WE ALWAYS TRIED TO GO THE EXTRA MILE

I cannot reveal, or show, this lady patient in the wheelchair, but let's call her Doris. She was loved by all the ambulance crews.

 Sadly Doris is no longer with us. She was one of my favourite patients, amongst many, and I collected her from a nursing home three times a week to take to a nearby hospital for kidney dialysis.  Doris was wheelchair bound but could be transferred to a seat with some assistance.  

She was one of 6 patients I transferred three times a week and it became quite a social occasion for them, although obviously all of them would prefer to have normally functioning kidneys. 

After four hours on dialysis machines I took them all back home again, spending those four hours amusing myself at the seaside, sometimes enjoying the beautiful countryside and walking around my favourite lake. It was a great job! Wasn't I lucky to do this for two years before I went onto other duries.

I always took Doris home first, since she lived nearest to the hospital and at the nursing home they became quite fond of me; always offering me some cake and a cup of tea and staying for a chat and a joke.  

Must be the lad's charm, working!

Doris was a very likeable lady, always smiling and making the best if things - she was born and lived at the seaside town an longed to see more of the sea front, since there was no-one available to take her.  I made sure that was put right so I arrived 10 minutes early next day and treated her to a slow journey right across the entire sea front and back again,  She could see it perfectly from the ambulance and as an extra treat I drove onto the sands on a nearby beach so she could see  a grand view of the pier. Then we drove to the dialysis unit. 

She was so thrilled - it was almost as if I had given her £100.

I made sure I did this for her every time.

During that year at the sea front was constructed a big wheel which she admired and said she'd love to ride on it  I surprised her one day - I journeyed in my own car one Saturday and arrived at the nursing home and said I had a special treat for her - and took her for a ride on the big wheel.  She was so thrilled.

I made sure with the control desk that if anyone else stood in for me for those three days they would always remember to take Doris for her trip along the sea front.

It was always sad when a renal patient died - we went into a kind on mourning for a while.  Non of these patients survived very long because the dialysis machines are far inferior to our wonderful kidneys and they had only 12 hours a week to filter out all the impurities, whereas we have 168 hours week in week out. 


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More ambulance stories to follow

SILLY SATURDAY MORNING AT THE AMBULANCE STATION

I thought I had better post something new in case you might have thought I'd 'kicked the bucket'. 

Well, here I am, very much alive and well.

I expect most of you will remember I used to be an Ambulance Man, working for a private company in Bristol.  These were some of the happiest days of my life and I thoroughly enjoyed everything about the work I was privileged to do for 5 years - patient care, getting to know and love the patients, the driving, the buzz of driving vehicles like this Land Rover, working with all my colleagues, working with nurses and doctors, enjoying all the admiring glances of the public in general, waving to the ladies. I still miss the work but I do reminisce from time to time. Mostly, I drove patients to and from Kidney Dialysis Units for renal dialysis.  To keep alive patients needed this for 4 hours three times a week.

I drove this blue ambulance regularly. We called it The Sunshine Bus and here it is shown overlooking a beautiful reservoir which I called The Lake.  I used to walk round it during my lunch break and it inspired me to write poetry and stories while I was there. The scenery round there is stunning and on a summer's evening it was wonderful driving around watching the sunsets over the lake and the sea, nearby.

I worked also on other ambulances as a team with my friend Richard. This often involved stretcher work and carry chair lifting.  I enjoyed all the work immensely.

I first posted "Silly Saturday at the Ambulance Station" in April 2009 and thought I would re-post it to highlight the fun we used to have at the station - particularly one Saturday morning when our sometimes over developed sense of humour plus a surplus of testosterone almost caused things to go out of control.

This photograph shows all is quiet at the Ambulance Station - some vehicles have returned - but most are still out, some on their missions ferrying renal patients to and from hospital and renal units for dialysis, and some for longer hospital to hospital transfer of patients.

All appears perfectly normal, yet a few hours before one particular Saturday morning things were so different, for on that day we all went absolutely bananas:

 It was wonderful!

An ambulance was parked very badly blocking the exit of the station - someone wanted to get out. Five crews were ready to go - all vehicle checks were completed satisfactorily and we were free to 'go mobile' as the phrase says.

I was in a sixth vehicle driving the blue sunshine bus, without blue lights or sirens, and another colleague was driving just an ambulance car, acceptable for some jobs. We all were blocked in.

The driver in the offending vehicle suddenly became the recipient of a loud horn blast from a large ambulance behind, followed by several other horn blasts and shouting, "Come on, mate, get your finger out, we can't get out!"

When the chap in front gave us a rude hand gesture (in fun I hasten to add) the horn noises escalated significantly and short siren bursts emitted from the vehicle behind, followed by a chorus of similar blasts from the other ambulances. By this time everyone was in fits of laughter and all were making rude signs to each other with clenched fists shaking at one another.

Then someone switched on the main siren with blue lights flashing wildly. Of course this was followed by all five ambulances, making a dickens of a din.

Unfortunately all I could do to join in the party was to switch on my hazard warning lights and blast my horn whilst shouting and shaking my fists - quite feeble really.

Then someone turned on a microphone in a vehicle. A loud message boomed across the station, "Get out of the way, you silly old fart!" which elicited a sharp response from the offending vehicle, "Who the 'ell are you calling me a silly old fart! . . . .  you just come over here and say that and I'll floor you!"  "What do you mean? how dare you!".  Everyone went mad!

More loudspeakers were turned on in chorus uttering obscenities which are best left unsaid, as you may well imagine. The noise was deafening! Male adrenalin levels headed ever skyward! Inland Seagulls on the roofs around scarpered for safety! The women drivers and attendants joined in with their shrieks and they were in uncontrolable hysterics, generally siding with the chaps they liked best!

We were all falling about laughing by this time. To me it looked so comical to see all these ambulances with expressionless faces arguing and fighting with each other - with sirens and microphones at full belt and my little horn feebly attempting to join in.

Above this glorious chaos, with ever rising crescendo, a loud PA speaker sprang into action from the control desk, "What the b_ _ _ _ _ 'ell is going on out there? You! get that b _ _ _ _ _  ambulance out of the way so you can all get out . . . . and all of you b _ _ _ _ _ off and get to work! Now!"

Richard seized his opportunity to score a point shouted through his microphone,  the loudest, "I've got a bigger one than you!" I got out of my vehicle and rushed over to him in mock battle, shaking my fists and everyone joined in. We all ended up in the middle all falling about laughing.

Then as suddenly as it started  all was quiet and we resumed with the business of the day. Normality had returned.