Oops!

Ambulance memoir.

• I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my memories of them. In order to maintain their anonymity and privacy I’ve changed the names of individuals and sometimes places, I may have changed some identifying characteristics, so the people described do not necessarily reflect the actual person or persons involved. Incidents and situations are as I recall.
• Swearing happens. I have used, and will use, some words that some people may find offensive.

Early 1980’s

Driving back to station after depositing a patient with non-specific abdominal pain at the hospital, we were enjoying the sunshine. In those days the doors of the vehicle were of the sliding variety and we had a hook which would keep the doors wide open. This was also the time before seatbelts were compulsory, so like most people, we didn’t wear them.

Wide open doors and no seatbelt could be interesting as you hurtled down the road and around sharp bends. Fortunately there were grab handles and these were regularly put to use. More than once did I miss as I felt myself leaning over to the left a little bit more than I should have done, resulting in a lot of swearing and a few strange and panicky looks from pedestrians. It’s not an everyday occurrence to see an ambulanceman hanging out of the door and desperately trying to grab hold of something tangible to stop being thrown out at sixty miles an hour or so.

I was working with Jim, another old hand, and we were merrily chatting away. Jim liked to smoke a pipe and it was practically a permanent fixture. Jim was driving and puffing away like an express train while I was in the passenger seat with a roll-up clamped between my teeth; the smoke billowing out of the doors and being carried away on the wind.

Smoking wasn’t prohibited on the vehicles at that time. Standing Orders allowed it under certain circumstances, and like most crews we stretched the rules to the limit.

The radio crackled to life. ‘Message from the Chief Office,’ intoned control to all the vehicles in the county.

Our ears pricked up. Something was amiss. The Chief very rarely had anything to do with crews and if he wanted to say something it normally went down through the ranks for us crews to ignore.

‘Would the crew currently driving past Hemel Hempstead railway station kindly extinguish their cigarettes and close their doors.’

Jim and I looked at each other. We then looked out of the vehicle; we had just driven past the railway station and it took a few seconds to realise that we were the recipient of this message. I looked at the radio and then back at Jim.

‘Bollocks to him,’ said Jim. ‘Anyway, I’m smoking a pipe. He’s on about you Clive!’

Reality bites

Ambulance memoir.

• I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my memories of them. In order to maintain their anonymity and privacy I’ve changed the names of individuals and sometimes places, I may have changed some identifying characteristics, so the people described do not necessarily reflect the actual person or persons involved. Incidents and situations are as I recall.
• Swearing happens. I have used, and will use, some words that some people may find offensive.

early 1980’s

I learnt pretty early in my career that there are jobs that people don’t mind doing and there are jobs that nobody wants to do. Even serious jobs can be interesting in a strange sort of way; something to the get the old grey matter working and something to give you a sense of satisfaction when the job’s done. However, there are some jobs that are serious and give you absolutely no sense of job satisfaction at all; these are the jobs that fill you with despair.

I was on an early turn. My crewmate was on leave and I was working with Chris who was on overtime, which meant that he attended while I was the driver and tea maker for the shift. Spring has sprung and it was a mild sunny morning. The night crew had gone home and we were settling down for a doze before the day crew came in. I’d just slurped the last dregs from my mug and had stubbed out the ciggie when the phone intruded into the peace.

‘Red call,’ called Chris. ‘Difficulty in breathing.’

I jumped up, yawned and went through to the appliance room. I opened the door and took the vehicle out; then Chris came running up and jumped in.

‘More info; this is a baby – could be a cardiac arrest.’

My heart sank.

I switched the blue lights on and we roared out of the station, heading off to the address. Neither of us said a word. I negotiated the rush hour traffic; swerving, braking, hammering my foot down on the accelerator and mentally swearing at all the cars on the road. The silence in the cab was deafening. A few cars refused to get out of the way and I blasted them with the two-tones again and again. Eventually we got off the main drag and into the side streets, I switched the noise off but I kept my foot hard down on the pedal. We lurched around a few corners and then into the street we were aiming for. A lone person was standing outside of the address waving frantically. I hit the brake and we pulled up. Chris jumped out before I had the handbrake on and I followed as soon as I could.

There are exceptions to the ambulance rule of not running to an incident. The walking time is time to think, to weigh up the situation, to gauge how things stand. This was one incident when the rule was cast aside. Chris ran and then I ran too.

Inside the house were the family; the mother, the father and two toddlers who knew something was wrong but couldn’t fathom out just what it was. The man outside was a neighbour.

The weeping mother thrust the baby at Chris who took the little bundle into his arms. The form was like a rag doll, blue of lips with staring unblinking eyes. It was naked apart from its nappy. A dribble of milky vomit came from its mouth. Chris began mouth to mouth resuscitation and compressed the chest with his fingers. I turned and ran out to open the back doors of the ambulance. Hurriedly Chris jumped on and the mother followed. I jumped into the driver’s seat and we sped off.

‘Six week old baby; cardiac arrest. Team standing by. ETA twelve minutes,’ I barked into the radio.

‘Understood,’ came the sympathetic reply.

Chris had laid the baby on the stretcher and was doing CPR. The mother was perched on the edge of the seat and weeping. I could hear the occasional desperate plea; ‘My baby, my baby! Please help my baby!’

Doing CPR in the back of a fast moving vehicle is fraught with danger. Unrestrained you can be thrown around. I called out to Chris from the front. ‘Left-hand bend.’ ‘Overtaking.’ ‘Braking;’ with the occasional, ‘You bastard. Get out the fucking way!’ to keep him informed.

The journey seemed to take forever, but eventually the vehicle fair screeched into the hospital. Word had got out about what we were bringing in and the entrance was cleared of ambulances. I drove straight in, not bothering to reverse up to the entrance. Outside were some of the team, waiting for us. The doors were ripped open and Chris grabbed the baby and jumped out. A doctor ran alongside him as they disappeared into the entrance. A nurse helped the mother out and hurried her in too. I followed and we all went straight to the crash room. The room was filled with doctors and nurses and the urgent task of trying to save the baby’s life continued.

I looked at Chris’ face; it was blank as he stood back from the trolley. I think mine was the same. The battle was in earnest; the tension in the room palpable. Lines were inserted into the baby’s groin, adrenaline administered. An intubation tube was put in and connected to the resuscitator, the defibrillator applied. Everything that could be done was being done. That little scrap was surrounded by experts who battled for its little life. Time was stretched but it didn’t matter. The fight for life was more important.

Chris and I watched from the corner of the room. We were well out of the way but were desperate for a positive outcome; but in our heart of hearts we knew that it wasn’t going to be. Unfortunately we were proved right.

After nearly an hour the consultant uttered the fateful words. ‘I think we’ve done enough. Is there anyone who doesn’t agree?’ This he directed to everyone in the room; the other doctors, the nurses and even Chris and me; the mother had been taken outside for a while. We all nodded our consent; if anyone voiced an objection the attempt would continue, but with great reluctance, the forlorn attempt to save the life of a six week old baby came to an end.

Dejectedly I went outside to clear up the back of the motor while Chris went to get some tea. Some nice person had moved our vehicle; they had turned it around and had reversed it up to the entrance, they’d also cleared up the mess in the back. I didn’t know who, but I was grateful for their kindness. I sat on the step and rolled a ciggie. I lit up, took a long deep drag and then felt my eyes prick. The emotion of the situation flooded through me and for the first time I began to question my career choice. Up until now the job had been a lot of fun, it was interesting and I had met some wonderful people, but when reality bites, it can bite hard! I tried to hold things back but it was no good; so, and not for the last time in my career, I sat on the rear step and cried.

My review of ‘Echoes of Narcissus in the Gardens of Delight’ by Jo Robinson

This is the story of a woman who finally sees a chink of light after thirty years of marriage. As the shutters fall from her eyes, blazing sunshine floods in and she can see how she has suffered at the hands of her husband Marco, a control freak – a narcissist.

Donna is a fifty five year old woman who believed her life was as it was meant to be.  Her only refuge was her garden, filled with exotic and rare plants. She tended it lovingly and treated the plants as her only friends while she herself was treated as a downtrodden simpleton, an imbecile, somebody not worth giving the time of the day.

A chance encounter at the moment of realisation changes her life, she finds someone who wants to be a friend. The new friend sees things that weren’t at first obvious to the reticent Donna, but with her gentle encouragement Donna finally breaks from her shell and begins to blossom, finding more new friends along the way.

Life for Donna will never be the same again, but can she do what she needs to do? Escape is her only option, but with a narcissistic husband that is not as easy as it sounds. Can she achieve the impossible with the help of her new friends?

Jo Robinson has produced a wonderful novel here. I love the easy style and the way the characters leap of the page. You get to know them intimately and with Donna you find yourself urging her on, a lifelong loser who can finally cast her shackles aside to run forward and win.

This is quite a thought provoking book.

There is an obvious appeal to female readers, but I think that this crosses the gender barrier and male readers will enjoy it too.

The subject matter brings to light something that is hidden in many lives, but if this work of fiction resonates with just one reader in the future then the author has done more than just putting pen to paper.

Echoes of Narcissus in the Gardens of Delight

Millared

Ambulance memoir.

• I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my memories of them. In order to maintain their anonymity and privacy I’ve changed the names of individuals and sometimes places, I may have changed some identifying characteristics, so the people described do not necessarily reflect the actual person or persons involved. Incidents and situations are as I recall.
• Swearing happens. I have used, and will use, some words that some people may find offensive.

 1982

The question ‘You Millared yet?’ came up quite a bit. To be “Millared” was to become qualified. This was usually done after spending a year on the road having been mentored by a qualified ambulance person. I was coming up to my first year on the road and the question was continually asked by my colleagues from other stations.

When the fateful day did arrive I was on an early shift, seven to three, a Tuesday and working with Matt.

The instructor from HQ arrived early; it was Joe, one of my instructors from my induction course.

‘Nothing to worry about Clive,’ he said. ‘We’ll get the exam out of the way first and then I’ll ride out with you to see what you’ve learnt.’

I nodded. Made him a cup of tea and let him sit in the comfy chair.

Despite everyone telling me this was just a formality, I was nervous. The last couple of weeks I had my nose buried in my books, trying to get everything to stick in my mind. I was sick and tired of reading about the nervous system, the respiratory system, the cardiovascular system, the skeletal system, and every other bloody system that makes up the squidgy bits of humans. Then there were all the signs and symptoms of various illnesses and injuries as well as their treatments. All in all it was pretty much everything I had supposedly learnt. My mind was swimming in facts and figures.

Matt and Joe started yacking as I was dismissed to the office to do the exam. I sat at the desk and began to read through the questions. I was relieved; there was nothing there that I hadn’t read and learnt. I scribbled away, ticked boxes, and twice answered the phone.

The first time it rang:

‘Just checking,’ said control. ‘You doing your Millar today?’

‘Yes, I’m doing it now. I’m half way through the paper.’

‘You stuck on anything? Just ask if you are.’

‘No, I’m fine ta.’

‘Good. Speak to you later. Good luck.’

‘Cheers.’

I carried on until the phone rang a second time.

‘You still doing the exam?’

‘Yes I am.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame. Got an RTA (Road Traffic Accident) but if you’re still writing then I’ll give it to another crew.’

‘Okay, thanks,’ I replied in relief. I had no wish to do an RTA on my Millar day anyway; too much could go wrong with one of them.

I finished the exam a short while later and handed the paper to Joe to mark. He did it there in front of me, slurping his tea and chortling away to himself as his pen flicked and ticked. Occasionally he raised his eyebrows. I kept my eyes fixed on the pen and on him as he worked. He looked up, grinned, and then went back to the marking. Neither me nor Matt said a word.

‘Well,’ said Joe in the end, as he lay my exam paper down. A serious look crossed his face. ‘I have to say….. I’m actually sad to say…..’

His hesitation was just that little bit too long; then he grinned. ‘Congratulations Clive, part one now down. You got ninety five per cent.’

Matt clapped his hands and cheered.

‘Bastard,’ said I. ‘You had me worried there.’

‘All part of the service; got to keep you on your toes.  Let’s hope we get a job quickly now. I’ll have a word with control. Next one is ours.’

It was a strange day; very quiet. Three hours later we hadn’t moved. No jobs….anywhere. Joe was back onto control. ‘Anything will do, anything!’ I heard him say.

An hour later the phone rang. I picked it up. ‘Will an Urgent do you?’

I called through to Joe. ‘They have an Urgent, is that okay?’

‘Yes, thank fuck for that. Anything. I just need to see you with a patient.’

The job was a routine doctor’s admission. I fussed about a bit and did everything I should have done, plus a bit more for emphasis. Joe looked on as Matt and I carted the man out of his house on a chair and made him comfortable in the back of the ambulance. It was then a quick trip to hospital and then back to station.

‘You’ve passed,’ he said on the way back. ‘You can now call yourself an ambulanceman. You might not thank me for it in the end though.’

I felt pleased as punch. More money and a Millar badge on my arm, a laurel wreath, the mark of a qualified ambulanceman!

As soon as we got back to station Joe left. It had been a weird day as there were very few jobs in our area. I watched the clock on the wall, an eight hour shift and most of it spent sitting on my arse waiting for the phone to ring. At half past two, just thirty minutes before the end of my shift the phone rang.

‘RTA, A41, Bourne End. Believed one person trapped. Police and fire informed. You passed now?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, adrenaline already starting to pump.

‘Congratulations,’ replied control. ‘Shame you didn’t get this one earlier.’

Thank fuck I didn’t, I thought as I put the phone down.

Please feel free to leave a comment or thought.

Rip-roaring mystery

The opening chapter of this thriller grips like barnacle. Jack Lockwood’s half-brother is accused of rape and murder, but as Jack tries to talk him down from a crane he professes his innocence and states that he thinks there is an agenda among some high profile and influential people to frame him for the rapes and murders.

What follows is a roller-coaster of a ride as Jack looks into the truth of the matter.

Jack Lockwood is one of the unluckiest characters in fiction. It’s not necessarily his fault, but he always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and upsets the wrong people. The women in his life seem to come with baggage that would perhaps be best described as interesting. Although you get the feeling that Jack would like his pipe and slippers in front of a roaring fire as he puts his feet up of an evening, you know that that will never happen.

The story moves like an express train which has had the brakes taken off. There is no stopping it once it gets going, and go it certainly does.

The writing is crisp and allows you to take the journey along with the author. The characters are well rounded and believable. The plot and sub-plot are nicely woven together and leaves you wondering which strand Jack has got hold of as he is thrown unceremoniously from pillar to post.

This is a stand-alone novel, and one that works well, but reading the first two books in the series will help with understanding of Jack and his motives.

Congratulations to Geoffrey West for producing another rip-roaring mystery/suspense novel.

Sheer Fear (Jack Lockwood Mysteries Book 3)

To review or not to review: that is the question.

Originally posted on :

It’s important not to tarnish your brand when you’re in the public eye – or to invite others to tarnish it for you. No matter how small a fish you might think you are. As an Indie author you really do have to be reading books by other Indies as well your traditionally published favourites, and leaving reviews for our peers is absolutely necessary for the good of the whole tribe. I will ask you one question though – how many times have Dan Brown or J K Rowling publicly published a bad review of their peers? They don’t, because there are reviewers out there who get to do those things, and they probably don’t want to get into barnies with other scribblers either. If you have set yourself up as a book reviewer as well as an Indie author that’s fair enough, as long as you’re prepared to take…

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Review of ‘The Quest for the Holy Something or Other’ by Kylie Betzner

This is the story of Pig, a young girl plucked from the obscurity of shovelling out the cess-pit beneath the walls of Camelot, who for a joke becomes page to Sir Kay.

What follows is a pythonesque romp through the myth of the Arthurian legend. The table becomes a pineapple and the knights far from equal. There must be a quest and sure enough Merlin finds one; though for the reluctant Sir Kay, his is slightly different.

The main driving force throughout the book is the relationship between Sir Kay and Pig. Other characters come and go, but as the story evolves, so do they. I liked the dynamic between them and how they slowly become more reliant on each other as things evolve. You can empathise with them, which is all down to the characterisation of the author.

There is a gentle humour running throughout the book with clichés aplenty, which is as it should be with a parody, and some moments of slapstick. There are good few modern day references to put things into perspective too. The author hasn’t gone solely for cheap laughs; there is a subtlety and innocence to the humour which will appeal both to the YA market as well as to adults.

Kylie Betzner should be congratulated on finding her own voice where she could quite easily have copied another’s. As a debut, this bodes well for the future.

The Quest for the Holy Something or Other