hung there. Moments later I was back on the ground, stood next to a grinning Binder ready to go again. 

The afternoon passed with the exchange of war stories and as with most conversations between paramedics, it ended up being about foreign body insertions! EMS Rule #97 states that: 'Fellow paramedics always have a better story than yours.' Well ain't that the truth! I felt this story needed sharing, and who better to do it, than Binder himself! So, with all the pomp and circumstance it deserves, and without any further ado, I introduce my friend and colleague, Binder, author of not-on-my-shift.org.

Enjoy! 

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Super Strength Batteries

"You can feel it going . . . go on, have a feel" She said through tears and gritted teeth.

I placed my hand on her tiny stomach and sure enough, I could feel it . . . .

BZZZZZZZZ - BZZZZZZZZ - BZZZZZZZZ - BZZZZZZZZ - BZZZZZZZZ 

"Wow!" I said, genuinely impressed. I looked back up at our patient and smiled . . . not that this helped in any way. You see, our patient had managed to get a vibrator stuck in her rectum - and it was switched on at full speed.

She certainly was in a tizz. Tears were streaming down her face as she fought off vibrations from within and tried to bear down and force “it” out. Every now and then her hapless "partner" received a flurry of abuse and bore the brunt of her frustrations.

"You ARSEHOLE Peter*!! Super strength batteries!??? Super strength batteries!!?? Why'd you have to use SUPER STRENGTH FUCKING BATTERIES!! Oh GOD!!!"

We stood there slightly bewildered and somewhat superfluous to the poor woman's needs. Every time we'd try and calm her and make her as relaxed as she possibly could be - under the circumstances - she just burst out into a torrent of abuse aimed at her partner and then repeated another attempt at trying to get the vibrator out.

"Can you help me?!" she pleaded, squatting down and reaching round with one hand, "I mean, it's not going to go anywhere else is it?"

"No, I don't think so," I said, "you just need to relax more . . . sort of, let nature take it's course"

"I've drunk shit loads of the Colace, do you think that will help?"

"Um . . . "

"Look," she went red in the face as she bore down extra hard, ". . . I'm sure I can get it out, can you . . . Peter! PETER! PETER, you BASTARD!!"

Peter's muffled response came from within one of the cupboards, "What?!"

"GET THE FUCKING CRISP-N-DRY!!! I think I can . . . "

"Look," the other FRU said, "I think it's best we just pop you up the Hospital eh Tara*. We're not getting anywhere here are we. And I think it best a Doctor has a look yeh? Especially as you say Peter put in super strength batteries"

"Hospital?! Oh god no!" In between gritted teeth, a red face and streaming eyes, Tara gave us all wink and a smile, "I bet you lot are loving this aren't you!"

"No. Of course not Tara" We all shook our heads over theatrically.

Tara sighed deeply as if resigned to her lot, "Right . . . come on then! Let's go"

So, with a little assistance and a muffled BZZZZZZZ - BZZZZZZZ coming from her bellie we helped Tara onto the ambulance and left the crew to it. The Hospital were simply going to love this one.

Binder

*not their real names of course

Binder Smiff (2 f's)

www.not-on-my-shift.org
A Paramedic Blog
"When life-saving adventure meets fiction! . . . . well, definitely more fiction really"

Can I Go Down There?

It is with great pleasure that I open the floor to my first Facepalm Friday guest post! This week I welcome the award winning, much revered, mental health guru that is @MentalHealthCop from MentalHealthCop! It occurred to me that all the emergency services interact with the public and therefor, we all come across candidates for the Darwin award on a daily basis! This comedy gem from Inspector Michael Brown is from his earlier days as a police officer. At a guess, it was probably in the late 1870's! ;-) 

"Adult male, wanting to go down there" 

I found the Friday Facepalm idea intriguing! - 999 services see human stupidity on an epic scale and we've all got these stories, but my blog doesn't lend itself easily to letting off the necessary steam around them.  Thanks to Ella, I have offloaded some major stress from my early career.

Well over ten years ago, I was a front-line PC in Birmingham.  My partner and I were called to a gas explosion on a very small traffic island where four approach roads intersected.  A engineer for a telecoms company had been working on underground pipes / cables, on the pavement which rounded the corner of two of those approach roads and had managed to ignite gas by cutting electrical wires.  The subsequent blast singed his hair without causing major injury and sent a thirty foot high flame into the sky.

An early Facepalm! for the engineer - but this is merely incidental to the stupidity that followed.

All three 999 services went down there: Ella's lot were helping the engineer change his underwear whilst Simon and Dennis were using their hoses to put out the fires caused to trees and bushes as the gas plume licked back and forth in the wind, torching anything within it's reach.  The only way to stop the plume of burning gas was to get the gas company to dig up the road around fifty metres away and isolate the supply - this would take hours so we were asked to support cordons on the roads and pavements for public safety.

The fire truck blocked one road, the police car another and the two less frequently used approaches were taped off.  There were two cops and a few fire officers to keep saying "No" to the question that always gets asked on these occasions -

It's been the since human pre-history that when you put a cordon on something, some members of the public will still ask "Can I go down there?"  It's important to understand I'd managed nearly two hours of "Can I go down there?" whilst sweating profusely on a what was already a very hot day, underneath a thirty foot plume of burning gas and we'd had to get another patrol to drop cold drinks up to us because it was quite demanding.  So to say I was a bit tetchy about "Can I go down there?" is to understate things.

The clue is:  my police car is across the road with blue lights flashing, we've taped off the road and you can see highly dangerous flames burning brightly and gently toasting us all.  They're licking backwards and forwards fairly unpredictably and there are fire personnel putting out fires as quickly as they can each time one starts.  You've probably seen other people approaching us who ended up heading back the way they came, so what do you think the odds are that you can "just go down there?"

Then happened one of the most unbelievable things I have ever seen - I will remember this until I die:  on the less often used approach, which was taped off and kept in view, but where no-one was permanently standing, a suddenly saw a young boy approach the tape and lift it in the middle. There was a Mercedes in the road, facing me and the boy looked like he was attempting to allow the car underneath the tape. Hang on: that car is slowly moving FORWARD!!

Stop!! 

*Double Facepalm!*

I ran from the opposite, busier cordon shouting "No!"  The vehicle's bonnet was under the tape, the tape stretching across the windscreen and the boy trying to lift it higher as the car inched slowly forward. There was a hairy arm out of the driver's door also attempting to force the tape higher and flick it over the height of the roof.  "Stop!"  The vehicle was approaching the roundabout on the side where the plume of flames was nearest.  Surely he can see it?!  The fire engine was to the right hand side and he could see it from where his car was and both Simon and Dennis were waving frantically in between planning their second jobs and having a snooze.

"What on earth do think you're doing?" I enquired.  "I live up there." he said, implying outrageous unreasonableness on my part.  The wind blew the flames towards us and I felt the temperature really increase before subsiding as the wind dropped.

"Can't you see the tape, the explosion, the blue lights?" 

"But I live up there!"

"It doesn't matter,  Sir - this road is CLOSED!"

"But I live ... just there!!"

"So find another way around, but this road is closed."

"This is ridiculous - I can just drive on the opposite side of the roundabout.  I'll be home in seconds."

"No you won't - because THIS ROAD - IS CLOSED!"

"You're being obtuse, officer."

"If we're offering viewpoints - I have one about using your son to lift police tape without permission and pushing him into demarked areas of extreme danger.  Shall we talk about that?"

"It can't be that dangerous ... they're letting you move about in it."

"They also let me arrest violent criminals, Sir - I'm guessing you don't want your son doing that either?"

"Fair point."

It took the threat of prosecution to get him to reverse and find another way.  I walked up to his house - it was just fifty yards beyond the opposite cordon and gave the appropriate advice.  I think I had hoped he would have realised the main learning opportunities from this encounter.  It amazed me to find he was still furious for the extra five minutes on his journey.  He informed me of that he would be complaining about my attitude and would like to speak to the duty inspector in respect of the complaints procedure.  Fortunately, Carlsberg do make duty inspectors - a man on whom I've modelled my very own approach to that job.

*Triple Faceplam* - the scale of fail.

Blue Light Taxonomy

Following on from my last blog '21 Miles' I thought it would be appropriate to share this is a fabulous post by Bobby McPeel, a Police Office and blogger who I have recently discovered! I go on and on about peoples bad driving and bizarre actions when confronted with a big yellow ambulance, flashing blue lights and sirens. Bobby McPeel sums up what they do perfectly. It may be police cars but peoples reactions are the same. Please just thing back to your highway code or 'Drivers: Take Note'! No where does it say slam on your breaks in the middle of a duel carriageway! Anyway I hope you enjoy this post as much as I did!

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Blue Light Taxonomy

Blue flashing lights and sirens on an emergency vehicles often cause other drivers to do strange and crazy things. Over the years I have developed my own classification system for different drivers.

THE KERB CRUNCHER

Upon seeing blue lights in their rear view mirror, this driver mounts the kerb or verge, regardless of the capability of their vehicle for off-road pursuits, and often to the horror of a passing pedestrian.

THE TWITCHER

This driver pootles along without a care in the world until a big noisy police car appears from behind them. This will result in a ‘twitch of recognition’ which essentially is a reflex action involving a sharp turn of the steering wheel to the left, combined with the application of the brakes, causing the car to come to an abrupt halt. Often accompanied with a look of panic or shock.

THE DRIFTER

A motorist who neither stops to pull over, nor maintains a reasonable speed. These are the most awkward and infuriating to pass because they gradually slow down, or ease off the gas a little and drift into a crawl, usually on a left hand bend or the brow of a hill, or directly opposite a vehicle coming the other way

THE STAMPER

Similar to the Twitcher but without the steering element. When glancing in their rear view mirror the driver will ”stamp” on the brake pedal, bringing the car to an immediate halt, usually in the middle of the road. Keeps the police driver on their toes and tests their reflexes to the limit.

THE DAYDREAMER

No amount of blue strobe lights, siren changes, headlight flashing or gesticulating will wake this driver from their road slumber, nor deter them from their chosen course. Mirrors come as optional extras on their vehicles and many drive white vans.

THE LEAPFROGGER

A very distinctive driver who will see a car in front pull to the side of the road, not think to check behind, and overtake the car that has stopped, right into the path of the approaching police vehicle that will take evasive action. On occasion two of this species will meet at the same point, resulting multiple leapfrogging.

THE WEAVER

An indecisive and unpredictable motorist who can’t decide which way to go at the sight of a police car to the rear. A bit like a confused rabbit, darting left and right in a state of panic.

THE CHANCER

This particular driver exhibits a variety of different behaviours. Some will take the opportunity of a police vehicle passing by and use the gaps in the gaps created in the traffic for their own gain. Others will commit a wide range of traffic offences right under the nose of the passing police officers, in the knowledge that they probably won’t be stopped – although sometimes the police have the last laugh and will come knocking later on!

There is a serious point to this article. Drivers should be aware of their surroundings whilst on the road and be ready to react safely and sensibly when an emergency vehicle is approaching. There is an excellent video that gives guidance on how to react to emergency vehicles:

You can follow Bobby McPeel on Twitter or go and check out his great blog!

A Guardian Angel

Right! I have been very busy of late, and it's not going to get much better for a while yet so to help me out I have asked a few people to guest blog for me. It is with great pleasure that I can introduce one of my favourite bloggers, Mammy Woo! She never fails to put a smile on my face even when writing about a serious subject! She is pure gold! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did!

A Guardian Angel

‘Do you want me to call an ambulance?’

‘No. Honestly it’s fine. I will be fine. Honest.’

‘Are you sure? Your hand was just on fire.’

‘Oh…good point, but no, I don’t want to waste their time you know? They are probably really busy.’

‘Lexy. Your hand was just On. Fire! I am calling an ambulance!’

I don’t remember much after that but apparently I projectile vomited all over the kitchen, before ‘kind of’ folding all in on myself like one of those wavy moments from Scooby doo and falling head first in to the oven.

Unfortunately, bouncing off a metal kitchen appliance on the way down to meet the grimy lino meant that not only had I managed to unceremoniously catch my hand on fire while making dinner but I had also inadvertently cracked my skull open which resulted in quite severe cooking related concussion. This is why I now refuse to cook!

When I woke up/came around 2 people dressed from head to toe in green and yellow, one of them who’s name was John, I remember, were tending to my hand and the smell of sick and burning flesh made me vomit again.

I then apologized for wasting their time, before passing out again, but not before catching a glimpse of the bloke I had been cooking dinner for, high tailing it out of the door at the speed of a bullet, never to be seen again.

Worst. First. Date. Ever.

And I didn’t even get any Gas and Air.

On a non-descript Wednesday evening on the fifth day of May in the year of 1996, my life journey with Salford Royal Ambulance service commenced. By ’Journey.’ I do not mean I work for the ambulance service, oh no! I’m crap in an emergency to be honest, so even if I did want to work for the ambulance service, which I would love to, I wouldn’t be able to. I tend to just freeze you see, and kind of just stare off in to the distance, in highly tense situations.

That’s why I hate it when I am alone with my two year old and he purposely starts to choke (so inconsiderate to my crapness!) or decides to climb and then jump off a 90ft tree or something (I WAS watching him! I was immobilized!) and also why I refuse to drive on the M6 in rush hour.

I would however like the perks of working for the ambulance service. Mainly the never-ending supply of gas and air, I love gas and air. It’s seriously the only reason I am considering labour again.

Honest.

Anyway. Moving on.

My burnt wrist had only just recovered from a skin graft when my best friend was forced in to action, on my behalf.

‘999 what is your emergency please?’

‘My best friend just fell off a tram stop.’

‘A tram stop?’

‘Yes. A tram stop.’

‘A tram stop?’

‘Yeah. She was trying to impress this guy stood next to us and fake laughed to try and get his attention. Thing is, she didn’t realise the edge was right behind her and she took a giant step back as she flicked her hair. She hasn’t been squashed by a tram or anything…. Yet…’

‘Is she laying on the track?’

‘No she has kind of…Slithered out of the way of potential oncoming trams.’

‘Has she been drinking?’

‘I know you are probably expecting me to say yes right now. But no, she hasn’t!’

The ambulance people were called Elizabeth and John. They weren’t convinced I wasn’t drunk. But really, I wasn’t! I was just in agony, and right before I vomited all over them, they told me my wrist was definitely broken. As it turned out I had minor concussion and had broken my wrist in 3 places!

Worst. Way. To. Try. And. Impress. A. Guy. Ever.

And also? I still didn’t get any gas and air.

Four months later I was visiting my dad, having chosen to head for a nice, relaxing holiday in Spain, to get over my accident, and with my hand still in a cast and 19 pins holding my life together, I pressed the outside gate buzzer to let my dad in. He had been out shopping to get us ice cream. He waved down at me holding a Cornetto from the top of the hill, put the car in to gear and then proceeded to drive down the hill towards me at full speed.

‘What are you doing?’ 

I screamed in shock, only just managing to jump out of the way. His face was deeply panicked as he glanced at me in horror, a memory I will never forget, as the jeep careened past me at 60 MPH and glided, like a falling tank may glide, off a deep ravine. I remember turning to watch and clutching my heart as it seemed to just hang in mid air, stopped in time for a split second, before rolling downwards and out of sight, carrying my beautiful dad with it.

It was a couple of seconds before I sprang in to action and realised the person who was hysterically screaming, was in fact, me.

‘Helicopteros Sanitarios, como os puede ayudar?’

‘It’s my dad!! He has driven off a cliff!’

‘Wait… what?’

‘My dad just drove off a cliff! We need a helicopter! The breaks must have failed and he just drove over the edge! I saw the whole thing. Oh my god… his face!!! You have to come. YOU HAVE TO COME NOW!!! There is no way you will get an ambulance up this mountain; we need the helicopter, PLEASE COME! I can’t help him; I have pins in my arm! Oh my god! Please come! I think I am going to be sick!’

‘Your dad drove off a cliff?’

‘Yes!’

‘Is he ok? Wait… why do you have pins in your arm? Are you injured too?’

‘Forget about me! I am always injured! It’s my dad! I can’t see him!!! Oh my god, the car is at the bottom! It rolled over and over and again! Please come!’

‘How high is the cliff?’

‘It’s about 160 feet!’

‘We are on our way!’

The ambulance people were called Antonio, Sergio and Raul. They saved my dad’s life in the back of that helicopter. Twice. They said they couldn’t believe he wasn’t dead. They said he must have a guardian angel. I extended my stay so I could look after him. With one hand.

Worst. Relaxing. Holiday. Ever.

And no. I STILL didn’t get any gas and air.

2 months after returning from Spain, having had my wrist removed from a cast, I decided I was fat, and it was about time I did something about it.

‘999 what is your emergency?’

'A girl in the gym has passed out. There is blood everywhere.’

‘What has happened?’

‘She doesn’t want an ambulance but she definitely needs one! She was running on the treadmill, I saw the whole thing.’

‘What is the nature of her injury?’

‘She just stopped running!! I think she fainted! The treadmill fired her off the back of it like a rag doll and she flew head first at the bike I was riding!! I think she has given me whiplash!’

The ambulance people were called Anne Marie and John. Worryingly John addressed me by my first name before I had even removed the ice pack from my face.

‘I knew it would be you.’ He stated, his eyes dancing. ‘Please don’t be sick on me this time!’

I didn’t respond. I was too busy digging a hole to Australia. Two black eyes, a broken nose and a broken jaw resulted in me losing quite a bit of weight actually. It’s hard to eat chocolate with your mouth wired together. I never stepped foot in that gym again.

And no. I STILL DIDN’T GET ANY GAS AND AIR!

It wasn’t long after that, that I stopped leaving the house all together, much to the relief of my now boyfriend. Well, he was relieved… until I got pregnant. Have you ever wondered what happens when the most accident-prone person on the planet gets pregnant?

‘999 what is your emergency?’

‘My girlfriend thinks her waters have gone. She had a turkey sandwich for lunch and she has been vomiting. Also she says please don’t send John, I don’t know what that means?!’

The ambulance lady was lovely as she dropped me off at the maternity unit and the midwife explained in front of her, that I had just peed due to relaxed pelvic floor and strenuous vomiting.

‘999 what is your emergency?’

‘My girlfriend thinks her waters have gone. She hasn’t been sick this time and it is her due date. We were going to drive to the hospital but she says she is in agony and I can’t drive!’

The ambulance man (GOD DAMN JOHN!) was very understanding when he dropped me off at the maternity unit and the midwife explained, ONCE AGAIN, I wasn’t in labour but had ONCE AGAIN, just peed due to a relaxed pelvic floor which had probably been aggravated by strenuous sex. (We were trying to induce labour!!!) I vowed never to call an ambulance again. Or at the VERY least move to the Outer HEBREDIES.

Pregnancy? It turns out, is not so magical, and also, it completely steals your dignity. Not that I had much to cling on to! But still! Not only did exploding in to the world of motherhood leave me with weak pelvic muscles (that may be an understatement) but unfortunately for all of us involved, it also brought with it a most unexpected and horrific illness, by the name of Post Natal Depression.

‘999 what is your emergency?’

‘My girlfriend has taken an overdose. Please hurry up. Please hurry up..’

‘Is she breathing?’

‘Barely. Please hurry up.’

‘Ok. Stay calm. We are on our way.’

‘Oh my god, please hurry up! She is dying. She isn’t breathing. Please hurry up!'

'Oh my god. No no no! Please hurry up. SEND JOHN!’ 

I do not know the names of the paramedics who saved my life. I do not know if John turned up or not and if I was sick on him again and I do not remember anything for weeks after that.

But I do know this.

The paramedics saved my life in the hallway of my house.

‘999 Emergency what is the purpose of your call?’

I would like to say thank you for cooling my fingers, for holding my wrist together, for saving my dad’s life, for not jumping back when I puked on you and for never making me feel like I was wasting your time. But mostly I would like to thank you for saving my life. My 2 year old would also like to thank you for saving his mummy and his granddad.

What you do? Is inspiring.

Thank you.

Now.

Send me some freaking gas and air!

I clearly deserve it.

Sick Note

"Four weeks off sick....for medics"

This was the headline that The Sun decided to go with today. Simple and to the point! Us 'medics' have  four weeks off sick each year (on average). How dare we?!

"AMBULANCE staff averaged more than FOUR WEEKS’ sick leave each last year, shock statistics revealed yesterday. 

The figure of 22.6 days is FIVE TIMES the norm for UK workers.

In all 405,000 days were lost among 17,922 qualified staff, NHS Information Centre data shows. 

East Midlands Ambulance Service had the highest sickness rate of all with 6.73 per cent of working hours lost. 

NHS sources said many paramedics took time off for stress after being forced to deal with traumatic incidents.

Jonathan Fox of the ambulance workers’ union said they faced soaring call-outs and a pay freeze. He added: “It’s a culture of take, take with very little understanding.”

Overall, NHS staff were ill for 15.56million days — an average of 15 days each. That far exceeds the 4.5 days national average.

Hospital doctors took the fewest sickies — an average of 4.2 days. 

The Health Department wants to cut sick days by a third by March to save £555million a year."

by Emily Ashton, Journalist

Dear Emily Ashton

What an insightful, well researched,  utterly pointless article! Would it not be an idea to ask WHY?! WHY is our sick leave five times the national average? WHY are we going off with stress? These SHOCKING statistics about the NASTY NHS workers must mean we are a bunch of lazy money grabbers surely? Why else publish the article? I wonder what kind of hours you, the writer of this scholary article, work? I wonder what you see on a day-to-day basis? I wonder what physical exertion your body is put through? I wonder how many night shifts you do? I wonder how many times you have been punched, kicked, spat at, beaten, sworn at, vomited over and pissed on? I wonder how many dead babies you have held in the last 12 months?

Guess what Emily Ashton; in the past 12 months I have had almost 11 weeks off work! Write about that. Write about how naughty I am. Write about how I am a scourge on the NHS budget. Write about what a SHOCKING amount of time off this really is! I must add though, when you do, can you also write about the guy who beat me and four 999 colleagues over the head with a fence post? Make sure you highlight how many bones were broken. In fact, while you are on that subject, why not write about every single member of the NHS who has had time off after being physically assaulted by the drunken taxpayer. They do pay our wages after all eh?!

Once you have finished writing about the broken bones and abuse, why not write a little paragraph about shift work?

Why not tell everyone about the 12 hour shifts we do? Why not discuss the changing from early shifts to night shifts, every single week? Why not talk about 70-80 hour weeks we do? Why not talk about doing all of those shifts without a break or a hot meal? Then if you could highlight that we do all of those hours around SICK PEOPLE! Yes, people sometimes call ambulances because they are ill. They have infections, contagious diseases; they cough, vomit, and they spit. Why not talk about the NHS workers who have been off sick after being exposed to HIV blood? Wouldn't that stress you out?

Talking of stress, why not write a list of what we all see on a day to day basis? Would this not affect you?:

• Seeing a dead 7 year old in a bath
• Delivering a full term dead baby
• Delivering a 21 week old foetus
• Trying to resuscitate an 18 year old who'd fallen 4 storeys
• Seeing a family of 4 dead in a car
• Seeing our elderly neglected
• Losing count of the number of dead bodies you've seen
• Seeing bones sticking out of limbs
• Watching a teenager bleed to dead after being stabbed.
• Finding a desperate soul hanging in front of you.

Would any of this keep you awake at night? Would it stress you out? Maybe not, maybe you're thick skinned. 

I thought I had you there! How about after a 70 hour week, with little sleep, holding a dead baby and being assaulted at least once, you would also then be expected to carry a 30 stone patient down the stairs, oh and wait, there are some stairs to go up too?! Now carry all 10 patients for that one shift, whilst tired, having not eaten, having not had a break? Had enough yet? No? Good because luckily you only have half a day off and then you are back on, for an early shift, after a run of five 12 hour nights.

I think only 4 weeks off is a bloody miracle. Sure, there are a few who take the piss and abuse the system, but there are people in every walk of life that do that. I bet there are even people going around calling themselves journalists.....write about that scandal. Perhaps instead of berating us for the SHOCKING amount of sick leave, you should look at why and write an article about THAT instead. Maybe the Department of Health should look at your findings on that, before trying to cut sick leave by a third. Oh, one more thing, we do all of the above for less than £10 an hour. Living the dream.

Lots of love, from your biggest fan

Ella x