It was another busy night on the JRU (Joint Response Unit).
This is the evening where we have one FRU per Police borough and are just tasked to Police related calls. The logic goes partly and a little something like this . . .
Passerby calls 999 re something happening – eg drunk in street. Police take up call, attend if they believe it may be relevant, also pass call to London Ambulance Service due to possible injuries/illness . . .
When a job comes down as “pool of blood on the floor”, most of the time you can dismiss this as a slight over-exaggeration on the patient’s behalf . . . most of the time. However, when it comes down as “pool of blood on the floor – 80 year old, bleeding from leg,” then it’s a safe bet to add together the metaphorical two plus two and come to the conclusion of . . . a burst varicose vein.
When these bleed . . . they bleed!
I looked down at my patient who was sat against a wall. Poor man was clearly in pain – and understandably so, after all, he’d just had his elbow clipped by a moving vehicle at approximately 40mph.
I currently have a student with me so I set about getting them to do a thorough history and examination as well as sort the poor man out with some pain relief. And of course “package” the man ready for when our Ambulance arrives. For this last part – and with a cocky wry smile – I handed my student the infamously feared – triangular bandage!
“Away you go!”
My student looked up at me with a genuine puzzled look . . . “Um . . . I’ve not used one of these things yet”.
Ah . . . ! Continue reading
The job sprung to life on the MDT – “Red 2 – Male, Unresponsive”.
This could be anything! Could be someone in a cardiac arrest! Fallen from height! RTC! Overdose! Stabbed! Shot! The endless possibilities were mind bogglingly exciting!
I checked the address . . . “Route 245*, Such-and-such Road”.
Ah, I see. It’ll be a bloke asleep on a bus then . . .
The global overview of my patient the moment I walked in instantly suggested to me he wasn’t dead, dying or even remotely close to seeing a flicker of light at the end of some metaphorical tunnel.
Phew! I thought. Guess I won’t be needing to secure a perimeter for HEMS then.
My patient sat at a table, miserably nursing a tiny graze to his forehead. A pallet of tissue paper had fallen off the back of a lorry and lightly glanced his head on the way down.
My crew mate Matt* and I stood in the kitchen waiting for our Duty Officer to deliver the final decree to the patient sat in the living room.
“. . . and that’s what we’ve decided I’m afraid Dorris**. You will be coming to hospital with us!”
THWACK!!!!
“Oooouch!”
We burst into giggles. In protest to her impending forced removal our patient had decided to express her disdain by belting our Duty Officer on his arm with one of her crutches.
