It seems that I just can’t keep away from ambulances - even on my day off.
It was Saturday night, and my friend A and I were off to a party somewhere in the midsts of the West Sector, in one of those places that I’m not convinced really exists. I should have known it was a bad idea. It was a very decadent party, with a outdoor jacuzzi, a chocolate fountain and, er, a Eurovision sweepstake. About 2am, I suddenly started to feel rather tired and needed a lie down. This may well have had something to do with the four pints of beer, bottle of wine, glass of congealed toffee/chocolate/cherry cocktail and fifty-nine vodka jellies* I had consumed.
An hour or so later, I was awakened by M, the host of the party, bellowing “MARK, MARK! A HAS CUT HIS ARM! QUICK! QUICK!”
I muttered something about plasters and pulled the duvet over my head. M was opening and shutting her mouth and there was noise coming out, but it didn’t seem to make much sense, and I hoped she would go away as each word was like a ten tonne weight dropping on my head.
“Call an ambulance! I think it’s an arterial bleed!” shouted someone else, and this finally jolted me into awakeness. “Ambulance” is obviously the magic word you need to get my attention. I staggered into the living room, and there were several thousand people running around, some of them in bikinis, flapping their arms, and throwing tea towels around the room. In the middle of the chaos, lying in a pool of blood, was A.
I decided to pretend this was all one big St John Ambulance training exercise and did all the lying down, applying pressure, raising the affected limb (A’s arm) whilst M called the ambulance.
“My friend’s here! He works in Control! Speak to him!” said M. Now, did she need to say that? I took the phone and spoke to an unimpressed sounding colleague, who asked me some questions that I knew off by heart and told me to put my dogs away, etc, etc. It all still felt like a training exercise, except for the fact that everyone in the room was completely drunk and covered in blood.
“So what exactly happened?” I finally asked. It seemed A had been heading for the jacuzzi in the garden and feeling his way along a wall. The wall had actually been a garden shed. With a window in it. A had leaned on the window, it had given way, and cut his arm to shreds. Accident!
I looked at my watch and realised it was 3am on Saturday night, which has got to be the worst possible time to call an ambulance. From experience, I know amber calls (such as this) could often be held for up to an hour at busy times, so I steeled myself for a long wait. Fortunately, we’d managed to get the bleeding under control with an assortment of tea towels, but there was no way we’d be able to get A into a cab.
Then M’s phone went. It was Control, presumably the FRU desk. I thought they would be ringing to let us know about the delay, but no, they had someone on the way. They just wanted to check how the accident had happened, because “Fell into garden shed getting out of jacuzzi” could well be a cover up for “Violent nutter punched garden shed in rage. Likes murdering ambulance crews”. I assured them that A was not a violent nutter, just a clumsy, drunken fool and they seemed to believe me. A couple of minutes later, blue flashing lights appeared and in walked Mr FRU Guy. At this point, everyone started pretending to be sober, like a bunch of 16 year olds caught drinking by their parents. We were not convincing, especially as M started asking Mr FRU Guy if he knew Reynolds or Martin and Tim from Trauma and I told him I worked in Control and asked if he had had his meal break yet. He did a sterling job of humouring us whilst simultaneously bandaging A’s arm. Mr FRU Guy also suspected an arterial bleed and rang Control to see where the ambulance was. Five seconds later, one appeared! I was well impressed.
A and I were bundled into the back of the ambulance and taken to the local hospital. I was amazed to find the A+E was practically deserted and he was seen straight away! We thanked the ambulance crew and bade them farewell (I pointed out that cleaning A’s blood from the back of the vehicle would take them just past their meal break window - how convenient!) and then I got to watch what happened next, which obviously is something you don’t see if you’re out as an observer. First of all, they sent A off for an x-ray to make sure there was no glass in the wound, then a billion doctors and nurses gathered round and stitched up the wounds. By this point, they knew the bleed was not arterial as FRU Guy’s bandage had controlled the bleeding. A was given a bandage and a sling. Everyone was very efficient and we were out of hospital by 5am, two hours after the accident happened. So don’t believe what you are told about the state of the NHS, everything is fine so long as you live in the West Sector!
A and I then realised we were the wrong side of London at 5am and that in the panic I had left half my possessions, including my coat, at M’s house, so we were forced to call a cab. The cab driver didn’t speak English and drove about ten miles past our exit on the North Circular before I managed to communicate the message “Too far! Turn back!” to him. He then tried to charge us extra because he got lost!
All in all, as much as I love to get out there and ride on the ambulances, this was neither the time nor the place and I will be glad to be back where I belong, dispatching them, tonight. Many thanks to my colleagues in control, Mr FRU, The Ambulance Crew and all the staff at West Sector Hospital A+E for their brilliant work and putting up with us!
Nee Naw does not encourage binge drinking. Always enjoy vodka jellies in moderation.
