New blogsite folks! Yes, I have been converted to the world of Wordpress.com.
The new site is called Paradise By The Blue Flashing Light (yes, small MeatLoaf tribute there)
and the link to reach it is:
www.bluelightsandtwostripes.wordpress.com
The banter and stories shall continue as before - hope you like the new home as much as I do =]
Keep on reading, cos I'll be blogging y'all soon!
thanks
Monday 7 December 2009
Monday 23 November 2009
Flood
I think the flooding in Cumbria is pretty unmissable.
You can't not hear about it; you can't avoid the fact that it's happened. It's everywhere, on the news, radio, in the papers.
So imagine being one of the people affected by the disaster. Imagine having all your possessions destroyed by torrents of water, lethally rapid, cold and dirty.
Imagine being the person trapped by rising waves, seeing devastation and destruction and wondering if you are going to get out of the mess alive.
Then imagine being the person called to help. The samaratin, the rescue worker, the emergency responder, fireman, police officer, ambulance personel, RNLI volunteer and first aider.
I can't account for the sights my colleagues witnessed while there over the weekend; I wasn't there to experience the damage first hand.
But what I can be sure of - from reports back and from simply knowing my team so well - is that they have worked their soggy socks off to help the people affected by the watery crisis.
With the graciousness of local stores like Asda and Tesco supplying them with much needed goods, the swift water rescue teams worked day and night delivering the supplies to rest centres, and those cut off from any source of necessities.
They also participated in searches, assisting the fellow emergency services in scanning the area for anyone who may be lost, injured and needing help.
The volunteers crewing the rest centres offered a haven of welcome, safety and warmth, with food and drink, clean clothes, and a place to bed down for the duration.
They also gave emotional support, reassurance and advice, and were generally a shoulder that anyone could lean on.
It was a long weekend, with many difficulties and hardships facing all involved. The waters were threatening, but somehow the teams managed to maintain their morale and worked around the clock to help those in need.
I am so proud of the teams I know and love who responded to the cries for help.
That is true humanitarianism, right there. A prime example of the kindness of others, and the sheer determination that arises in the hearts of those who care when a fellow person is in trouble.
I take my hat off to them - each and every one of them. Well done to all who helped, from Red Cross to the other emergency services and responders.
I don't know where we'd be without people like you.
You can't not hear about it; you can't avoid the fact that it's happened. It's everywhere, on the news, radio, in the papers.
So imagine being one of the people affected by the disaster. Imagine having all your possessions destroyed by torrents of water, lethally rapid, cold and dirty.
Imagine being the person trapped by rising waves, seeing devastation and destruction and wondering if you are going to get out of the mess alive.
Then imagine being the person called to help. The samaratin, the rescue worker, the emergency responder, fireman, police officer, ambulance personel, RNLI volunteer and first aider.
I can't account for the sights my colleagues witnessed while there over the weekend; I wasn't there to experience the damage first hand.
But what I can be sure of - from reports back and from simply knowing my team so well - is that they have worked their soggy socks off to help the people affected by the watery crisis.
With the graciousness of local stores like Asda and Tesco supplying them with much needed goods, the swift water rescue teams worked day and night delivering the supplies to rest centres, and those cut off from any source of necessities.
They also participated in searches, assisting the fellow emergency services in scanning the area for anyone who may be lost, injured and needing help.
The volunteers crewing the rest centres offered a haven of welcome, safety and warmth, with food and drink, clean clothes, and a place to bed down for the duration.
They also gave emotional support, reassurance and advice, and were generally a shoulder that anyone could lean on.
It was a long weekend, with many difficulties and hardships facing all involved. The waters were threatening, but somehow the teams managed to maintain their morale and worked around the clock to help those in need.
I am so proud of the teams I know and love who responded to the cries for help.
That is true humanitarianism, right there. A prime example of the kindness of others, and the sheer determination that arises in the hearts of those who care when a fellow person is in trouble.
I take my hat off to them - each and every one of them. Well done to all who helped, from Red Cross to the other emergency services and responders.
I don't know where we'd be without people like you.
Diagnosis: Drunk.
Utter fools.
Those club-loving, scantily clad, drink-infested morons who collapse on the steps of night clubs, ko'd by the unimaginable volume of alcohol in their bodies.
And they are surprised to find themselves in A&E once they wake up several hours later, with a needle sticking out of their arm and a bag of saline attached to it, nourishing their poor intoxicated bodies with much needed fluid of the non-poisonous variety.
Then these still drunk buffoons, baffled by their sudden predicament, become angry because
a) they can't remember collapsing unconscious in the street and the thoughtful passer-by who realised that they needed medical treatment, b) we killed their alcoholic high by replacing the stuff with water, and c) we saved their wet-skinned asses by doing so.
Most of them are also angry because they're butt naked. This is because we can't leave them lying in their wet, piss-soaked, vomit-caked clothes while they sleep off the drink, for hygiene and for their own comfort.
From what I've seen, paramedics, nurses and doctors in emergency care only do their very best for every patient, even the drunk ones.
It's just sad (and slightly sickening) that the thanks they quite often get is a mouthful of abuse and occasionally the odd attempted thrash across the face.
Next time you go out on a booze up, try and keep in the back of your mind the place you could end up in if you drink a little too much for your body to cope with.
No one wants to wake up in A&E with a hangover - wouldn't folk much rather have their own bed to cover in spew?
There are some entertaining aspects behind it for the health worker though - drunken verbal abuse can be quite entertaining if it's slurred and total babble.
It also helps us work out how 'with it' you are - I mean, if you're saying "fuck off" in the right context, then at least we know you're orientated to your situation.
Don't be diagnosed as a piss-head.
Those club-loving, scantily clad, drink-infested morons who collapse on the steps of night clubs, ko'd by the unimaginable volume of alcohol in their bodies.
And they are surprised to find themselves in A&E once they wake up several hours later, with a needle sticking out of their arm and a bag of saline attached to it, nourishing their poor intoxicated bodies with much needed fluid of the non-poisonous variety.
Then these still drunk buffoons, baffled by their sudden predicament, become angry because
a) they can't remember collapsing unconscious in the street and the thoughtful passer-by who realised that they needed medical treatment, b) we killed their alcoholic high by replacing the stuff with water, and c) we saved their wet-skinned asses by doing so.
Most of them are also angry because they're butt naked. This is because we can't leave them lying in their wet, piss-soaked, vomit-caked clothes while they sleep off the drink, for hygiene and for their own comfort.
From what I've seen, paramedics, nurses and doctors in emergency care only do their very best for every patient, even the drunk ones.
It's just sad (and slightly sickening) that the thanks they quite often get is a mouthful of abuse and occasionally the odd attempted thrash across the face.
Next time you go out on a booze up, try and keep in the back of your mind the place you could end up in if you drink a little too much for your body to cope with.
No one wants to wake up in A&E with a hangover - wouldn't folk much rather have their own bed to cover in spew?
There are some entertaining aspects behind it for the health worker though - drunken verbal abuse can be quite entertaining if it's slurred and total babble.
It also helps us work out how 'with it' you are - I mean, if you're saying "fuck off" in the right context, then at least we know you're orientated to your situation.
Don't be diagnosed as a piss-head.
A pause for thought...
In my boredom I decided to surf the net for quotes.
How desperate for entertainment can you get?
But I have stumbled across a few words of inspiration which I think are highly relevant to many people I know, care for, and work alongside...
There is no exercise better for the heart than reaching down and lifting people up.
- John Andrew Holmes Jr., American writer and minister
The broadest, and maybe the most meaningful definition of volunteering: Doing more than you have to because you want to, in a cause you consider good.
- Ivan Scheier
and my fave:
Volunteers don't get paid, not because they're worthless, but because they're priceless.
- Sherry Anderson
It's too true for many people =]
How desperate for entertainment can you get?
But I have stumbled across a few words of inspiration which I think are highly relevant to many people I know, care for, and work alongside...
There is no exercise better for the heart than reaching down and lifting people up.
- John Andrew Holmes Jr., American writer and minister
The broadest, and maybe the most meaningful definition of volunteering: Doing more than you have to because you want to, in a cause you consider good.
- Ivan Scheier
and my fave:
Volunteers don't get paid, not because they're worthless, but because they're priceless.
- Sherry Anderson
It's too true for many people =]
Sunday 25 October 2009
What do they expect?
Something caught my eye in the newspaper the other day.
An article pinpointing the consistently high number of student nurses dropping out of their courses mid way through the training.
All because they begin with the impression that ward life is exactly like Holby City or Casualty; sexy, glamorous, non-stop action, blood, guts, and hot doctors.
What do they expect exactly?
TV shows like Holby or Casualty are incredibly entertaining (and as Casualty is one of my fave programmes, I wouldn't change much about it) but they are quite often unrealistic.
Indeed, there are elements which mimic that of real life; many procedures are close to accurate, and I even found one episode of Casualty which came into play the next day in A&E.
So yes, such shows have to hold some realism to be believable, but surely people realise there is a boundary to them?
After all, hot, young doctors are rarely seen on the wards. At least where I've been anyway.
In case anyone is wondering, or hasn't realised this so far, nursing is very hard work.
People may complain about "lazy" nurses hanging around their stations chatting or drinking coffee, but seriously, this is normally during visiting hours when staff give patients and relatives some time together.
For the other 8 hours of the day, they dish out meds and wash patients, feed patients, wash and change beds, assist doctors if need be, transfer patients to other wards, change dressings, fill in bountiful piles of paperwork, and if the ward is full, will grab cups of tea when and where they can.
Being a student, I understand that behind what media and TV depicts is very different, and a slight shock to the system - especially when your expectations are fuelled by fictitious programmes on the telly.
Thanks to my previous care assistant job, I had some cynicism built up already.
So far in A&E, I have found that there are few cute junior doctors or nurses, there is little time for emotional bonds with patients where you share a moment of realisation for your current predicaments, and (in DGH at least) the paramedics don't come bashing in through swing doors announcing patient details at the tops of their voices.
I'll agree with the statement given by some knowledgeable nursing wifie in the paper; students must be given realistic views of nursing to ensure they will continue. People can't enter into the student nurse world with expectations of love, glamour and continual excitement. And that there will be attractive, sexy doctors to swoon over.
Here's an example; I catheterised two patients today, both of which were successful but, let's face it, it's not a very fine job to do.
You don't see anything like that on the telly now, do you?
An article pinpointing the consistently high number of student nurses dropping out of their courses mid way through the training.
All because they begin with the impression that ward life is exactly like Holby City or Casualty; sexy, glamorous, non-stop action, blood, guts, and hot doctors.
What do they expect exactly?
TV shows like Holby or Casualty are incredibly entertaining (and as Casualty is one of my fave programmes, I wouldn't change much about it) but they are quite often unrealistic.
Indeed, there are elements which mimic that of real life; many procedures are close to accurate, and I even found one episode of Casualty which came into play the next day in A&E.
So yes, such shows have to hold some realism to be believable, but surely people realise there is a boundary to them?
After all, hot, young doctors are rarely seen on the wards. At least where I've been anyway.
In case anyone is wondering, or hasn't realised this so far, nursing is very hard work.
People may complain about "lazy" nurses hanging around their stations chatting or drinking coffee, but seriously, this is normally during visiting hours when staff give patients and relatives some time together.
For the other 8 hours of the day, they dish out meds and wash patients, feed patients, wash and change beds, assist doctors if need be, transfer patients to other wards, change dressings, fill in bountiful piles of paperwork, and if the ward is full, will grab cups of tea when and where they can.
Being a student, I understand that behind what media and TV depicts is very different, and a slight shock to the system - especially when your expectations are fuelled by fictitious programmes on the telly.
Thanks to my previous care assistant job, I had some cynicism built up already.
So far in A&E, I have found that there are few cute junior doctors or nurses, there is little time for emotional bonds with patients where you share a moment of realisation for your current predicaments, and (in DGH at least) the paramedics don't come bashing in through swing doors announcing patient details at the tops of their voices.
I'll agree with the statement given by some knowledgeable nursing wifie in the paper; students must be given realistic views of nursing to ensure they will continue. People can't enter into the student nurse world with expectations of love, glamour and continual excitement. And that there will be attractive, sexy doctors to swoon over.
Here's an example; I catheterised two patients today, both of which were successful but, let's face it, it's not a very fine job to do.
You don't see anything like that on the telly now, do you?
Monday 19 October 2009
In A&E today...
I have good shifts this week. I've already worked one set of 12 hours today, and now I'm off until the weekend. Bonus.
All day in A&E on a Saturday and Sunday... imagine the thrills and spills...
Anyway, today was a good day. I think I'm beginning to find my feet within the department now.
At least I can actually find things for people now, although saying that, a few things went missing today which I had to undertake epic journeys to find.
When relatives ask for a cup of tea, they don't expect it to take 20 minutes, right? Well, as the ward had run out of cups, I had to go in search for more. After ransacking the kitchen, I realised I would have to look further afield for the bloomin' things.
Onwards to the canteen!
A rather miffed cafeteria lady met me at the canteen doors, and after explaining my predicament to her, she somewhat reluctantly led me into the main kitchen.
Tea cups galore!
But she had to ask the head cafeteria wifie if I could nick them first, whilst giving me a lecture on why we shouldn't be taking the kitchen items from them; it wasn't their job to hand them out, blah blah blah.
When in truth they'll only end up back on the wards anyway.
However, being a student (with some charm) has its advantages. Playing the "pity me, I'm a poor student sent on an errand I don't want to be on" role usually works in getting what the ward wants and needs.
I suspect that's why the nurses will send the students on errands; so other wards feel sorry for them and give them what they ask for.
However, other staff members just shoot the messenger. That's when the "I'm a student and I'm assertive" role kicks in. Well, generally. Either that or you just take the verbal beating and give them the finger as the ward doors swing shut behind you.
Not that I've ever done that, you understand.
Our second missing item - which was thankfully recovered - was one of the controlled drugs' (CDs) monitoring books. It actually cropped up in the most obvious place; on the receptionist's desk, yet everyone was too busy looking high and low to actually notice it.
So apart from this, I can now find the items which the nurses and doctors ask for.
Patient wise, we had a few varieties during the day, including two swine flu cases (one of which ended up being tonsillitis... how hard can it be to confuse the two?)
We also had a fractured clavicle (collar bone in non-medically-boney terms) and chest pains, an OD on paracetamol, a phantom pregnancy (yep, they do happen) and a little old lady who had fallen and hit her head, causing a lovely big bruise over her eye and a very bloody wound. The cut itself was relatively small and not exceptionally deep, yet the blood had poured from it; you could tell by her red, matted hair (I always find it strange that head/face wounds will bleed as though the injury is serious, when it can actually be a tiny cut.) Yet she was in good spirits and very sweet.
I always love how elderly people who really need help are immensely apologetic to you, every time you walk into the cubicle, even when you've just nipped in to get something out of the cupboards.
"I'm sorry to be such an inconvenience," or "I'm sorry for being such a nuisance," or "I'm sorry for taking up your time," and so forth.
When, on the other end of the scale, you have the time wasters sitting outside the door.
I triaged my first patient today, and for being so simple it was actually quite difficult.
His GP had referred him to A&E with fevers and sweats. Someone tell me which one it is, 'cos I honestly think it's neither an accident, nor an emergency.
And neither did the rest of the A&E staff.
With no other problems other than this presenting complaint, there really wasn't that much to ask or talk about. Hence why it was awkward.
Obs were all fine (no high temperature there then) and the patient appeared to be in good form.
Could the diagnosis be a case of the lazy GP?
The patient denied any recent colds/coughs/infections, as had the GP in the referral letter.
So what was the problem?
Well, we dipped his urine, and we found the answer. The guy had a urinary tract infection (UTI).
The doctor prescribed him antibiotics, and away he went - another happy customer.
Only he needn't have come to A&E and taken up our time.
He needn't have waited the hour he did to be triaged and treated.
The GP could have referred him to a practice nurse in the surgery, who would have tested the urine there and then. Hell, the GP could have even done it themselves. They could then have prescribed him the medication.
Standard procedure. Quick and easy. No fussing about with A&E waiting times.
It was inconvenient for the patient, and for the emergency staff.
Still, at least we got the guy sorted.
Aside from the emergency department, I also made a return trip to Ward 9 to visit my last mentor.
I don't think I'll get the chance to bond with another mentor like I did with her. Our constant excursions to every ward in the hospital brought us closer together, I think. Two nurses for the price of one, so to speak.
Now she's more of a friend, someone who I can still go to for advice and help in the nursing realms, and for a reference when it comes to getting a job - an added perk.
It was great to see her again, and I think she was pleased to see me too! I know now that if I ever have any issues whilst at DGH, I can always talk to her about them.
I'm sure we'll catch up again at some point, maybe before I head back to uni. But it would be nice to be able to keep in touch from time to time.
So overall? An interesting and varied day.
I just can't wait until my next few shifts, when I can see what the weekend will have in store for me.
All day in A&E on a Saturday and Sunday... imagine the thrills and spills...
Anyway, today was a good day. I think I'm beginning to find my feet within the department now.
At least I can actually find things for people now, although saying that, a few things went missing today which I had to undertake epic journeys to find.
When relatives ask for a cup of tea, they don't expect it to take 20 minutes, right? Well, as the ward had run out of cups, I had to go in search for more. After ransacking the kitchen, I realised I would have to look further afield for the bloomin' things.
Onwards to the canteen!
A rather miffed cafeteria lady met me at the canteen doors, and after explaining my predicament to her, she somewhat reluctantly led me into the main kitchen.
Tea cups galore!
But she had to ask the head cafeteria wifie if I could nick them first, whilst giving me a lecture on why we shouldn't be taking the kitchen items from them; it wasn't their job to hand them out, blah blah blah.
When in truth they'll only end up back on the wards anyway.
However, being a student (with some charm) has its advantages. Playing the "pity me, I'm a poor student sent on an errand I don't want to be on" role usually works in getting what the ward wants and needs.
I suspect that's why the nurses will send the students on errands; so other wards feel sorry for them and give them what they ask for.
However, other staff members just shoot the messenger. That's when the "I'm a student and I'm assertive" role kicks in. Well, generally. Either that or you just take the verbal beating and give them the finger as the ward doors swing shut behind you.
Not that I've ever done that, you understand.
Our second missing item - which was thankfully recovered - was one of the controlled drugs' (CDs) monitoring books. It actually cropped up in the most obvious place; on the receptionist's desk, yet everyone was too busy looking high and low to actually notice it.
So apart from this, I can now find the items which the nurses and doctors ask for.
Patient wise, we had a few varieties during the day, including two swine flu cases (one of which ended up being tonsillitis... how hard can it be to confuse the two?)
We also had a fractured clavicle (collar bone in non-medically-boney terms) and chest pains, an OD on paracetamol, a phantom pregnancy (yep, they do happen) and a little old lady who had fallen and hit her head, causing a lovely big bruise over her eye and a very bloody wound. The cut itself was relatively small and not exceptionally deep, yet the blood had poured from it; you could tell by her red, matted hair (I always find it strange that head/face wounds will bleed as though the injury is serious, when it can actually be a tiny cut.) Yet she was in good spirits and very sweet.
I always love how elderly people who really need help are immensely apologetic to you, every time you walk into the cubicle, even when you've just nipped in to get something out of the cupboards.
"I'm sorry to be such an inconvenience," or "I'm sorry for being such a nuisance," or "I'm sorry for taking up your time," and so forth.
When, on the other end of the scale, you have the time wasters sitting outside the door.
I triaged my first patient today, and for being so simple it was actually quite difficult.
His GP had referred him to A&E with fevers and sweats. Someone tell me which one it is, 'cos I honestly think it's neither an accident, nor an emergency.
And neither did the rest of the A&E staff.
With no other problems other than this presenting complaint, there really wasn't that much to ask or talk about. Hence why it was awkward.
Obs were all fine (no high temperature there then) and the patient appeared to be in good form.
Could the diagnosis be a case of the lazy GP?
The patient denied any recent colds/coughs/infections, as had the GP in the referral letter.
So what was the problem?
Well, we dipped his urine, and we found the answer. The guy had a urinary tract infection (UTI).
The doctor prescribed him antibiotics, and away he went - another happy customer.
Only he needn't have come to A&E and taken up our time.
He needn't have waited the hour he did to be triaged and treated.
The GP could have referred him to a practice nurse in the surgery, who would have tested the urine there and then. Hell, the GP could have even done it themselves. They could then have prescribed him the medication.
Standard procedure. Quick and easy. No fussing about with A&E waiting times.
It was inconvenient for the patient, and for the emergency staff.
Still, at least we got the guy sorted.
Aside from the emergency department, I also made a return trip to Ward 9 to visit my last mentor.
I don't think I'll get the chance to bond with another mentor like I did with her. Our constant excursions to every ward in the hospital brought us closer together, I think. Two nurses for the price of one, so to speak.
Now she's more of a friend, someone who I can still go to for advice and help in the nursing realms, and for a reference when it comes to getting a job - an added perk.
It was great to see her again, and I think she was pleased to see me too! I know now that if I ever have any issues whilst at DGH, I can always talk to her about them.
I'm sure we'll catch up again at some point, maybe before I head back to uni. But it would be nice to be able to keep in touch from time to time.
So overall? An interesting and varied day.
I just can't wait until my next few shifts, when I can see what the weekend will have in store for me.
Wednesday 14 October 2009
Like Casualty off the telly...
Week 1 in A&E, and things have been going smoothly for the student nurses...
Yes, I have finished my first week's worth of shifts for placement - 3 consecutive stints in Dr Gray's A&E department.
Dr G's; it's like I can't get enough. I've even been back on ward 7 twice, just to say hello and to transfer a patient. I'll never get away now. I guess it's good to know I'm still remembered. Whether those memories are of a fond nature, well, that's yet to be said...
But A&E - that's right where I want to be!
In the midst of the quiet corridors, empty cubicles, abandoned resus rooms...
Not quite right, is it?
Yet that's what my three days have been like (for the mornings at least) until things pick up slightly towards the evening time. The time when, having already been on for almost 10 hours, you can't quite be bothered to deal with drunken patients, screeching kids, and what ever other trivial condition walks through the doors.
Saying that, A&E has not been entirely uneventful. In my opinion it's still better than a ward, because of the great variety that comes with the job.
In the past 3 shifts I have learnt quite a lot, and any confidence with some procedures or equipment is partly thanks to the RC experience. Already I have had to put someone in an arm sling and elevation sling, and help log roll someone off a spinal board and onto the bed. Surprisingly, you don't learn these basics in Uni.
Anyway, this is what I've witnessed/been involved in so far (not in any precise order of events as my memory isn't that good - patient confidentiality taken into account):
Now one of the nurses has organised a day out for me and my friend with the ambulance crews, to observe the emergency work from a paramedic's point of view.
Obviously I am ecstatic over this, and can't wait until November when I get to join a crew for the day. I might try and pursuade my mentor for another day out. Thankfully she's very cool, hip and trendy, and if I ask nice enough she might just sort that out for me.
So yes, from the list it doesn't sound like a quiet stint, but it's very slow for Elgin A&E and even the nurses agree with me on that point!
Of course I have another 8 weeks to spend in the company of the emergency care workers, so there's plenty of time for things to pick up to full speed.
As one nurse commented on our first day, "it's just like Casualty off the telly."
Yes, I have finished my first week's worth of shifts for placement - 3 consecutive stints in Dr Gray's A&E department.
Dr G's; it's like I can't get enough. I've even been back on ward 7 twice, just to say hello and to transfer a patient. I'll never get away now. I guess it's good to know I'm still remembered. Whether those memories are of a fond nature, well, that's yet to be said...
But A&E - that's right where I want to be!
In the midst of the quiet corridors, empty cubicles, abandoned resus rooms...
Not quite right, is it?
Yet that's what my three days have been like (for the mornings at least) until things pick up slightly towards the evening time. The time when, having already been on for almost 10 hours, you can't quite be bothered to deal with drunken patients, screeching kids, and what ever other trivial condition walks through the doors.
Saying that, A&E has not been entirely uneventful. In my opinion it's still better than a ward, because of the great variety that comes with the job.
In the past 3 shifts I have learnt quite a lot, and any confidence with some procedures or equipment is partly thanks to the RC experience. Already I have had to put someone in an arm sling and elevation sling, and help log roll someone off a spinal board and onto the bed. Surprisingly, you don't learn these basics in Uni.
Anyway, this is what I've witnessed/been involved in so far (not in any precise order of events as my memory isn't that good - patient confidentiality taken into account):
- An elderly lady who had fallen and hurt her shoulder, ?fracture.
- A paediatric resus alert, where a baby had lost consciousness - this turned out to be a false alarm, as when the baby arrived from the ambo it was crying its lungs out and fully awake and alert, and had apparently been this way since the call out. Phew...
- A burnt penis.
- A Myocardial Infarction (MI, or a.k.a. heart attack) and the protocol which comes with it - the patient was still alert and conscious by the way (prior to RC/nursing, I always used to think of MIs as collapsed/unconscious/dead, but obviously this isn't always true).
- A construction site worker whose circular saw thing (the spinny one with a serrated edge) had bounced off the metal he had been cutting, and had sliced back into him, cutting through his chest. Thankfully it hadn't quite reached the bone, and being rather stocky his thick fleshy layers had taken the blow. A very nice, deep laceration.
- Suspected CVA (a.k.a. stroke)
- A man who had jacked his van up to check on a tyre. The jack gave way, and the van fell, crushing the man underneath. He entered A&E with a ?spinal and a very sore ?broken shoulder. Apparently this incident is also classed as an RTC.
- A fractured femur.
- A variety of old breaks and torn ligaments/tendons, which were all plaster-casted. Myself and my fellow student even got the chance to practice plastering thanks to the very nice Orthopedic technicians of the A&E dept. Very good fun, and very funny.
- A patient with a head injury who was choking on his own saliva (very briefly, before he was whisked away to get a CT scan).
Now one of the nurses has organised a day out for me and my friend with the ambulance crews, to observe the emergency work from a paramedic's point of view.
Obviously I am ecstatic over this, and can't wait until November when I get to join a crew for the day. I might try and pursuade my mentor for another day out. Thankfully she's very cool, hip and trendy, and if I ask nice enough she might just sort that out for me.
So yes, from the list it doesn't sound like a quiet stint, but it's very slow for Elgin A&E and even the nurses agree with me on that point!
Of course I have another 8 weeks to spend in the company of the emergency care workers, so there's plenty of time for things to pick up to full speed.
As one nurse commented on our first day, "it's just like Casualty off the telly."
Saturday 10 October 2009
Kitten games...
If you'd gone into Red Cross that night, you were sure of a big surprise...
For a little grey kitten was padding around causing a little bit of havoc.
India Sophie Mischief Rainbow Walker - or just India for short - is the newest edition to our first aiding team. While there is a dog in the swiftie team, we thought a cat would complete the circle.
India even has an ID badge in the making, with a very well captured photograph (that's the best pic my photography skills have ever mounted to).
India, not only being very photogenic, can also turn biker's hearts to mush with a single flick of a whisker. Ronnie pretty much melted like butter over a flame the moment he set eyes on the little fluff ball.
And Steve's "I don't like cats" charade soon changed when India meowed at him from her crate midway through the evening. I think she spoiled the softie moment though when she proceeded to dig her claws into his arm and attach herself to his tie...
And big ol' weegie Rob fell to pieces over the beastie too.
In fact, a lot of words that came from the men that night ended in -ooo and -eee, like "you little cutieee, aren't you? Yes you are, you're gorgeous, awww, you little sweetieee kitteee..."
You get the idea.
So where did India come from?
Long story short, Lol and me rescued her (shall we say) and brought her home to Caitlind to become a beloved pet. So far she has been good as gold - litter trained and all that jazz - but India never fails to create some mischievous entertainment.
That does include scratching you to claw-marked death.
I guess India will be making a few more appearances in the RC office. I'm sure she's already worked out where the best hiding places are, after the Boss let her scamper around the corridors and offices for half the night.
Once she receives her ID badge, she'll be an official member. But until then, me thinks she'll be welcomed with open paws every time.
For a little grey kitten was padding around causing a little bit of havoc.
India Sophie Mischief Rainbow Walker - or just India for short - is the newest edition to our first aiding team. While there is a dog in the swiftie team, we thought a cat would complete the circle.
India even has an ID badge in the making, with a very well captured photograph (that's the best pic my photography skills have ever mounted to).
India, not only being very photogenic, can also turn biker's hearts to mush with a single flick of a whisker. Ronnie pretty much melted like butter over a flame the moment he set eyes on the little fluff ball.
And Steve's "I don't like cats" charade soon changed when India meowed at him from her crate midway through the evening. I think she spoiled the softie moment though when she proceeded to dig her claws into his arm and attach herself to his tie...
And big ol' weegie Rob fell to pieces over the beastie too.
In fact, a lot of words that came from the men that night ended in -ooo and -eee, like "you little cutieee, aren't you? Yes you are, you're gorgeous, awww, you little sweetieee kitteee..."
You get the idea.
So where did India come from?
Long story short, Lol and me rescued her (shall we say) and brought her home to Caitlind to become a beloved pet. So far she has been good as gold - litter trained and all that jazz - but India never fails to create some mischievous entertainment.
That does include scratching you to claw-marked death.
I guess India will be making a few more appearances in the RC office. I'm sure she's already worked out where the best hiding places are, after the Boss let her scamper around the corridors and offices for half the night.
Once she receives her ID badge, she'll be an official member. But until then, me thinks she'll be welcomed with open paws every time.
Wednesday 7 October 2009
My 100th Post!
Yes loyal readers, I have indeed reached my 100th post! Took long enough as well, but every story was worth it =]
So to celebrate, I thought I would do a list... I'll be impressed if I can reach 100, but here goes...
All the things I've learned since finding myself involved with a very big organisation...
- The BRC is not just about old ladies in charity shops.
- It's possible to find family in the people who aren't your blood relatives.
- It's ok for your best mate to back hand you from time to time.
- You can be a biker and still care about people.
- You can be a biker and still fall apart over fluffy baby animals.
- Booze is an asset in life, especially when you're stressed.
- It's not appropriate to speak to the big, big, big Boss in a high pitched, drunken manner, but it sure is feckin' funny.
- Micras make great mini ambulances.
- Most first aiders are crazy and are up for any banter.
- Some first aiders are stuck up.
- People think you're a paramedic, despite not having a uniform which depicts this.
- You can still have an acting hobby in the Red Cross, just one with loads of fake blood.
- Blues and twos are cool.
- Casualties will appear during lunch and/or dinner times, or generally when you've just started eating something.
- Meeting random people and quickly becoming allies with them (like security guards, firefighters, nurses...) is just one part of the first aider's job.
- Bandages are the most confusing things to use and are not my forte.
- Oxygen is explosive when in contact with things like Vaseline.
- Casualty terminology becomes a lot clearer when you do first aid.
- Micras make brilliant mini 4x4s.
- Cleaning out ambulances is more fun than you first think.
- Boiler suits are sexy.
- First aid is not an exact science.
- Red Cross will take over your life.
- Many people won't understand the reasoning behind the previous statement, and will give you funny looks when you try to explain.
- Films/tv shows/songs quickly become related to the people you work with.
- 12-18 hour shifts are a walk in the park.
- Energy drink is a life saver.
- There are different sizes of portaloos - some are nicer than others, and some even have lights.
- The RC logo can often lead to free or discount food (duties only, folks. Don't go trying it in your local Tesco).
- Once you've seen one pair of sweaty feet, you've seen (and smelt) them all.
- There is something oddly therapeutic in blister bursting.
- Paramedics are quite nice to you when they realise you have a vague idea of what's going on.
- Paramedics can also be arrogant jerks.
- The 999 call centre people can be equally arrogant, annoying jerks. You can't blame them really.
- "Water faeries" is an apt name for firefighters.
- Some medics think they're green-clad Gods. Maybe that's quite right, as long as they don't go over-board.
- Micras can be used to jump start ambulances.
- Walking through town in a blue boiler suit/hi-vis jacket and heavy boots generally attracts attention.
- Wearing uniform can give you a "cool" walk.
- Men will nearly always find a way to flirt with you on duty, e.g. "if I collapse right now, would you give me the kiss of life?"
- You can be asked anything when on duty, from "where are the toilets?" to enquiries over your sexuality.
- Defibs have automated voices which talk you through everything; thus idiot proof.
- Defibs do not look like the ones on Casualty - they have sticky pads, not things resembling wall staplers.
- 6 hour-long bus journeys can be fun.
- All forms of sport competitors - like cyclists or marathon runners - are total nutters. Even if they are doing it for a good cause... why put yourself through the strain???
- Motorbikes are very cool.
- Casualty cas sim isn't always anatomically accurate.
- There are some really cool names for body parts, like phalanges.
- Anything first aid related will instantly become cool or interesting the moment you join.
- Never use the term "over and out" on the radio - it's contradictory and doesn't make sense. Film writers clearly don't do their research if it's in the script.
- Joining such an organisation can change your life, usually for the good.
- Quad bikes are amazing fun to ride.
- Standing in the pit of the stage when a rave is going on is absolutely fantastic, and sometimes quite dangerous (thanks to beer bottles).
- Very few people truly understand the concept of the Red Cross, and therefore don't get why you give up your free time to do it.
- It feels good to say that you save lives in your spare time.
- It's actually better to first aid at a festival rather than be a punter, for the simple reason that fights, drugs and excessive alcohol are things you treat, rather than things you get involved in.
- In relation to above comment, a RC status will get you in the back stage and VIP zones for free.
- High vis gets you authority.
- You go places with the BRC (should be a second logo?)
- Crisis' don't just happen in foreign countries or far away from home.
- Medical stuff might make for a very interesting career.
- Your Youtube account fills up very quickly with dedicated/patriotic/emotional fan vids of the RC, whether they're favourites you've found or ones you've tried to make yourself.
- Driving an ambulance at least once becomes an aspiration.
- People who have saved a life or helped someone to overcome a hardship through the RC instantly become inspirational role models.
- "Turn Robert" and "Turn Alan" are alternatives for "turn right" and "turn left" when giving someone directions.
- Football/badminton/frisbee are great games for killing time (or for making idiots out of your mates).
- A&E becomes an amazingly interesting place.
- Sneaking into A&E to steal back spinal boards and collars is not a bad thing.
- Thanks to events and casualties, you suddenly have great stories to tell when at the pub.
- Anatomical/medical questions in pub quizzes allow for easy points.
- You develop a second side, known as "First Aid Mode." It's relatively easy to flick between this and "Casual Mode", as proven by finding a casualty whilst trying to get lunch up town (see, there's the food theory again...)
- Carrying latex gloves in your bag is a good idea.
- First aid kits in cars are no longer forgotten.
- Eating before or after witnessing gore is no longer an issue.
- All-weather clothing becomes a must have accessory in the wardrobe.
- Bargains can be found in charity shops.
- Drunk people either admire people in uniform, or have no respect for them what-so-ever.
- Big cities have first aid bases the size of mansions.
- The floor can be a comfy place to sleep when you're tired enough.
- Ambo trolley beds are very comfy for sleeping on. Just remember to strap yourself in when mobile.
- Most stretchers aren't comfy for sleeping on.
- Sleep can be rejected for hours when Red Bull is continually pumped into your body.
- Your own bed has never been more appreciated once you've been on the go for a whole weekend, the weather has been particularly shit, and sleep deprivation is starting to gnaw away at your good soul...
- The phonetic alphabet becomes second nature.
- Mag-lite torches are very useful, despite their size.
- The definition of a weekend night out soon entails first aid kits and ambulances.
- In relation to above, cans of red bull will be the way to get kicks out of a beverage on a Saturday night.
- Also, your weekend outfit often changes from dressy to boiler-suity...
- You are obliged by the law of the good Samaritan to stop and help anyone in a crisis, even if you are just trying to drive home after a busy day, or longing for a quiet drink in the pub.
- The word "quiet" is a taboo - never, ever, ever say it when your day is 'steady'. Unspeakable evil falls upon you when you casually state the day is quiet...
- You are out so often that your own family won't let you in the door 'cos they hardly recognise you...
- The thought of charging moody/irritating/annoyingly pissed individuals for treatment becomes a tempting one after a while... especially when it's 2 o'clock in the morning.
- Hobbies are whittled down to just one - first aid.
- A sense of fear sparks inside you when a pregnant woman comes to ask you for help when on duty.
- A greatest fear in first aid involves a pregnant woman yelling "it's coming!"
- Acronyms are amazing for remembering medical things, until you forget what one letter stands for. Then it just niggles you.
- Knowledge of first aid helps a lot when you are training for a further medical profession... like a nurse.
- The words "on call" are two exciting words to hear.
- Text messages at 8 in the morning saying "shout out, office, asap" are the best types of wake up calls ever. It really gets you going.
- You may get miserable people, who snap at you or are uncooperative, who are so drunk they swear at you and throw punches in the air, and sometimes you may get tarred with the same sticky brush of negativity and uselessness, but at the end of the day, the one thing that can make you feel good despite all other shite is for a person you've helped to turn round, give you a small smile, and simply say "thank you." Just so you know you've made some sort of difference.
There, 100 memoirs for 100 posts. Good stuff =]
Tuesday 6 October 2009
Biking for a good cause
The highlight behind last Sunday's duty in good old Elgin was having a fellow colleague enter a 22mile cycle race to raise funds for the BRC.
Apart from that, not much else happened with it.
While some of the gang got to play about with feet at the Loch Ness Marathon, myself and a three other volunteers got to watch bikes all day.
And jumpstart RE6 everytime it stalled. Yes, I think my micra is officially its defib now.
But the duty was quite fine; the four of us had a good bit of banter with the nutter, eh, I mean Christine, who had decided to enter the Moray Bike Ride for our good cause.
It became apparent that Dr Gray's very own Wave Radio station (who had also come along to commentate on the day's events) were equally as supportive of the pair as we were. They played Fontella Bass' Rescue Me - a classic tune, and incredibly apt when it comes down to RC - especially for our fund-raising bike riders. The song sparked a few smiles and giggles amongst the crowd too, especially when the DJ suggested there was a hidden meaning within the music.
Well, obviously.
After the riders had crossed the start line, we had little else to do. Fiona and Nikki crewed the base with RE6, while Charles and me drove off into the Morayshire wilderness in RE2, keeping our eyes peeled for any casualties.
While no one was injured during the day (thankfully) there were several cyclists who got lost.
Fair enough; the event route was poorly sign posted (although the wind helped with that, blowing away every arrow which pointed the competitors down the right track).
So while some got confused in the depths of Roseisle forrest, others cut corners off the route by unsuspectingly taking short cuts down parallel roads, and some even managed to find their way onto the main road, in between Alves and Forres.
This made things slightly more interesting, especially when it came to checking up on them.
But at the end of the day, it seemed that everybody who had started the race had been accounted for.
I say that, when there might actually be one or two poor lost souls, still wondering where they are and how to get back onto the right route again...
Anyhoo, the event, although small, was good fun all the same.
Fiona even treated us to ice cream when Charles and me returned to base, in time to see our pair of nutters celebrating their completion of the bike ride.
22 miles and Christine was still finding strength in her legs to dance to the music.
Once again, the DJ found a comment to accompany this - far too much energy.
I bet she hurt the next day though.
So that was that; a fun, simple duty which killed the boredom of a regular Sunday morning/afternoon.
Although, it was only meant to be afternoon - we went down to the park too early (10am - I dunno where that time came from, but I could have had an extra hour in bed people!)
So once we had parked up the vehicles, we decided to mosey on down to Tesco to grab a cup of tea, and for me a sausage and egg bap =]
A proper Sunday breakfast.
Apart from that, not much else happened with it.
While some of the gang got to play about with feet at the Loch Ness Marathon, myself and a three other volunteers got to watch bikes all day.
And jumpstart RE6 everytime it stalled. Yes, I think my micra is officially its defib now.
But the duty was quite fine; the four of us had a good bit of banter with the nutter, eh, I mean Christine, who had decided to enter the Moray Bike Ride for our good cause.
It became apparent that Dr Gray's very own Wave Radio station (who had also come along to commentate on the day's events) were equally as supportive of the pair as we were. They played Fontella Bass' Rescue Me - a classic tune, and incredibly apt when it comes down to RC - especially for our fund-raising bike riders. The song sparked a few smiles and giggles amongst the crowd too, especially when the DJ suggested there was a hidden meaning within the music.
Well, obviously.
After the riders had crossed the start line, we had little else to do. Fiona and Nikki crewed the base with RE6, while Charles and me drove off into the Morayshire wilderness in RE2, keeping our eyes peeled for any casualties.
While no one was injured during the day (thankfully) there were several cyclists who got lost.
Fair enough; the event route was poorly sign posted (although the wind helped with that, blowing away every arrow which pointed the competitors down the right track).
So while some got confused in the depths of Roseisle forrest, others cut corners off the route by unsuspectingly taking short cuts down parallel roads, and some even managed to find their way onto the main road, in between Alves and Forres.
This made things slightly more interesting, especially when it came to checking up on them.
But at the end of the day, it seemed that everybody who had started the race had been accounted for.
I say that, when there might actually be one or two poor lost souls, still wondering where they are and how to get back onto the right route again...
Anyhoo, the event, although small, was good fun all the same.
Fiona even treated us to ice cream when Charles and me returned to base, in time to see our pair of nutters celebrating their completion of the bike ride.
22 miles and Christine was still finding strength in her legs to dance to the music.
Once again, the DJ found a comment to accompany this - far too much energy.
I bet she hurt the next day though.
So that was that; a fun, simple duty which killed the boredom of a regular Sunday morning/afternoon.
Although, it was only meant to be afternoon - we went down to the park too early (10am - I dunno where that time came from, but I could have had an extra hour in bed people!)
So once we had parked up the vehicles, we decided to mosey on down to Tesco to grab a cup of tea, and for me a sausage and egg bap =]
A proper Sunday breakfast.
Sunday 27 September 2009
Tomintoul has a night life?
The windiest roads I have ever been on are undoubtedly on route from Dufftown to Braemar.
Away from the main town to town roads, this twisting, turning, up and down setup is sickeningly curvy.
As I've said before, I never, ever get travel sick.
But yesterday, as we were travelling to Braemar for the first part of the Caledonian 100 walk coverage, I thought my guts were gonna get up and go.
I could barely turn my head to speak to Nikki as I sat hunched against the window in the back of RE8, cross-legged on the stretcher and staring fixedly at the countryside bouncing past outside.
I came so close to lurching forwards for a sick bowl, or yelling out to Steve to stop the vehicle.
The worst part was when we reached what one colleague calls "the end of the world," when the road peaks and the view on the other side disappears from sight, as though the road really does stop abruptly, with nothing beyond it. Breaching that rise feels like you're about to nose dive off of, well, the edge of the world!
To couple with this, there was a particularly nasty bridge which rose rediculously high in the middle. Put it this way; a long vehicle with low suspension would not get over it, and end up being a see-saw. That didn't help the stomach situation either.
And I think everyone in RE8 felt exactly the same way about it all - just ill.
Never have I felt so ill when on the move, but I guess there's a first time for everything!
Anyway, at Braemar we met the early shift crew, who we were lucky enough to be going home to their beds after their very early start. We were due on until midnight, so we had a little way to go yet before we could get such a pleasure.
From Braemar, Nikki and me grabbed a ride back along the road (this time we split up between RE2 and the mini bus, so we got front seats - not too bad on the sickness front, thankfully) and were lovingly ditched in Tomintoul to act as base for the duration of the evening.
What a long evening it was.
We prioritised our needs; firstly, after our stomachs had settled, we needed food.
Being in Tomintoul meant easy access to shops (although, for those who don't know Tomintoul too well, shops are few and far between) so we managed to grab ourselves some pitta bread, cheese, coleslaw and crisps. Sorted.
Ok for food and water, we introduced ourselves to the crew running the event, and liased with them for a while.
A bonus was having decent toilets near by, so that was the basic necessities covered.
Just what to do for the remaining seven hours?
What better way to use your time (in between chatty phone calls with the Boss and Caitlind in RE8) than to learn another language?
So Nikki sat back and, being rather fluent in Italian, began to teach me how to say a few sentences.
For example; Amo Crotche Rosso Britanica (spelling might not be accurate, but you get the jist - now work out what it means...)
And so this continued on for the majority of the evening - along with a few spins about the town in RE2 - until the crew and RE8 arrived not long before 9 o'clock.
Now, we had been warned by some of the organisers that Tomintoul had a bit of a youthful night life.
For something to do (and can you really blame them?) many younger residents liked to go about keying/coining/scratching and graffiti-ing cars.
"Keep your medical supplies locked up," we were told. "And keep an eye on your vehicles."
Vigilantly, Nikki and me kept our eyes peeled for anyone looking to snoop about either RE2 or the mini bus, hoping that the BRC logo was official enough to keep them at bay.
When RE8 arrived with our fellow team mates, the so called scallywags appeared as if on cue.
Apart from loudly commenting on our presence in the square, they did nothing except play football and curse a lot. I was quite amazed that Tomintoul had complications with it's night life, or that it even had a night life at all; surely it's not something every small village has?
This particular night life was a pretty dysfunctional family unit, and it was sad to see; the youngest couldn't have been older than two years.
All out in the cold at 9 o'clock at night.
Sights like that make you wonder where the idea of family went wrong, and why some people are allowed and are able to breed, while others who desperately want a child to love and care for can't.
It's that kind of logic in life that fires me up inside; it just doesn't make sense.
If I ruled this country, I'd make it law to have folk like that castrated...
Sorry, let me put my humanitarian head back on...... there.
For that period of time in Tomintoul, we had two casualties. The first wasn't even on the walk; a coach trip party had over-run the hotel beside us that night, and as most of them came from English villages where the concept of ER vehicles in the town wasn't a common one, we sparked a bit of interest and, as it turned out for one woman, a bit of a convenience.
The injury - minor. She had stubbed her small toe on the dresser in her bedroom, and had taken off the nail. I feel gooey just thinking about that, eugh...
But her husband had been on hand to wrap it up in a plethora of plasters.
"I thought it would be best to get it checked out," she reasoned as she sat in RE8 with her feet up on the chair, "just to be sure."
Her husband had a actually done a grand job of cleaning it up and sticking on plasters (yes, not hard to do) and for that reason no further intervention was needed in treating the injury; the bleeding had stopped, and that was all that mattered.
Contented with this answer, the woman left as a happy and fulfilled customer.
So happy in fact, that her husband returned with a donation, which was incredibly nice of him and his wife, and if they ever happen to come across this post (you never know with the internet these days) then thank you again.
Even though it was the hubby who did all the work.
Our second casualty was in desperate need of a massage, else his legs would not have carried him much further than the edge of the town. So Nikki finally made use of her therapeutic care skills on duty.
See, we are quite the multi-talented and skilled team.
A third casualty did come along, but for what I can't quite remember as Nikki and I had to set off for the next check point in Nethy Bridge.
After answering some questions from a particularly drunken party of coach trippers, we set off along the dark, narrow, winding roads towards Nethy country.
This was pretty amusing as neither of us had no idea about where we going, which wasn't helped at all by the pitch black of night and a fuzzy map. And the curvy roads, which once again ascended and descended like a roller coaster track.
However, with my brilliant map reading skills and Nikki's driving talents we soon found ourselves on the right road to our destination. We could only pity the poor walkers who were having to pick their way through the dark along a hillside; if we found it hard on a road, they were definitely going to find it tricky.
Once in Nethy Bridge, we had to find the Nethy Bridge hotel.
That found, we then had to find the Revack Suite, which had been set up for the weary walkers.
In natural Nikki and Saz style, we entered the building from the deliveries entrance, and ended up in the wrong suite on the other side of the hotel. In a way, this was quite good as our advice was needed from the bar manager.
He had dislocated two fingers while playing rugby earlier on that day. The conversation ran something like this:
"Have you had someone take a look at the injury?"
"Yeah, a sports medic did."
"Did he pop them back in place?"
"Yeah."
He had also bandaged the hand and splinted the fingers, which was an added bonus.
"So, is it just the pain that's the issue?"
"Yeah."
"You taken pain killers?"
"Yeah."
"How about ice? You want an ice pack?"
"My mate had deep freeze, but that's worn off a bit. Ice packs annoy me."
"Ah. Right, if it's still bothering you, perhaps make an appointment to get it checked out further."
"I have. I'm seeing my GP tomorrow."
"Ah."
That's all the bases covered. So the final suggestion?
"You got ice behind the bar? Cos ice in a napkin placed on the injury every now and then might help it, you know, keep the heat down and prevent any further swelling."
Simple as - he had the situation pretty much covered.
So for that, he showed us the right way to get to the Revack Suite.
What else did the lad think we'd be able to do? Wave a magic wand over his hand and remove all evidence of dislocation? All pain?
Although that would be handy... no pun intended...
So there we were, just the two of us, stuck at Nethy Bridge Hotel until midnight when the Aviemore crew would come to relieve us, take us back to Tomintoul and let the four of us get away home again.
With a few more spins around the town, a spot of liasing with the checkpoint crew and the hotel's night porter, and the occasional phone call from the Boss, the time soon passed.
Soon, the Aviemore gang had rounded the corner and were ready for the big swap.
Riding in the back of the car to Tomintoul tweaked the stomach again on many a bend, but I knew it was going to be nothing like the ambo ride we had waiting in store for us.
Thankfully, by the time we had said our hellos and goodbyes between the teams, we were all too tired to focus upon the windy roads. I'm quite glad I find sleeping in RE8 easy, and thanks to my trusty iPod, I was dozing in no time.
I could still feel my stomach swinging between my other vital organs, but sleep helped to numb the awareness slightly.
And as Nikki had also opted for sleep, the back of the ambulance had become quiet =]
(apart from the usual technical bumps and grinds of the equipment, of course.)
So yet another late finish for the RC team this weekend.
Thank heavens that someone invented something called an energy drink.
Away from the main town to town roads, this twisting, turning, up and down setup is sickeningly curvy.
As I've said before, I never, ever get travel sick.
But yesterday, as we were travelling to Braemar for the first part of the Caledonian 100 walk coverage, I thought my guts were gonna get up and go.
I could barely turn my head to speak to Nikki as I sat hunched against the window in the back of RE8, cross-legged on the stretcher and staring fixedly at the countryside bouncing past outside.
I came so close to lurching forwards for a sick bowl, or yelling out to Steve to stop the vehicle.
The worst part was when we reached what one colleague calls "the end of the world," when the road peaks and the view on the other side disappears from sight, as though the road really does stop abruptly, with nothing beyond it. Breaching that rise feels like you're about to nose dive off of, well, the edge of the world!
To couple with this, there was a particularly nasty bridge which rose rediculously high in the middle. Put it this way; a long vehicle with low suspension would not get over it, and end up being a see-saw. That didn't help the stomach situation either.
And I think everyone in RE8 felt exactly the same way about it all - just ill.
Never have I felt so ill when on the move, but I guess there's a first time for everything!
Anyway, at Braemar we met the early shift crew, who we were lucky enough to be going home to their beds after their very early start. We were due on until midnight, so we had a little way to go yet before we could get such a pleasure.
From Braemar, Nikki and me grabbed a ride back along the road (this time we split up between RE2 and the mini bus, so we got front seats - not too bad on the sickness front, thankfully) and were lovingly ditched in Tomintoul to act as base for the duration of the evening.
What a long evening it was.
We prioritised our needs; firstly, after our stomachs had settled, we needed food.
Being in Tomintoul meant easy access to shops (although, for those who don't know Tomintoul too well, shops are few and far between) so we managed to grab ourselves some pitta bread, cheese, coleslaw and crisps. Sorted.
Ok for food and water, we introduced ourselves to the crew running the event, and liased with them for a while.
A bonus was having decent toilets near by, so that was the basic necessities covered.
Just what to do for the remaining seven hours?
What better way to use your time (in between chatty phone calls with the Boss and Caitlind in RE8) than to learn another language?
So Nikki sat back and, being rather fluent in Italian, began to teach me how to say a few sentences.
For example; Amo Crotche Rosso Britanica (spelling might not be accurate, but you get the jist - now work out what it means...)
And so this continued on for the majority of the evening - along with a few spins about the town in RE2 - until the crew and RE8 arrived not long before 9 o'clock.
Now, we had been warned by some of the organisers that Tomintoul had a bit of a youthful night life.
For something to do (and can you really blame them?) many younger residents liked to go about keying/coining/scratching and graffiti-ing cars.
"Keep your medical supplies locked up," we were told. "And keep an eye on your vehicles."
Vigilantly, Nikki and me kept our eyes peeled for anyone looking to snoop about either RE2 or the mini bus, hoping that the BRC logo was official enough to keep them at bay.
When RE8 arrived with our fellow team mates, the so called scallywags appeared as if on cue.
Apart from loudly commenting on our presence in the square, they did nothing except play football and curse a lot. I was quite amazed that Tomintoul had complications with it's night life, or that it even had a night life at all; surely it's not something every small village has?
This particular night life was a pretty dysfunctional family unit, and it was sad to see; the youngest couldn't have been older than two years.
All out in the cold at 9 o'clock at night.
Sights like that make you wonder where the idea of family went wrong, and why some people are allowed and are able to breed, while others who desperately want a child to love and care for can't.
It's that kind of logic in life that fires me up inside; it just doesn't make sense.
If I ruled this country, I'd make it law to have folk like that castrated...
Sorry, let me put my humanitarian head back on...... there.
For that period of time in Tomintoul, we had two casualties. The first wasn't even on the walk; a coach trip party had over-run the hotel beside us that night, and as most of them came from English villages where the concept of ER vehicles in the town wasn't a common one, we sparked a bit of interest and, as it turned out for one woman, a bit of a convenience.
The injury - minor. She had stubbed her small toe on the dresser in her bedroom, and had taken off the nail. I feel gooey just thinking about that, eugh...
But her husband had been on hand to wrap it up in a plethora of plasters.
"I thought it would be best to get it checked out," she reasoned as she sat in RE8 with her feet up on the chair, "just to be sure."
Her husband had a actually done a grand job of cleaning it up and sticking on plasters (yes, not hard to do) and for that reason no further intervention was needed in treating the injury; the bleeding had stopped, and that was all that mattered.
Contented with this answer, the woman left as a happy and fulfilled customer.
So happy in fact, that her husband returned with a donation, which was incredibly nice of him and his wife, and if they ever happen to come across this post (you never know with the internet these days) then thank you again.
Even though it was the hubby who did all the work.
Our second casualty was in desperate need of a massage, else his legs would not have carried him much further than the edge of the town. So Nikki finally made use of her therapeutic care skills on duty.
See, we are quite the multi-talented and skilled team.
A third casualty did come along, but for what I can't quite remember as Nikki and I had to set off for the next check point in Nethy Bridge.
After answering some questions from a particularly drunken party of coach trippers, we set off along the dark, narrow, winding roads towards Nethy country.
This was pretty amusing as neither of us had no idea about where we going, which wasn't helped at all by the pitch black of night and a fuzzy map. And the curvy roads, which once again ascended and descended like a roller coaster track.
However, with my brilliant map reading skills and Nikki's driving talents we soon found ourselves on the right road to our destination. We could only pity the poor walkers who were having to pick their way through the dark along a hillside; if we found it hard on a road, they were definitely going to find it tricky.
Once in Nethy Bridge, we had to find the Nethy Bridge hotel.
That found, we then had to find the Revack Suite, which had been set up for the weary walkers.
In natural Nikki and Saz style, we entered the building from the deliveries entrance, and ended up in the wrong suite on the other side of the hotel. In a way, this was quite good as our advice was needed from the bar manager.
He had dislocated two fingers while playing rugby earlier on that day. The conversation ran something like this:
"Have you had someone take a look at the injury?"
"Yeah, a sports medic did."
"Did he pop them back in place?"
"Yeah."
He had also bandaged the hand and splinted the fingers, which was an added bonus.
"So, is it just the pain that's the issue?"
"Yeah."
"You taken pain killers?"
"Yeah."
"How about ice? You want an ice pack?"
"My mate had deep freeze, but that's worn off a bit. Ice packs annoy me."
"Ah. Right, if it's still bothering you, perhaps make an appointment to get it checked out further."
"I have. I'm seeing my GP tomorrow."
"Ah."
That's all the bases covered. So the final suggestion?
"You got ice behind the bar? Cos ice in a napkin placed on the injury every now and then might help it, you know, keep the heat down and prevent any further swelling."
Simple as - he had the situation pretty much covered.
So for that, he showed us the right way to get to the Revack Suite.
What else did the lad think we'd be able to do? Wave a magic wand over his hand and remove all evidence of dislocation? All pain?
Although that would be handy... no pun intended...
So there we were, just the two of us, stuck at Nethy Bridge Hotel until midnight when the Aviemore crew would come to relieve us, take us back to Tomintoul and let the four of us get away home again.
With a few more spins around the town, a spot of liasing with the checkpoint crew and the hotel's night porter, and the occasional phone call from the Boss, the time soon passed.
Soon, the Aviemore gang had rounded the corner and were ready for the big swap.
Riding in the back of the car to Tomintoul tweaked the stomach again on many a bend, but I knew it was going to be nothing like the ambo ride we had waiting in store for us.
Thankfully, by the time we had said our hellos and goodbyes between the teams, we were all too tired to focus upon the windy roads. I'm quite glad I find sleeping in RE8 easy, and thanks to my trusty iPod, I was dozing in no time.
I could still feel my stomach swinging between my other vital organs, but sleep helped to numb the awareness slightly.
And as Nikki had also opted for sleep, the back of the ambulance had become quiet =]
(apart from the usual technical bumps and grinds of the equipment, of course.)
So yet another late finish for the RC team this weekend.
Thank heavens that someone invented something called an energy drink.
Friday 25 September 2009
We're going on a BOC hunt...
Thanks to the trials of uni, I appreciate my free time back in Elgin so much more.
In fact, the one place I love to be is in the old RC office, spending time restocking vehicles, organising equipment, and generally just having a good laugh with the people I love to be with best.
So when Caitlind and me set out to stock up the vehicles for this weekend's event (the Braemar to Aviemore hike - stay tuned) imagine the joy I felt when I heard we would have to take a trip back to Inverness to swap the empty O2 cylinders and get some new ones.
Inverness, again. Woop.
Actually, to be honest I was more than happy to fill up the car and get it back on the long road to Sneckie. It was a fine day for a lengthy drive, with 6 fully and half empty canisters in the back of my very small micra.
We got to Inverness in no time, but while I was thinking we would take a jaunt down to the RC HQ to exchange O2, Caitlind had other instructions.
"We have to go to BOC."
"Where's that?"
"Near the dual carriageway roundabout, in the middle of an industrial estate, I think."
"Ok, where abouts?"
"Don't know really... I'm sure I'll know it when I see it."
I was once apprehensive of driving through Inverness. The outskirts I can deal with, but the middle of the city was a bit busier. My last sneckie driving experience with Caitlind had lead to me smashing my poor car into a traffic cone, costing 93 quid's worth of damage. Perhaps it was time to call on an expert.
Lol phoned asking what we were doing. Thee perfect satnav for such an occasion; I was glad to have her on board the great O2 hunt too. She had been bored, so thankfully she was more than happy to join.
We navigated our way through Inverness, and eventually we found ourselves on the busy back road leading to Kessock Bridge. To our right were the depths of the industrial estate, and bravely we took a turn into the forest of car dealerships and work force stockists.
Eyeing up the roads as we went by, we came to the conclusion that there was certainly not a BOC building in sight.
"Pull over somewhere and ask for directions," Caitlind said (very typically woman of her).
"You think a car dealer would know where an oxygen stock place is?" I asked (very typically driver-ish of me).
However, fate must have seen us coming, because suddenly Lol pointed out a life saver.
"Look, an ambulance! They would need oxygen too, so maybe they'd know where BOC is!"
The ambulance sat in the drive way of a car servicing garage. Its occupants didn't appear to be in it.
"What if they're answering a call?" Lol pointed out as we drove into the car park and came to a stop in the bay.
"We'll just nosey around and if they are, we'll go." Caitlind shrugged.
Of course I knew I'd be the one who would have to ask - I always ask, until I get tongue-tied and Caitlind takes over.
We enter into the waiting room of the garage and sure enough, two green clad gents are standing in front of a coffee machine, trying to work out how to use it.
"Excuse me guys," I ask sheepishly, "seems a bit random, but don't suppose you know where BOC is around here?"
"BOC?" One paramedic asks, raising an eyebrow. He looks to his colleague, who is looking at us, bemused at the three random girls standing in front of him asking for an O2 supplier. "Sorry, never heard of it."
"Our boss told us it'd be here somewhere," Caitlind added, "it's for Red Cross?"
"Oh, BOC!" Exclaimed the second medic suddenly. "You mean B, O, C? The British Oxygen Company?"
"Yeah, that's the one!"
I stood and watched the paramedics, feeling the acronym clarify inside my head; so that's what it stands for...
"We get our oxygen from another company," the first medic continued, "so we wouldn't be able to tell you."
"Actually, if you turn right at the traffic lights just up the road and carry on for 400 yards or so, you'll reach it."
We all turned to look at the mechanic who had just given us the much needed directions to our mysterious destination.
"Really?" I said, "Oh right, great, thanks very much."
We all chorused a thank you, to the mechanic and the medics, and hastily left the garage behind us as we clambered back into the micra, laughing.
"That was so random!" Lol laughed. I think that pretty much summed it up.
So we made it to BOC (or the British Oxygen Company) to meet yet another nice couple of burley guys who eventually gave us our 6 full O2 tanks in return for the empty ones, and who also called Caitlind short and verbal, which kinda effectively describes her in a brief and direct way =]
Although she has many other lovely qualities too, and of course she'll know I'm joking *winks cheekily*
Anyway...
After our search for O2 was complete, we decided that we earned a bit of leisure time in the shops before waving goodbye to Lol and heading back home to the Elgin office, where we met the Boss trying to fix our most rickety ambo, RE6.
Of course, the micra saved the day again by assisting in jump starting the beast of a bucket.
My little car did very well today, and I'm very proud. If it's possible to be proud of a 3 door green machine.
I do love Red Cross days. Talk about commitment.
In fact, the one place I love to be is in the old RC office, spending time restocking vehicles, organising equipment, and generally just having a good laugh with the people I love to be with best.
So when Caitlind and me set out to stock up the vehicles for this weekend's event (the Braemar to Aviemore hike - stay tuned) imagine the joy I felt when I heard we would have to take a trip back to Inverness to swap the empty O2 cylinders and get some new ones.
Inverness, again. Woop.
Actually, to be honest I was more than happy to fill up the car and get it back on the long road to Sneckie. It was a fine day for a lengthy drive, with 6 fully and half empty canisters in the back of my very small micra.
We got to Inverness in no time, but while I was thinking we would take a jaunt down to the RC HQ to exchange O2, Caitlind had other instructions.
"We have to go to BOC."
"Where's that?"
"Near the dual carriageway roundabout, in the middle of an industrial estate, I think."
"Ok, where abouts?"
"Don't know really... I'm sure I'll know it when I see it."
I was once apprehensive of driving through Inverness. The outskirts I can deal with, but the middle of the city was a bit busier. My last sneckie driving experience with Caitlind had lead to me smashing my poor car into a traffic cone, costing 93 quid's worth of damage. Perhaps it was time to call on an expert.
Lol phoned asking what we were doing. Thee perfect satnav for such an occasion; I was glad to have her on board the great O2 hunt too. She had been bored, so thankfully she was more than happy to join.
We navigated our way through Inverness, and eventually we found ourselves on the busy back road leading to Kessock Bridge. To our right were the depths of the industrial estate, and bravely we took a turn into the forest of car dealerships and work force stockists.
Eyeing up the roads as we went by, we came to the conclusion that there was certainly not a BOC building in sight.
"Pull over somewhere and ask for directions," Caitlind said (very typically woman of her).
"You think a car dealer would know where an oxygen stock place is?" I asked (very typically driver-ish of me).
However, fate must have seen us coming, because suddenly Lol pointed out a life saver.
"Look, an ambulance! They would need oxygen too, so maybe they'd know where BOC is!"
The ambulance sat in the drive way of a car servicing garage. Its occupants didn't appear to be in it.
"What if they're answering a call?" Lol pointed out as we drove into the car park and came to a stop in the bay.
"We'll just nosey around and if they are, we'll go." Caitlind shrugged.
Of course I knew I'd be the one who would have to ask - I always ask, until I get tongue-tied and Caitlind takes over.
We enter into the waiting room of the garage and sure enough, two green clad gents are standing in front of a coffee machine, trying to work out how to use it.
"Excuse me guys," I ask sheepishly, "seems a bit random, but don't suppose you know where BOC is around here?"
"BOC?" One paramedic asks, raising an eyebrow. He looks to his colleague, who is looking at us, bemused at the three random girls standing in front of him asking for an O2 supplier. "Sorry, never heard of it."
"Our boss told us it'd be here somewhere," Caitlind added, "it's for Red Cross?"
"Oh, BOC!" Exclaimed the second medic suddenly. "You mean B, O, C? The British Oxygen Company?"
"Yeah, that's the one!"
I stood and watched the paramedics, feeling the acronym clarify inside my head; so that's what it stands for...
"We get our oxygen from another company," the first medic continued, "so we wouldn't be able to tell you."
"Actually, if you turn right at the traffic lights just up the road and carry on for 400 yards or so, you'll reach it."
We all turned to look at the mechanic who had just given us the much needed directions to our mysterious destination.
"Really?" I said, "Oh right, great, thanks very much."
We all chorused a thank you, to the mechanic and the medics, and hastily left the garage behind us as we clambered back into the micra, laughing.
"That was so random!" Lol laughed. I think that pretty much summed it up.
So we made it to BOC (or the British Oxygen Company) to meet yet another nice couple of burley guys who eventually gave us our 6 full O2 tanks in return for the empty ones, and who also called Caitlind short and verbal, which kinda effectively describes her in a brief and direct way =]
Although she has many other lovely qualities too, and of course she'll know I'm joking *winks cheekily*
Anyway...
After our search for O2 was complete, we decided that we earned a bit of leisure time in the shops before waving goodbye to Lol and heading back home to the Elgin office, where we met the Boss trying to fix our most rickety ambo, RE6.
Of course, the micra saved the day again by assisting in jump starting the beast of a bucket.
My little car did very well today, and I'm very proud. If it's possible to be proud of a 3 door green machine.
I do love Red Cross days. Talk about commitment.
Thursday 24 September 2009
Two Heads are better than One...
Before the Great North Run ever came into the RC experience, there was a moto x where a mysterious being was created...
Using two giant neon yellow potato sacks, or RC hi vis jackets, Helena and Andrew, in the midst of a moto x race, decided to zip their jackets together and thus become joint at the hip.
They then proceeded (with the help of myself and Caitlind) to tie a bumbag around their 'joint' waist, attach the radio to the mic clip and pocket, and all together become a two-headed first aider known as Helandrew Palker.
As you can imagine, this turned quite a few heads.
The beauty of it is, they became so in sync with one another that walking at the same pace and turning round in the same direction soon became second nature. They even tried finishing each other's sentences, which perhaps not surprisingly, was not quite as successful as perfecting walking and manoeuvring. Oh yes, shoe lace tying was also an achievement, using a hand each to do so. And clapping hands. And playing hand games. And more embarrassingly, buying food and drink from the burger bar.
Even Steve was impressed, and our Gordonstoun/A&E nurse associate, Rob.
In fact, while Helandrew Palker got to grips with living life as one, Steve and Rob had two runs to Dr Grays; one with a man who had a suspected fractured hip, and one with a boy who had hit his head on falling from his bike and couldn't remember anything because of it.
Helandrew Palker actually had to hide behind a tree when Steve reversed the ambo into our usual parking space, with hip casualty and Rob inside. A few checks justified a run to the hospital, so when the ambo pulled out again, our two-headed member was left standing in full view of the crowds.
As I said, a few weird looks. Surely people must wonder about us lot now.
Ah, the variety of moto x... it just never gets old =]
Using two giant neon yellow potato sacks, or RC hi vis jackets, Helena and Andrew, in the midst of a moto x race, decided to zip their jackets together and thus become joint at the hip.
They then proceeded (with the help of myself and Caitlind) to tie a bumbag around their 'joint' waist, attach the radio to the mic clip and pocket, and all together become a two-headed first aider known as Helandrew Palker.
As you can imagine, this turned quite a few heads.
The beauty of it is, they became so in sync with one another that walking at the same pace and turning round in the same direction soon became second nature. They even tried finishing each other's sentences, which perhaps not surprisingly, was not quite as successful as perfecting walking and manoeuvring. Oh yes, shoe lace tying was also an achievement, using a hand each to do so. And clapping hands. And playing hand games. And more embarrassingly, buying food and drink from the burger bar.
Even Steve was impressed, and our Gordonstoun/A&E nurse associate, Rob.
In fact, while Helandrew Palker got to grips with living life as one, Steve and Rob had two runs to Dr Grays; one with a man who had a suspected fractured hip, and one with a boy who had hit his head on falling from his bike and couldn't remember anything because of it.
Helandrew Palker actually had to hide behind a tree when Steve reversed the ambo into our usual parking space, with hip casualty and Rob inside. A few checks justified a run to the hospital, so when the ambo pulled out again, our two-headed member was left standing in full view of the crowds.
As I said, a few weird looks. Surely people must wonder about us lot now.
Ah, the variety of moto x... it just never gets old =]
The Great North Run - run it if you're ready, not if you have medical issues
You really go places with the Red Cross.
For example, last weekend we travelled 6 hours by ambulance, 4x4 and mini bus to Newcastle, to help cover the amazing Great North Run, open to all resident nutters in the UK.
It's great in all sense of the word - great for it's long stretch which competitors have to race across, and great because it's actually a fantastic event to help at, or I suppose enter into, if you're that mad... I mean keen.
We set off on the Saturday lunchtime, taking with us RE8 and RE2. It was set to be quite a trek down the country, with the occasional rest stop in between. We paused briefly in Aviemore to pick up our own state registered nurse, who joined Ronnie and me in RE2, before continuing down the road to Perth, following the Boss and Caitlind, with Lol sleeping in the back, in RE8.
Traffic made the journey long, but banter between radios made it enjoyable. The biker boys longed for their motorbikes half the time we were trapped in a queue of cars, which was quite amusing...
But finally we made it to the outskirts of Perth at a highly convenient petrol station; fortunately just in time for a much needed comfort stop, else there would have been puddles in the vehicles...
Once we were relieved (phew) and fed and watered, we met up with our accompanying Aberdeen crew in their mini bus. Clued up with the novel that was the event's obs orders, they followed suit as we set off for the rest of the journey down.
This time I gave Lol some company in the back of RE8, and tried to settle down in the chair while she occupied the trolley bed. The chair isn't comfy, especially when you're trying to sleep, but hey, I felt gracious enough to allow ownership of the trolley to someone else for a change.
There's not much to see when you sit bleary-eyed in the back of an ambo. Lol fell asleep pretty much straight away (so much for keeping her company) while I remained flitting in and out of snoozing as much as cars flitted past the windows.
Eventually my iPod sent me into a light doze, with only the occasional jerk of the vehicle to make sure I was still with it, and when the pair of us finally came round again, we were beyond Edinburgh and nearing the borders.
Lol and me truly came awake when we left the dual carriageways and motorways behind, and we began the winding ascent to the border line. It was like a roller coaster ride - the roads were rising and falling and twisting and turning, almost like waves in a storm. Awesome fun, but a bit harsh on the stomach. Even I felt tender a couple of times, which says something; my stomach can be made out of concrete when rough rides come into play.
But we saw the welcoming sign of England as we crossed the invisible line between homeland and another country, and waved goodbye to the "Welcome to Scotland!" sign as we rounded the corner. One day, I will stand right on the border line and phone someone, just to say I'm half in Scotland and half in England. And then hop between the two a bit, just for the crack. Just a little ambition of mine; another one on the 101 things to do before I die list. Anyhoo.
As the sunset cast its final golden rays over the English country side, bleaching the sky with an orangey tinge, so the satnav guided our little RC convoy straight and true to Newcastle. As we neared the mighty Geordie city, the clouds came rolling over, and suddenly all light was fading.
We had reached Newcastle's suburbs, and to be honest, it was the dingiest sight I've seen for a while. It beats Glasgow's Gorbals in the rain at night. Now you can picture it.
It was sad to watch actually, as we witnessed from the safety of our heated ambo whole streets with shops, their signs bright and promising, but their fronts boarded up or guarded by metal shutters, with the odd bit of graffiti to add that stereotypical image.
Lol, being an ex Newcastle resident, said they had closed down for good; my naivety said it was because it was after 6 o'clock and most shops shut at 5. Smart cookie.
Then we passed schools, a hospital, culturally diverse community centres, flats, the usual outer-big-city scenes. We even passed St John Ambulance HQ, which I marvelled at the size of; it was like a white-washed mansion, with a number of their ambo fleet parked out front, guarded by a wall peaked with black railings. I like inter-organisational partnerships, but I still felt that bit prouder for being in a RC ambo.
Suddenly we turned down a road and disappeared into a cluster of houses. One large red-bricked building seemed to be a hostel of some kind. It was surrounded by a wall, trees and hedges; so private and isolated.
But the building beside it - also hidden from prying eyes by plant life and brick work -was so much better.
The stone pillars held the signs "British Red Cross", while the drive way took us past their front garden where what looked like ten RC vehicles sat in wait, as though anticipating the next day's event.
The road wound its way to the rear of the building - an eye-boggling mansion of an HQ, beating St John's by a good few bricks. It was huge!
I laugh at myself now; Elgin office is small and that's a fact, but I always thought the Inverness HQ was pretty big. Now, Inverness looks tiny in comparison, and Elgin even smaller! Everything about it was impressive; inside the building held several training rooms, a library, a reception, a canteen/kitchen area, a couple of offices undoubtedly, toilets, showers, and a wheelchair/medical storage room beating Elgin's arrangement by miles.
It was everything you needed, and thankfully perfectly adequate to live in for a night.
The local members were nice enough and were welcoming, showing us where everything we would need was located.
We met up with Ian and his partner on our arrival, and together we were shown where we would be sleeping that night. It was a training room, looking somewhat like an attic with sky-facing windows in the roof, but it was large enough to hold all of us Northern lot, and relatively comfortably too. So it was out with our kit (stashed in the back of RE2) and on to pumping up the blow-up beds, while the drivers went to wash the vehicles after their arduous drive.
Cups of tea were highly appreciated afterwards, and once we were organised, we settled ourselves down around Ian to listen to our briefing for the next day. We were joined by a group from Fife, who were also to crew the post with us (except they didn't in the end, some other random folk did, but that's by the by...)
We sat, as though in story time, and filled with excitement as we realised what we had let ourselves in for.
Post 18 was the name of our first aid point, and we were covering part of the last mile to the finishing line. This meant big casualties, and nothing like your normal blister or sprained ankle; our forecast was collapses, severe dehydration, hyponatremia (salt deficiency from bad dehydration) respiratory arrests, cardiac arrests - you name the trauma, and we were being bound to get it.
But no matter, we let it wash over us with only some concern. Our briefing paused so we could get some supper, and so Ronnie and Steve - our very own amo crew for RE8 - could get their paramedic briefing. During this the rest of us decided to explore Newcastle at night, and we popped round to the corner shop to buy some supplies to last us the rest of the night; a large bottle of coke and some nibbles. Good stuff.
We were also eyed up by a couple of thuggish, hooded blokes, who circled us a number of times and sat in wait outside the shop, trying to work out if we were worth approaching for the change. Something must have made them change their minds however, and I'm guessing it was Caitlind's RC hi vi, which must have looked too official to bother picking on. And the fact they would have been slightly outnumbered. Thankfully.
Anyhoo, back in the safety of our little attic room, we drank down our booze and enjoyed some apple pie, courtesy of Beth the nurse, predicting what we'd face the next day and planning what time would be best to get up at. This ended up being quarter to 5 in the morning, but never mind, because adrenaline kept us going. We also made fun of Lol's giant teletubby-like sleep suit which she had brought instead of a sleeping bag. It was large, but not quite big enough to hold 2 people unlike what she had claimed, after the pair of us tried to do so. It resulted in me landing on top of her with a large thud, a lot of laughter from our audience, and a broken zip.
So we slept that night, to the melodic harmony of snoring (no names - not that mean) and the occasional creak of the door as people snuck out to the toilets as quietly as was not possible, without any knowledge of what we were about to face the next day. We had been predicted casualties of a serious nature, and the run was about to give us what it had promised...
4.45am
Up, race for the showers, dress, pack away the kit.
Breakfast - bacon butties at 6am; not always good for the gut.
The sun hadn't even begun to drag itself into the sky when we jumped into our vehicles, breath hanging in clouds around our lips, dew on the grass and on the ambulance bonnets. We hug Steve and Ronnie goodbye as they warm up RE8, knowing that for the rest of the day we might not see them again. Apprehension is in the air - a slight buzz of anticipation.
Ian leads the way in his personal favourite - RE10 - and Beth, Lol, Caitlind and me follow in RE2.
The roads, quiet - no one is around - apart from the event organising team, who put up banners and road closed signs, and mile markers and railings covered in Bupa and Nike slogans.
We take the morning to journey to post 18, all 14 miles away from RC HQ. Behind our familiar vehicles stretch a convoy of RC ambos, 4x4s, minibuses and cars - a great sight to wake up to in Newcastle.
We reach our post, set alongside the coast; a fine view of the sea and of the competitors, leaving their campsites near the finishing line to jump on buses to reach the start.
For 2 hours we are left with nothing to do apart from battle against a chill wind to put up a gazebo, and check out our equipment.
Ian organises our teams - Caitlind, Lol and me are together. The A Team, of course. Ready for anything.
It's going on 11am when the first competitors come through; the wheelchairs, designed for fast paced racing. We marvelled from our position - right on the junction between the two roads which the racers came whizzing down - at the sheer speed and skill which the riders had, and we cheered them on. They were closely followed by the first of the women's elite, who stormed down the road with immense power and speed.
Soon, there came a wave of competitors, all thundering down the hill and onto the next road with sheer determination and, worryingly, exhaustion.
However, our presence at our small round-about post was short lived, as Ian rotated the groups not long after the run got well underway.
We ended up at the very boundary of our area; marked by red posts up until the 12 and a half mile marker, we found ourselves standing by the final red post, facing the next mobile patrol who watched over the beginning of the green post stretch.
For a while, I began to doubt Ian's prediction; the drama forecasted for us seemed to be taking its time in beginning. So far every runner looked fine. Tired, hot and sweaty, but fine. And who could blame them; the noontime sun beamed down on the event like a proper summer's day, with a slight wind to keep them cool. Perfect running weather.
Then suddenly, someone yelled out from the crowd.
A runner was seriously struggling. Sweat poured from his head, his feet barely lifted from the ground, and every muscle in his legs seemed to tense under the strain of moving. He stumbled and fell forwards.
"Wait," Caitlind said as Lol and me moved in to the barrier, "there are other runners."
A fellow runner caught him and helped him to the floor. A second joined the pair and together the still-strong competitors helped their fallen fellow to his feet, and began to lead him to the side of the road.
We held the rope barrier up as they reached us, and as we moved in to help the man groaned again and slid down to the ground. I went with him, and helped him to sit up, which he was weakly trying to do.
"What's wrong mate?" Caitlind asked. "Can you tell me your name."
The man stammered his name. "Ryan*."
And that was the most we got out of him again.
Although he flailed about helplessly to get up again, and at one point even manage to roll onto his knees and semi-stand, he was far too weak and dehydrated to support himself.
Lol grabbed a PRF and began to fill in as many details as she could.
A couple of passers by helped us to lead Ryan over to the pavement, where he continued to sit against me. We tried to give him water, but he could barely swallow. We tried to persuade him to sit still, but he would not listen in his confused state.
"Ryan, we know you want to get back into the race, but we suggest you rest first," I said sternly, in the best I'm-a-medic-so-listen-to-me voice I could muster. "If you try now, it could seriously affect your health and make things worse."
Of course, reasoning with a confused, severely dehydrated patient never works, and the only time he became quiet was when his condition deteriorated.
"I'm thinking it's hyponatremia," I said as Caitlind held the oxygen rebreather mask on him. He had hated it being strapped around his head, but now our casualty needed the O2, there was no other way for it.
"I think so too, but we can't do much about it."
I put an oxygen sats monitor onto a trembling finger and watched as the readings flashed up. Lol stood near by, watching too, holding onto Ryan's free hand tightly, stroking it slightly with her thumb. I smiled inwardly - at least one of us was trying to comfort him. She was doing really well for dealing with her first serious casualty. Talk about being thrown in at the deep end.
"Heart rate is 172, sats are normal. At least the 0xygen part is good."
I counted his resps; 46? I double checked. They were high - too high.
"Lol, radio in for an ambo - this guy's a priority 1 alpha," I said, as Lol picked up the mic and turned away to radio in the details.
"Maybe we should get some people to act as a barrier," Caitlind said suddenly, glancing up at the people wondering past with gazing eyes.
So we rallied together a few willing members of the public to stand with their backs to us, acting as a fortress, keeping us away from the view of the crowds. It wasn't secluded, but it was better than being gawped at, for our casualty's sake.
10 minutes on and there were still no ambulances heading our way. Meanwhile our casualty's response was steadily deteriorating. His eyes had rolled back slightly, giving him an almost possessed look. He only responded to pain, and even then it was a hellish hard sternum rub.
"I'm rubbing as hard as I can," Caitlind said, looking at me worriedly.
"Lol, whats the eta on our ambulance?" I asked.
She radioed in, but still no one knew when an ambulance would come our way.
"Can you handle the situation at present?" Ian asked across the airwaves.
The three of us looked at each other.
"Yes," Caitlind nodded. All we could do was keep him with us.
"This guy's gonna go into respiratory arrest if we don't get him out of here soon," I grumbled under my breath. Suddenly, things became that bit worse.
"Why is the bag not inflated any more?" Caitlind asked.
"Shit, we've run out of oxygen. The can's empty."
30 mins on high flow, and now no more.
"Sats are still up though," I said, "so it's a perk."
But so were his resps and bpm, and his response was still limited.
Then finally, like a blue flashing beacon of hope, an ambulance came along the corrugated iron road behind us - set up especially for ambo access - and thundered onto the grass.
"Alright ladies!" the jovial medic sang in his Lancashire accent as he came over, his fellow medic following with a trolley bed in tow.
"About time guys!" I growled, and then smiled, relieved to finally have an ambulance beside us.
We were all relieved, as the pressure of the casualty shifted from our shoulders. Our PRF was limited, but the crew was understanding.
"It's been nuts today," the first crew member said, still smiling cheerfully as they loaded Ryan into the ambulance, "not particularly quiet, is it?"
Then with that, they sped off down the road, with blues and twos again.
"Ok guys, we dealt with that pretty damn well." Caitlind smiled, and the 3 of us - the ultimate A team - collapsed into each other with a huge hug.
Kit cleaned and tidied up, breath caught and adrenaline controlled, it wasn't long before our next casualty came along; something far more simple to deal with, and a welcome break.
The guy had finished his run, but had sprained his ankle mid race. Bravely he had kept on going, but heat, and the constant pressure of his weight on his foot, had caused it to swell up to almost double its normal size.
An ice pack soon helped to bring it down a bit, and Caitlind set to work strapping it up in an expert bandage while I filled in the PRF. Meanwhile Lol watched the runners, keeping an eye out for any other casualties.
Once again, the event did not disappoint. Our third and final casualty entered into the hands of the pair of first aiders across the road, near the green post.
Lol came running over.
"The crew across there are asking for our kit, they don't have any resus stuff of their own."
"Seriously?" I asked. Steve had made sure we were prepared for the event by entrusting us with his kit bag, a defib and RE2's O2 cylinder and airways.
"I'll go," Caitlind said suddenly. "Keep going with the bandage Sarah?"
My colleagues grabbed the kit bags and disappeared across the road, leaving me with a bandage to finish. I'll admit that bandaging just isn't my strong point, and that neat bandaging is a particular downfall in my first aiding skills.
Sorry doll, but while you started the bandage with even spaces and such, I finished it with a few rough edges. Still, it did the job, and our casualty left as a happy customer, with his father supporting him down the road.
Then I too was darting across the road, reaching the other side to find Caitlind, Lol and our two fellow first aiders kneeling beside a young girl who was lying panting on the floor. Her friend sat beside her, watching the race go by.
"What's happened?" I asked Lol as I drew near.
"She's just not feeling right," she said. Lol moved away to keep an eye on the race, and to radio in for another can of oxygen.
The young girl was shaking, looking around her with wild eyes, like a rabbit caught in a snare - all whites on show.
"What's happening to me?" She asked, gripped with fear.
"Calm down hun," Caitlind said, holding onto her hand, "you're ok, we won't let anything happen to you. Just relax."
"What's her name?" I asked.
"Lucy*," Caitlind replied.
"It's ok Lucy, you're in good hands."
The other two first aiders backed off slightly now, letting us take control of the situation.
"Did you fill in a PRF?" I asked.
"We did," one guy replied, "she was literally away to set off again when she took an odd turn. That's when we called on you guys."
He handed me the PRF, when suddenly Lucy started to shake.
"Seizures," Caitlind said definitely, "she's having seizures."
"Has she been drinking a lot during the run?" I asked her friend.
"Not really," her friend replied, "although she drank almost a litre when we stopped here."
"Hyponatremia?" I turned to Caitlind.
Hyponatremia, in severe circumstances, can cause muscle spasms (like Ryan had endured) or even seizures. Lucy seemed to be another victim of a lack of salt.
Lol radioed in the details; our casualty was fitting and therefore a priority 1. We upped it to an alpha when we watched her fit three times in fives mins, while knowing she had never had seizures before.
Thankfully, our second ambulance arrived a lot quicker than our first. However, the St John's crew which had come to our rescue were of a different nature.
I handed the second crew mate an updated PRF, while the first crew mate asked us what was going on.
"She's had 3 fits in almost 5 minutes," Caitlind relayed, just as Lucy began to shake again, this time more vigorous than before.
Then, without warning, the medic leaned in, took a hold of our casualty, and rolled her onto her side.
I looked at Caitlind and Lol, dumbstruck.
"Is it not better to leave them on their back?" Caitlind asked loudly. Our medic didn't respond.
Fair enough if the casualty has a build up of fluid in their mouth, e.g. saliva or vomit, but if their airway remains uncompromised, you let the casualty continue with their seizue until it finishes before intervening. This so called ambo medic clearly didn't grasp this concept.
"Leave her seizure to run its course," I said.
"Look, I work with seizures every day in my work," Caitlind said, standing up for our casualty who was still shaking violently on her side, her face almost being pressed into the grassy earth, "you leave them to run their course before dealing with the casualty."
The medic rolled her over onto her back. Progress? No, not quite.
This time his crew mate joined in and together they lifted her onto the trolley bed - still mid fit - and strapped her down.
"Should you not leave her arms out?" Lol asked as she helped them roll the trolley to the ambulance.
I never heard the medic's response, but apparently the second medic realised this.
In the ambo, her fit ceased.
"All it takes is for that lassie to jerk her arm the wrong way under that strap, and then it's broken," Caitlind growled, fuming at the treatment a fellow ambo crew had just given.
I was equally fizzing, not only with their attitude to the casualty, but also to the almost indignant attitude they showed towards us.
"I'm all for working together with other organisations," I grumbled later on once we had packed up our kit and returned to our original post, "but that was just too far."
The ultimate A team definitely agreed on that.
I don't know what happened to Lucy; I only hope she made a good recovery in the impressive 70 bed field hospital (which, by the way, was filled in no time). As for Ryan, he threw up all over the ambulance before being discharged from the field hospital later on that day, having been recharged and rehydrated. I wonder if he remembers anything of the struggle he put up with us, and of the additional work we had trying to pursuade him that O2 was a good thing when his sats were 88%! (Normal good sats are generally above 96%)
I know our nice, easy casualty went home contented. All I hope is that he took our advice and visited his GP for an extra check up the next day.
It's unfortunate that while many competitors crossed the finishing line with cheers and banners and medals, many more crossed the finishing line in an ambulance with blues and twos.
Although we, the A team, dealt with 3 casualties (although it felt like more) just down the road from us our friends and colleagues were dealing with collapses all over the place, and two cardiac arrests, both of whom, to the best of my knowledge, survived thanks to our skilled first aiders and our pretty good defibs.
When the end of the day came, we were glad to be tidying away Post 18, knowing our work had been done.
We actually found time to play, getting Ian with ice-balls from a bag of ice randomly given to the post during the day (either for an ice pack or for drinks, I dunno). He then proceeded to get us with a bottle of water, but to be honest he came out far wetter than what we did =]
How many times can you say you ended a summer's day with a snowball fight?
Ironically, we also ended up assisting an RTA on the way back to HQ, which was relatively mild and thankfully had no casualties.
It was only amusing because, when you think about it, what are the chances that you've just been shunted, you're worried about your baby who was in the back of the car, and you don't know what to do next, when suddenly a convoy of 3 RC vehicles appear in the lane beside you and suddenly turn on their blue lights to let you know they're coming over to help? Seriously, what are the chances?
Fate was on that family's side, clearly.
Anyway, back at HQ...
We reunited with Steve and Ronnie, and heard all about their exciting day crewing RE8. With vomit, collapses and everything else, they too had a fun-filled day. Collectively, we as the Northern Scotland crew, had treated a vast variety of casualties, from simple sprains to life-and-death scenarios. Nothing like a healthy balance to keep things interesting.
So, we packed up our kit, grabbed a cup of tea, waved goodbye to our fellow English RC colleagues and had one last marvel at the amazing Newcastle RC mansion, before heading back up the road towards home.
We had arrived in Newcastle at roughly 6pm on Saturday, and we were now leaving at roughly 6pm on Sunday; we had spent near enough 24 hours in Newcastle. Now, finally, after a day which had, on reflection, flown by in the blink of an eye, we were leaving for our homeland again.
At Berwick-upon-Tweed we stopped off for some late night supper, as a well done and thank you from Ian and Steve for the input and hard work we had performed throughout the day.
Never has a Wetherspoons looked so welcoming.
Then it was back out on the open road. Once again Lol and me tried to sleep in the dark of the ambo, and this time it didn't take long for us to fall into the depths of slumber.
By the time we regained consciousness, we were back in Aviemore, where it was time for Lol and me to depart from the back of the ambo.
Caitlind and Steve zoomed off home to Elgin, in hot pursuit of Ronnie and Ian, while Beth and her husband were kind and gracious enough to give us a lift home to Inverness.
At half past one in the morning, I finally fell into my bed. With uni later on that day, it was about time I got back into my bed again!
My head hit the pillow, and low and behold, I could not get to sleep. I was buzzing with all the things I had seen, done and heard of that weekend, and for a while it just would not leave me be.
I looked at my red cross uniform, strewn across my chair and floor, and thought about how well everyone had done that weekend; how well Lol had done with her first serious casualties, how well Caitlind had led us on in each situation, and as for me... well, I was just happy that it had been an enjoyable weekend.
I think I fell asleep with one final thought in my mind - trauma training should be a piece of cake after this weekend.
*Names have been changed to ensure patient confidentiality.
For example, last weekend we travelled 6 hours by ambulance, 4x4 and mini bus to Newcastle, to help cover the amazing Great North Run, open to all resident nutters in the UK.
It's great in all sense of the word - great for it's long stretch which competitors have to race across, and great because it's actually a fantastic event to help at, or I suppose enter into, if you're that mad... I mean keen.
We set off on the Saturday lunchtime, taking with us RE8 and RE2. It was set to be quite a trek down the country, with the occasional rest stop in between. We paused briefly in Aviemore to pick up our own state registered nurse, who joined Ronnie and me in RE2, before continuing down the road to Perth, following the Boss and Caitlind, with Lol sleeping in the back, in RE8.
Traffic made the journey long, but banter between radios made it enjoyable. The biker boys longed for their motorbikes half the time we were trapped in a queue of cars, which was quite amusing...
But finally we made it to the outskirts of Perth at a highly convenient petrol station; fortunately just in time for a much needed comfort stop, else there would have been puddles in the vehicles...
Once we were relieved (phew) and fed and watered, we met up with our accompanying Aberdeen crew in their mini bus. Clued up with the novel that was the event's obs orders, they followed suit as we set off for the rest of the journey down.
This time I gave Lol some company in the back of RE8, and tried to settle down in the chair while she occupied the trolley bed. The chair isn't comfy, especially when you're trying to sleep, but hey, I felt gracious enough to allow ownership of the trolley to someone else for a change.
There's not much to see when you sit bleary-eyed in the back of an ambo. Lol fell asleep pretty much straight away (so much for keeping her company) while I remained flitting in and out of snoozing as much as cars flitted past the windows.
Eventually my iPod sent me into a light doze, with only the occasional jerk of the vehicle to make sure I was still with it, and when the pair of us finally came round again, we were beyond Edinburgh and nearing the borders.
Lol and me truly came awake when we left the dual carriageways and motorways behind, and we began the winding ascent to the border line. It was like a roller coaster ride - the roads were rising and falling and twisting and turning, almost like waves in a storm. Awesome fun, but a bit harsh on the stomach. Even I felt tender a couple of times, which says something; my stomach can be made out of concrete when rough rides come into play.
But we saw the welcoming sign of England as we crossed the invisible line between homeland and another country, and waved goodbye to the "Welcome to Scotland!" sign as we rounded the corner. One day, I will stand right on the border line and phone someone, just to say I'm half in Scotland and half in England. And then hop between the two a bit, just for the crack. Just a little ambition of mine; another one on the 101 things to do before I die list. Anyhoo.
As the sunset cast its final golden rays over the English country side, bleaching the sky with an orangey tinge, so the satnav guided our little RC convoy straight and true to Newcastle. As we neared the mighty Geordie city, the clouds came rolling over, and suddenly all light was fading.
We had reached Newcastle's suburbs, and to be honest, it was the dingiest sight I've seen for a while. It beats Glasgow's Gorbals in the rain at night. Now you can picture it.
It was sad to watch actually, as we witnessed from the safety of our heated ambo whole streets with shops, their signs bright and promising, but their fronts boarded up or guarded by metal shutters, with the odd bit of graffiti to add that stereotypical image.
Lol, being an ex Newcastle resident, said they had closed down for good; my naivety said it was because it was after 6 o'clock and most shops shut at 5. Smart cookie.
Then we passed schools, a hospital, culturally diverse community centres, flats, the usual outer-big-city scenes. We even passed St John Ambulance HQ, which I marvelled at the size of; it was like a white-washed mansion, with a number of their ambo fleet parked out front, guarded by a wall peaked with black railings. I like inter-organisational partnerships, but I still felt that bit prouder for being in a RC ambo.
Suddenly we turned down a road and disappeared into a cluster of houses. One large red-bricked building seemed to be a hostel of some kind. It was surrounded by a wall, trees and hedges; so private and isolated.
But the building beside it - also hidden from prying eyes by plant life and brick work -was so much better.
The stone pillars held the signs "British Red Cross", while the drive way took us past their front garden where what looked like ten RC vehicles sat in wait, as though anticipating the next day's event.
The road wound its way to the rear of the building - an eye-boggling mansion of an HQ, beating St John's by a good few bricks. It was huge!
I laugh at myself now; Elgin office is small and that's a fact, but I always thought the Inverness HQ was pretty big. Now, Inverness looks tiny in comparison, and Elgin even smaller! Everything about it was impressive; inside the building held several training rooms, a library, a reception, a canteen/kitchen area, a couple of offices undoubtedly, toilets, showers, and a wheelchair/medical storage room beating Elgin's arrangement by miles.
It was everything you needed, and thankfully perfectly adequate to live in for a night.
The local members were nice enough and were welcoming, showing us where everything we would need was located.
We met up with Ian and his partner on our arrival, and together we were shown where we would be sleeping that night. It was a training room, looking somewhat like an attic with sky-facing windows in the roof, but it was large enough to hold all of us Northern lot, and relatively comfortably too. So it was out with our kit (stashed in the back of RE2) and on to pumping up the blow-up beds, while the drivers went to wash the vehicles after their arduous drive.
Cups of tea were highly appreciated afterwards, and once we were organised, we settled ourselves down around Ian to listen to our briefing for the next day. We were joined by a group from Fife, who were also to crew the post with us (except they didn't in the end, some other random folk did, but that's by the by...)
We sat, as though in story time, and filled with excitement as we realised what we had let ourselves in for.
Post 18 was the name of our first aid point, and we were covering part of the last mile to the finishing line. This meant big casualties, and nothing like your normal blister or sprained ankle; our forecast was collapses, severe dehydration, hyponatremia (salt deficiency from bad dehydration) respiratory arrests, cardiac arrests - you name the trauma, and we were being bound to get it.
But no matter, we let it wash over us with only some concern. Our briefing paused so we could get some supper, and so Ronnie and Steve - our very own amo crew for RE8 - could get their paramedic briefing. During this the rest of us decided to explore Newcastle at night, and we popped round to the corner shop to buy some supplies to last us the rest of the night; a large bottle of coke and some nibbles. Good stuff.
We were also eyed up by a couple of thuggish, hooded blokes, who circled us a number of times and sat in wait outside the shop, trying to work out if we were worth approaching for the change. Something must have made them change their minds however, and I'm guessing it was Caitlind's RC hi vi, which must have looked too official to bother picking on. And the fact they would have been slightly outnumbered. Thankfully.
Anyhoo, back in the safety of our little attic room, we drank down our booze and enjoyed some apple pie, courtesy of Beth the nurse, predicting what we'd face the next day and planning what time would be best to get up at. This ended up being quarter to 5 in the morning, but never mind, because adrenaline kept us going. We also made fun of Lol's giant teletubby-like sleep suit which she had brought instead of a sleeping bag. It was large, but not quite big enough to hold 2 people unlike what she had claimed, after the pair of us tried to do so. It resulted in me landing on top of her with a large thud, a lot of laughter from our audience, and a broken zip.
So we slept that night, to the melodic harmony of snoring (no names - not that mean) and the occasional creak of the door as people snuck out to the toilets as quietly as was not possible, without any knowledge of what we were about to face the next day. We had been predicted casualties of a serious nature, and the run was about to give us what it had promised...
4.45am
Up, race for the showers, dress, pack away the kit.
Breakfast - bacon butties at 6am; not always good for the gut.
The sun hadn't even begun to drag itself into the sky when we jumped into our vehicles, breath hanging in clouds around our lips, dew on the grass and on the ambulance bonnets. We hug Steve and Ronnie goodbye as they warm up RE8, knowing that for the rest of the day we might not see them again. Apprehension is in the air - a slight buzz of anticipation.
Ian leads the way in his personal favourite - RE10 - and Beth, Lol, Caitlind and me follow in RE2.
The roads, quiet - no one is around - apart from the event organising team, who put up banners and road closed signs, and mile markers and railings covered in Bupa and Nike slogans.
We take the morning to journey to post 18, all 14 miles away from RC HQ. Behind our familiar vehicles stretch a convoy of RC ambos, 4x4s, minibuses and cars - a great sight to wake up to in Newcastle.
We reach our post, set alongside the coast; a fine view of the sea and of the competitors, leaving their campsites near the finishing line to jump on buses to reach the start.
For 2 hours we are left with nothing to do apart from battle against a chill wind to put up a gazebo, and check out our equipment.
Ian organises our teams - Caitlind, Lol and me are together. The A Team, of course. Ready for anything.
It's going on 11am when the first competitors come through; the wheelchairs, designed for fast paced racing. We marvelled from our position - right on the junction between the two roads which the racers came whizzing down - at the sheer speed and skill which the riders had, and we cheered them on. They were closely followed by the first of the women's elite, who stormed down the road with immense power and speed.
Soon, there came a wave of competitors, all thundering down the hill and onto the next road with sheer determination and, worryingly, exhaustion.
However, our presence at our small round-about post was short lived, as Ian rotated the groups not long after the run got well underway.
We ended up at the very boundary of our area; marked by red posts up until the 12 and a half mile marker, we found ourselves standing by the final red post, facing the next mobile patrol who watched over the beginning of the green post stretch.
For a while, I began to doubt Ian's prediction; the drama forecasted for us seemed to be taking its time in beginning. So far every runner looked fine. Tired, hot and sweaty, but fine. And who could blame them; the noontime sun beamed down on the event like a proper summer's day, with a slight wind to keep them cool. Perfect running weather.
Then suddenly, someone yelled out from the crowd.
A runner was seriously struggling. Sweat poured from his head, his feet barely lifted from the ground, and every muscle in his legs seemed to tense under the strain of moving. He stumbled and fell forwards.
"Wait," Caitlind said as Lol and me moved in to the barrier, "there are other runners."
A fellow runner caught him and helped him to the floor. A second joined the pair and together the still-strong competitors helped their fallen fellow to his feet, and began to lead him to the side of the road.
We held the rope barrier up as they reached us, and as we moved in to help the man groaned again and slid down to the ground. I went with him, and helped him to sit up, which he was weakly trying to do.
"What's wrong mate?" Caitlind asked. "Can you tell me your name."
The man stammered his name. "Ryan*."
And that was the most we got out of him again.
Although he flailed about helplessly to get up again, and at one point even manage to roll onto his knees and semi-stand, he was far too weak and dehydrated to support himself.
Lol grabbed a PRF and began to fill in as many details as she could.
A couple of passers by helped us to lead Ryan over to the pavement, where he continued to sit against me. We tried to give him water, but he could barely swallow. We tried to persuade him to sit still, but he would not listen in his confused state.
"Ryan, we know you want to get back into the race, but we suggest you rest first," I said sternly, in the best I'm-a-medic-so-listen-to-me voice I could muster. "If you try now, it could seriously affect your health and make things worse."
Of course, reasoning with a confused, severely dehydrated patient never works, and the only time he became quiet was when his condition deteriorated.
"I'm thinking it's hyponatremia," I said as Caitlind held the oxygen rebreather mask on him. He had hated it being strapped around his head, but now our casualty needed the O2, there was no other way for it.
"I think so too, but we can't do much about it."
I put an oxygen sats monitor onto a trembling finger and watched as the readings flashed up. Lol stood near by, watching too, holding onto Ryan's free hand tightly, stroking it slightly with her thumb. I smiled inwardly - at least one of us was trying to comfort him. She was doing really well for dealing with her first serious casualty. Talk about being thrown in at the deep end.
"Heart rate is 172, sats are normal. At least the 0xygen part is good."
I counted his resps; 46? I double checked. They were high - too high.
"Lol, radio in for an ambo - this guy's a priority 1 alpha," I said, as Lol picked up the mic and turned away to radio in the details.
"Maybe we should get some people to act as a barrier," Caitlind said suddenly, glancing up at the people wondering past with gazing eyes.
So we rallied together a few willing members of the public to stand with their backs to us, acting as a fortress, keeping us away from the view of the crowds. It wasn't secluded, but it was better than being gawped at, for our casualty's sake.
10 minutes on and there were still no ambulances heading our way. Meanwhile our casualty's response was steadily deteriorating. His eyes had rolled back slightly, giving him an almost possessed look. He only responded to pain, and even then it was a hellish hard sternum rub.
"I'm rubbing as hard as I can," Caitlind said, looking at me worriedly.
"Lol, whats the eta on our ambulance?" I asked.
She radioed in, but still no one knew when an ambulance would come our way.
"Can you handle the situation at present?" Ian asked across the airwaves.
The three of us looked at each other.
"Yes," Caitlind nodded. All we could do was keep him with us.
"This guy's gonna go into respiratory arrest if we don't get him out of here soon," I grumbled under my breath. Suddenly, things became that bit worse.
"Why is the bag not inflated any more?" Caitlind asked.
"Shit, we've run out of oxygen. The can's empty."
30 mins on high flow, and now no more.
"Sats are still up though," I said, "so it's a perk."
But so were his resps and bpm, and his response was still limited.
Then finally, like a blue flashing beacon of hope, an ambulance came along the corrugated iron road behind us - set up especially for ambo access - and thundered onto the grass.
"Alright ladies!" the jovial medic sang in his Lancashire accent as he came over, his fellow medic following with a trolley bed in tow.
"About time guys!" I growled, and then smiled, relieved to finally have an ambulance beside us.
We were all relieved, as the pressure of the casualty shifted from our shoulders. Our PRF was limited, but the crew was understanding.
"It's been nuts today," the first crew member said, still smiling cheerfully as they loaded Ryan into the ambulance, "not particularly quiet, is it?"
Then with that, they sped off down the road, with blues and twos again.
"Ok guys, we dealt with that pretty damn well." Caitlind smiled, and the 3 of us - the ultimate A team - collapsed into each other with a huge hug.
Kit cleaned and tidied up, breath caught and adrenaline controlled, it wasn't long before our next casualty came along; something far more simple to deal with, and a welcome break.
The guy had finished his run, but had sprained his ankle mid race. Bravely he had kept on going, but heat, and the constant pressure of his weight on his foot, had caused it to swell up to almost double its normal size.
An ice pack soon helped to bring it down a bit, and Caitlind set to work strapping it up in an expert bandage while I filled in the PRF. Meanwhile Lol watched the runners, keeping an eye out for any other casualties.
Once again, the event did not disappoint. Our third and final casualty entered into the hands of the pair of first aiders across the road, near the green post.
Lol came running over.
"The crew across there are asking for our kit, they don't have any resus stuff of their own."
"Seriously?" I asked. Steve had made sure we were prepared for the event by entrusting us with his kit bag, a defib and RE2's O2 cylinder and airways.
"I'll go," Caitlind said suddenly. "Keep going with the bandage Sarah?"
My colleagues grabbed the kit bags and disappeared across the road, leaving me with a bandage to finish. I'll admit that bandaging just isn't my strong point, and that neat bandaging is a particular downfall in my first aiding skills.
Sorry doll, but while you started the bandage with even spaces and such, I finished it with a few rough edges. Still, it did the job, and our casualty left as a happy customer, with his father supporting him down the road.
Then I too was darting across the road, reaching the other side to find Caitlind, Lol and our two fellow first aiders kneeling beside a young girl who was lying panting on the floor. Her friend sat beside her, watching the race go by.
"What's happened?" I asked Lol as I drew near.
"She's just not feeling right," she said. Lol moved away to keep an eye on the race, and to radio in for another can of oxygen.
The young girl was shaking, looking around her with wild eyes, like a rabbit caught in a snare - all whites on show.
"What's happening to me?" She asked, gripped with fear.
"Calm down hun," Caitlind said, holding onto her hand, "you're ok, we won't let anything happen to you. Just relax."
"What's her name?" I asked.
"Lucy*," Caitlind replied.
"It's ok Lucy, you're in good hands."
The other two first aiders backed off slightly now, letting us take control of the situation.
"Did you fill in a PRF?" I asked.
"We did," one guy replied, "she was literally away to set off again when she took an odd turn. That's when we called on you guys."
He handed me the PRF, when suddenly Lucy started to shake.
"Seizures," Caitlind said definitely, "she's having seizures."
"Has she been drinking a lot during the run?" I asked her friend.
"Not really," her friend replied, "although she drank almost a litre when we stopped here."
"Hyponatremia?" I turned to Caitlind.
Hyponatremia, in severe circumstances, can cause muscle spasms (like Ryan had endured) or even seizures. Lucy seemed to be another victim of a lack of salt.
Lol radioed in the details; our casualty was fitting and therefore a priority 1. We upped it to an alpha when we watched her fit three times in fives mins, while knowing she had never had seizures before.
Thankfully, our second ambulance arrived a lot quicker than our first. However, the St John's crew which had come to our rescue were of a different nature.
I handed the second crew mate an updated PRF, while the first crew mate asked us what was going on.
"She's had 3 fits in almost 5 minutes," Caitlind relayed, just as Lucy began to shake again, this time more vigorous than before.
Then, without warning, the medic leaned in, took a hold of our casualty, and rolled her onto her side.
I looked at Caitlind and Lol, dumbstruck.
"Is it not better to leave them on their back?" Caitlind asked loudly. Our medic didn't respond.
Fair enough if the casualty has a build up of fluid in their mouth, e.g. saliva or vomit, but if their airway remains uncompromised, you let the casualty continue with their seizue until it finishes before intervening. This so called ambo medic clearly didn't grasp this concept.
"Leave her seizure to run its course," I said.
"Look, I work with seizures every day in my work," Caitlind said, standing up for our casualty who was still shaking violently on her side, her face almost being pressed into the grassy earth, "you leave them to run their course before dealing with the casualty."
The medic rolled her over onto her back. Progress? No, not quite.
This time his crew mate joined in and together they lifted her onto the trolley bed - still mid fit - and strapped her down.
"Should you not leave her arms out?" Lol asked as she helped them roll the trolley to the ambulance.
I never heard the medic's response, but apparently the second medic realised this.
In the ambo, her fit ceased.
"All it takes is for that lassie to jerk her arm the wrong way under that strap, and then it's broken," Caitlind growled, fuming at the treatment a fellow ambo crew had just given.
I was equally fizzing, not only with their attitude to the casualty, but also to the almost indignant attitude they showed towards us.
"I'm all for working together with other organisations," I grumbled later on once we had packed up our kit and returned to our original post, "but that was just too far."
The ultimate A team definitely agreed on that.
I don't know what happened to Lucy; I only hope she made a good recovery in the impressive 70 bed field hospital (which, by the way, was filled in no time). As for Ryan, he threw up all over the ambulance before being discharged from the field hospital later on that day, having been recharged and rehydrated. I wonder if he remembers anything of the struggle he put up with us, and of the additional work we had trying to pursuade him that O2 was a good thing when his sats were 88%! (Normal good sats are generally above 96%)
I know our nice, easy casualty went home contented. All I hope is that he took our advice and visited his GP for an extra check up the next day.
It's unfortunate that while many competitors crossed the finishing line with cheers and banners and medals, many more crossed the finishing line in an ambulance with blues and twos.
Although we, the A team, dealt with 3 casualties (although it felt like more) just down the road from us our friends and colleagues were dealing with collapses all over the place, and two cardiac arrests, both of whom, to the best of my knowledge, survived thanks to our skilled first aiders and our pretty good defibs.
When the end of the day came, we were glad to be tidying away Post 18, knowing our work had been done.
We actually found time to play, getting Ian with ice-balls from a bag of ice randomly given to the post during the day (either for an ice pack or for drinks, I dunno). He then proceeded to get us with a bottle of water, but to be honest he came out far wetter than what we did =]
How many times can you say you ended a summer's day with a snowball fight?
Ironically, we also ended up assisting an RTA on the way back to HQ, which was relatively mild and thankfully had no casualties.
It was only amusing because, when you think about it, what are the chances that you've just been shunted, you're worried about your baby who was in the back of the car, and you don't know what to do next, when suddenly a convoy of 3 RC vehicles appear in the lane beside you and suddenly turn on their blue lights to let you know they're coming over to help? Seriously, what are the chances?
Fate was on that family's side, clearly.
Anyway, back at HQ...
We reunited with Steve and Ronnie, and heard all about their exciting day crewing RE8. With vomit, collapses and everything else, they too had a fun-filled day. Collectively, we as the Northern Scotland crew, had treated a vast variety of casualties, from simple sprains to life-and-death scenarios. Nothing like a healthy balance to keep things interesting.
So, we packed up our kit, grabbed a cup of tea, waved goodbye to our fellow English RC colleagues and had one last marvel at the amazing Newcastle RC mansion, before heading back up the road towards home.
We had arrived in Newcastle at roughly 6pm on Saturday, and we were now leaving at roughly 6pm on Sunday; we had spent near enough 24 hours in Newcastle. Now, finally, after a day which had, on reflection, flown by in the blink of an eye, we were leaving for our homeland again.
At Berwick-upon-Tweed we stopped off for some late night supper, as a well done and thank you from Ian and Steve for the input and hard work we had performed throughout the day.
Never has a Wetherspoons looked so welcoming.
Then it was back out on the open road. Once again Lol and me tried to sleep in the dark of the ambo, and this time it didn't take long for us to fall into the depths of slumber.
By the time we regained consciousness, we were back in Aviemore, where it was time for Lol and me to depart from the back of the ambo.
Caitlind and Steve zoomed off home to Elgin, in hot pursuit of Ronnie and Ian, while Beth and her husband were kind and gracious enough to give us a lift home to Inverness.
At half past one in the morning, I finally fell into my bed. With uni later on that day, it was about time I got back into my bed again!
My head hit the pillow, and low and behold, I could not get to sleep. I was buzzing with all the things I had seen, done and heard of that weekend, and for a while it just would not leave me be.
I looked at my red cross uniform, strewn across my chair and floor, and thought about how well everyone had done that weekend; how well Lol had done with her first serious casualties, how well Caitlind had led us on in each situation, and as for me... well, I was just happy that it had been an enjoyable weekend.
I think I fell asleep with one final thought in my mind - trauma training should be a piece of cake after this weekend.
*Names have been changed to ensure patient confidentiality.
Sunday 13 September 2009
Artemis - the Highland 100 adventure...
I have pulled myself through a mammoth weekend, and am about to die on my feet. Which is why I am mustering the last of my strength to blog about my most recent venture, and to watch Casualty later on.
First off, Artemis Highland 100 is a huge bike race, spanning some 130 km (Gold route length, which the majority of competitors completed) across the beautiful and somewhat treacherous landscape of Loch Tay and the surrounding area.
Starting in Kenmore, the journey took the nutters *ahem, competitors* through some of the most breath-taking scenery, passing the tip of Loch Tay, travelling up towards and then around Loch Rannoch, down to Innerwick in Lyon Glen, then around Loch Lyon, weaving down through the "Switchbacks" - very windy roads which literally double back on each other - and finally finishing at Killin, back beside the waters of Loch Tay.
I know, it was pretty epic stuff.
However, the epic Red Cross adventure began when we - the Elgin crew - left the office and began our three hour journey down to Perth & Kinross country.
We picked up the vital quad bike at our depot, taking advantage of this moment to grab a cup of tea while we still could. Steve once again contributed to his Burger Tour by breakfasting on said snack (previous blog post if you don't get it) and we admired the skill of lorry drivers, before tackling the quad's trailer and working out how to attach it to the rear of RE2. We also bumped into a couple of fellow colleagues, who suggested we steal 3 crates of pot noodles, which were doing nothing in the depot apart from taking up valuable kit space, and running out their use-by dates. There also occurred an amusing incident with the SARCOM vehicle, where we - or rather, I - had to extract 3 aerials from its far side, behind the legs of the table; easier said than done. I also had to climb up the vehicle to actually get inside the bloomin' thing without the aid of a ladder (it's a very high vehicle with massive wheels) which tested the flexibility of my legs. Caitlind got a lovely picture of me, but not of my better side...
Anyway, apart from this pit stop and stopping for lunch at Ballinluig, we were confined to our vehicles - RE2 and 8 - for what felt like an awfy long time. Road works didn't help in passing the time, however gossiping and singing did. I know there was plenty of dancing going on in RE2, having been the front-seat passenger and a main participant, but reliable sources have told me that the boss had a good (and rather impressive) sing-song in RE8, much to his passenger's amusement.
Our home for the night was a campsite (Carachan Farm, or something like that) on the road leading to Killin, which was a long way away from our Northerly territory, so you can imagine how glad we were to finally get there and choose a nice grassy spot to pitch our tents on.
Except that after ditching the quad trailer at the Comms HQ/finish line in Killin, stress levels were higher than normal for pitching one large 2-man and one even bigger 10-man tent. Think how stressful it is pitching tents in a relatively good humor anyway, and then double it.
But anyway, once the tents were up it was proper fun and games from there onwards - literally.
We played badminton, Frisbee, had a kick about with a football; as you can tell we came prepared. Oh, and of course we chilled for a while with a cup of tea fresh from the kettle.
A first aider is always kitted out for every need and eventuality...
Later on that night the briefing meeting was held for the managerial people from each organisation involved in Artemis '09. While Steve went to play boss with the big guys and gals, the rest of us charmed chippie places to stay open long enough so we could all get our supper.
Killin has a distinct lack of late-night take aways, and the only decent place we found, which wasn't a pub, was a chippie bar in the town's larger car park. Despite closing at 10pm, the two lovely ladies running the joint were nice enough to stay open until far beyond their original hours, with not a complaint between them (possibly because of the business they received due to our delaying skills).
Finally, we were fed, watered, clued up on the event, and we even had a cheap home to stay in that night. The rest of the crew had arrived for the next day, and the night was clear, starry and rather beautiful. Things were calm and collected and good.
Until we all tried to get to sleep, and the night grew older, and the temperature just kept dropping.
By 5 o'clock Saturday morning - our wonderful wake up & get up time - we were all frozen like individual ice-lollies fresh from the freezer in chilly canvas packaging.
Thank God the campsite had a shower block with amazingly warm showers, so we could all defrost.
Anyhoo, we quickly prepped ourselves for the day ahead, and suddenly Artemis 100 had begun.
My colleague and I headed out in RE2 for Loch Rannoch - a good hour or so drive from our campsite - tailing three more colleagues in RE8. Together we worked out which roads led to our stations, and while RE8 and its occupants had managed to locate their pit stop successfully, we had a bit more trouble. Actually, it was just plain stupidity - and possibly the great lack of sleep - that had caused us to locate ourselves at the wrong water stop, although to be fair at least we were beside the right Loch...
Long story short (and sticky) we eventually were told in fair and frank terms that we were in the wrong spot, and we were relocated to the correct post, a few 2 or so hours later. Although I had swallowed our mistake, knowing full well that we should have re-read the obs orders (after all, that is what they are there for) to prevent such a mistake from happening, my colleague was slightly less... accepting of the incident. The less said about that the better.
But negatives aside, we had soon found ourselves on the right tracks again, and our side of the event coverage began to pick up. The weather was bright and sunny, warm with only a slight chill breeze, and the scenery was postcard-perfect. Casualties were few, with only advice on cramp queries being given out. Plus, the post had amazing carrot cake and hot tea, and real working toilets near by - none of the usual portaloo shizzle - so we didn't have much to complain about!
Apart from our radios not working because of the mountain ranges blocking transmissions (those bloody SARCOM aerials were pretty useless in this cicumstance), and there being no or limited phone signal, meaning communicating between teams was difficult... thank heavens the Raynet teams - thee radio people - were gracious enough to back up our comms kit with their own.
Once the cyclists had checked through our post, we were sent on to the base at Innerwick, in Glen Lyon. Although this journey would have been shorter, we were told by our lovely comms guys at Raynet that the normal road taken to Innerwick was held up with roadworks, and we would be faster travelling back down through Kenmore, along Loch Tay, through Lawers and taking a "shortcut" along a side road which would eventually lead us to Innerwick.
Sounds good, we thought.
And it was; the scenery was absolutely gorgeous, particularly on the random route between the main road past Lawers and Innerwick. That road was half the size of our vehicle, and trailed its way through Ben Lawers National Park, where some of the most stunning scenery I have ever witnessed was nestled within the depths of the mountains, including a small dammed loch which was very pretty. There were also several very steep drops which RE2 had great potential for falling down (especially with my colleague's driving!) so I'll admit I was near shitting myself on every bend.
But we made it to Innerwick alive, in time to see it shut up shop as the last cyclist went through.
After a quick break there, and a reunion with the quad team and RE4's crew, we were sent on to the finishing line in Killin to help out our own comms crew there.
Of course, this meant winding our way back across the stunning valley we had just managed to crawl through... so we did, again... and I now affectionately refer to it as "Death Valley", which I feel is rather fitting for a place with so many potential nose-dive points.
Anyway, back in Killin, safe and sound, we set up our temporary first aid post alongside our colleagues, and whiled away the rest of the day, with only a few casualties between us. Nothing too exciting, only a small cut on one lady's foot, caused by tripping over a bike chain; a larger cut on a man's leg made by whizzing past bushes and trees on his bike; and one rather nasty one where a man had come of his bike and caught his elbow against a wall, taking out a huge chunk of flesh, which was thankfully still attached, right on the joint, which bled a lot and needed steri strips to hold it together - something which we lacked at that point in time, but had later on once the ambos had arrived back at base, so he returned to have his treatment completed properly. He was also nagged at on both occassions to go and get it stitched properly. Hopefully he has done, because although width wise the wound was small, its depth and its nature certainly required a further professional hand.
Once all the teams had returned, not too long before night fall, it was time for food and socialising, and organising who was staying on to cover the ceilidh later on that night, and who was lucky enough to travel home again.
Of course, the trusty trio of Steve, Caitlind and me stayed on to watch over the nutters who still had strength in their legs to dance the night away (I swear half of it was beer fuelled). Well, when I say trio - the boss slept in the back of RE8 (he was driving us home so fair dos) while we pair covered the event. This did mean we were treated to a fantastic end-of-Artemis-Highland-100 fireworks display, and even a dance or two... or three...
By midnight, we were absolutely shattered. The rest of our gang had rightly buggered off home long before we had finished, and were most probably tucked up tight in bed, warm and happily sleeping.
Steve still had a 3 hour drive to get us through, which he bravely did. While Caitlind kept him going, I took the opportunity to occupy the trolley bed, and slept for near enough the full length of the journey. It is the weirdest feeling to be strapped to a bed which you hope is fully tied down, for fear of rolling out the back doors of an ambo, with everything rattling around you, and the mechanical sound of a growling engine singing you sweetly to sleep. Still, I was right where I wanted to be - on a comfy surface in a warm ambo with my two friends in the front, safe and finally contented enough to sleep for the first time this weekend. It was great, apart from learning to control my stomach everytime the ambo flew over a bump in the road or breaked to turn a sharp corner in the road. There were a few occassions where I thought my supper was about to return......
But finally - finally -after a long, stressful day, we got home, and all in one piece. Absolutely shattered, feeling minging, looking minging, and with the knowledge that we had a moto X duty to attend in roughly 6 hours time.
But we were home.
Thanks to all the crews who helped out on that long yet funny, stressful, awe-inspiring, breath-taking, occasionaly boring and incredibly beautiful Saturday, and to the boss, who got us home safe and sound despite being sore and tired.
Now, I'm going to bed.
First off, Artemis Highland 100 is a huge bike race, spanning some 130 km (Gold route length, which the majority of competitors completed) across the beautiful and somewhat treacherous landscape of Loch Tay and the surrounding area.
Starting in Kenmore, the journey took the nutters *ahem, competitors* through some of the most breath-taking scenery, passing the tip of Loch Tay, travelling up towards and then around Loch Rannoch, down to Innerwick in Lyon Glen, then around Loch Lyon, weaving down through the "Switchbacks" - very windy roads which literally double back on each other - and finally finishing at Killin, back beside the waters of Loch Tay.
I know, it was pretty epic stuff.
However, the epic Red Cross adventure began when we - the Elgin crew - left the office and began our three hour journey down to Perth & Kinross country.
We picked up the vital quad bike at our depot, taking advantage of this moment to grab a cup of tea while we still could. Steve once again contributed to his Burger Tour by breakfasting on said snack (previous blog post if you don't get it) and we admired the skill of lorry drivers, before tackling the quad's trailer and working out how to attach it to the rear of RE2. We also bumped into a couple of fellow colleagues, who suggested we steal 3 crates of pot noodles, which were doing nothing in the depot apart from taking up valuable kit space, and running out their use-by dates. There also occurred an amusing incident with the SARCOM vehicle, where we - or rather, I - had to extract 3 aerials from its far side, behind the legs of the table; easier said than done. I also had to climb up the vehicle to actually get inside the bloomin' thing without the aid of a ladder (it's a very high vehicle with massive wheels) which tested the flexibility of my legs. Caitlind got a lovely picture of me, but not of my better side...
Anyway, apart from this pit stop and stopping for lunch at Ballinluig, we were confined to our vehicles - RE2 and 8 - for what felt like an awfy long time. Road works didn't help in passing the time, however gossiping and singing did. I know there was plenty of dancing going on in RE2, having been the front-seat passenger and a main participant, but reliable sources have told me that the boss had a good (and rather impressive) sing-song in RE8, much to his passenger's amusement.
Our home for the night was a campsite (Carachan Farm, or something like that) on the road leading to Killin, which was a long way away from our Northerly territory, so you can imagine how glad we were to finally get there and choose a nice grassy spot to pitch our tents on.
Except that after ditching the quad trailer at the Comms HQ/finish line in Killin, stress levels were higher than normal for pitching one large 2-man and one even bigger 10-man tent. Think how stressful it is pitching tents in a relatively good humor anyway, and then double it.
But anyway, once the tents were up it was proper fun and games from there onwards - literally.
We played badminton, Frisbee, had a kick about with a football; as you can tell we came prepared. Oh, and of course we chilled for a while with a cup of tea fresh from the kettle.
A first aider is always kitted out for every need and eventuality...
Later on that night the briefing meeting was held for the managerial people from each organisation involved in Artemis '09. While Steve went to play boss with the big guys and gals, the rest of us charmed chippie places to stay open long enough so we could all get our supper.
Killin has a distinct lack of late-night take aways, and the only decent place we found, which wasn't a pub, was a chippie bar in the town's larger car park. Despite closing at 10pm, the two lovely ladies running the joint were nice enough to stay open until far beyond their original hours, with not a complaint between them (possibly because of the business they received due to our delaying skills).
Finally, we were fed, watered, clued up on the event, and we even had a cheap home to stay in that night. The rest of the crew had arrived for the next day, and the night was clear, starry and rather beautiful. Things were calm and collected and good.
Until we all tried to get to sleep, and the night grew older, and the temperature just kept dropping.
By 5 o'clock Saturday morning - our wonderful wake up & get up time - we were all frozen like individual ice-lollies fresh from the freezer in chilly canvas packaging.
Thank God the campsite had a shower block with amazingly warm showers, so we could all defrost.
Anyhoo, we quickly prepped ourselves for the day ahead, and suddenly Artemis 100 had begun.
My colleague and I headed out in RE2 for Loch Rannoch - a good hour or so drive from our campsite - tailing three more colleagues in RE8. Together we worked out which roads led to our stations, and while RE8 and its occupants had managed to locate their pit stop successfully, we had a bit more trouble. Actually, it was just plain stupidity - and possibly the great lack of sleep - that had caused us to locate ourselves at the wrong water stop, although to be fair at least we were beside the right Loch...
Long story short (and sticky) we eventually were told in fair and frank terms that we were in the wrong spot, and we were relocated to the correct post, a few 2 or so hours later. Although I had swallowed our mistake, knowing full well that we should have re-read the obs orders (after all, that is what they are there for) to prevent such a mistake from happening, my colleague was slightly less... accepting of the incident. The less said about that the better.
But negatives aside, we had soon found ourselves on the right tracks again, and our side of the event coverage began to pick up. The weather was bright and sunny, warm with only a slight chill breeze, and the scenery was postcard-perfect. Casualties were few, with only advice on cramp queries being given out. Plus, the post had amazing carrot cake and hot tea, and real working toilets near by - none of the usual portaloo shizzle - so we didn't have much to complain about!
Apart from our radios not working because of the mountain ranges blocking transmissions (those bloody SARCOM aerials were pretty useless in this cicumstance), and there being no or limited phone signal, meaning communicating between teams was difficult... thank heavens the Raynet teams - thee radio people - were gracious enough to back up our comms kit with their own.
Once the cyclists had checked through our post, we were sent on to the base at Innerwick, in Glen Lyon. Although this journey would have been shorter, we were told by our lovely comms guys at Raynet that the normal road taken to Innerwick was held up with roadworks, and we would be faster travelling back down through Kenmore, along Loch Tay, through Lawers and taking a "shortcut" along a side road which would eventually lead us to Innerwick.
Sounds good, we thought.
And it was; the scenery was absolutely gorgeous, particularly on the random route between the main road past Lawers and Innerwick. That road was half the size of our vehicle, and trailed its way through Ben Lawers National Park, where some of the most stunning scenery I have ever witnessed was nestled within the depths of the mountains, including a small dammed loch which was very pretty. There were also several very steep drops which RE2 had great potential for falling down (especially with my colleague's driving!) so I'll admit I was near shitting myself on every bend.
But we made it to Innerwick alive, in time to see it shut up shop as the last cyclist went through.
After a quick break there, and a reunion with the quad team and RE4's crew, we were sent on to the finishing line in Killin to help out our own comms crew there.
Of course, this meant winding our way back across the stunning valley we had just managed to crawl through... so we did, again... and I now affectionately refer to it as "Death Valley", which I feel is rather fitting for a place with so many potential nose-dive points.
Anyway, back in Killin, safe and sound, we set up our temporary first aid post alongside our colleagues, and whiled away the rest of the day, with only a few casualties between us. Nothing too exciting, only a small cut on one lady's foot, caused by tripping over a bike chain; a larger cut on a man's leg made by whizzing past bushes and trees on his bike; and one rather nasty one where a man had come of his bike and caught his elbow against a wall, taking out a huge chunk of flesh, which was thankfully still attached, right on the joint, which bled a lot and needed steri strips to hold it together - something which we lacked at that point in time, but had later on once the ambos had arrived back at base, so he returned to have his treatment completed properly. He was also nagged at on both occassions to go and get it stitched properly. Hopefully he has done, because although width wise the wound was small, its depth and its nature certainly required a further professional hand.
Once all the teams had returned, not too long before night fall, it was time for food and socialising, and organising who was staying on to cover the ceilidh later on that night, and who was lucky enough to travel home again.
Of course, the trusty trio of Steve, Caitlind and me stayed on to watch over the nutters who still had strength in their legs to dance the night away (I swear half of it was beer fuelled). Well, when I say trio - the boss slept in the back of RE8 (he was driving us home so fair dos) while we pair covered the event. This did mean we were treated to a fantastic end-of-Artemis-Highland-100 fireworks display, and even a dance or two... or three...
By midnight, we were absolutely shattered. The rest of our gang had rightly buggered off home long before we had finished, and were most probably tucked up tight in bed, warm and happily sleeping.
Steve still had a 3 hour drive to get us through, which he bravely did. While Caitlind kept him going, I took the opportunity to occupy the trolley bed, and slept for near enough the full length of the journey. It is the weirdest feeling to be strapped to a bed which you hope is fully tied down, for fear of rolling out the back doors of an ambo, with everything rattling around you, and the mechanical sound of a growling engine singing you sweetly to sleep. Still, I was right where I wanted to be - on a comfy surface in a warm ambo with my two friends in the front, safe and finally contented enough to sleep for the first time this weekend. It was great, apart from learning to control my stomach everytime the ambo flew over a bump in the road or breaked to turn a sharp corner in the road. There were a few occassions where I thought my supper was about to return......
But finally - finally -after a long, stressful day, we got home, and all in one piece. Absolutely shattered, feeling minging, looking minging, and with the knowledge that we had a moto X duty to attend in roughly 6 hours time.
But we were home.
Thanks to all the crews who helped out on that long yet funny, stressful, awe-inspiring, breath-taking, occasionaly boring and incredibly beautiful Saturday, and to the boss, who got us home safe and sound despite being sore and tired.
Now, I'm going to bed.
Thursday 10 September 2009
Back we go again...
I've decided that as uni has given me an empty timetable until next Tuesday, it would be appropriate for me to return home and see the Elgin peeps again.
So this is what I've done.
I suppose returning on Tuesday night to see the Elgin RC gang made me yearn for home a little bit more so than usual; the thought of getting bloodied up for casualty scenarios and being briefed about this weekend's exciting duty line-up was just too much to ignore.
Actually, mentioning that, Tuesday night was immense fun. Once again the usual four troops were called up to be casualties, myself included (actually, we're just smart to realise that when Ronnie asks for volunteers, it usually means you get to dress up in bruises and moan a lot about imaginary hurty places).
My scenario was simple; I had come into the office, tripped on the metal lining of the door, and had fallen forwards, hitting my head off the frame of the next door in. So I had a rather large and impressive bruise down the side of my forehead, which looked pretty damn real and daunting.
Good stuff for scaring first aiders with.
And the beauty of Ronnie's casualty scenarios is that we can make them as difficult or as easy for the victims, er, I mean first aiders, as we like. But on that night, we were all feeling particularly evil.
Other injuries included one unconscious casualty with a thoracic spinal injury, a nasty-looking laceration across the inside of the elbow (I keep meaning to find out if that area actually has a fancy anatomical name) and a bitten tongue. Ok, so they don't seem impressive, but they were injuries to make people think. Not the average every-day scenario really.
Anyhoo, I ended up dead. Fun times.
Apparently, me saying I felt dizzy instantly meant I had to lie down with my legs elevated in the air, on someones shoulders. Ok, to be honest, this is the approach I would go for as well.
But when Ronnie came for a nosey and signalled the old "finger across neck in knife-swoop action", I knew he wanted me to die. Nothing personal, of course.
So I gradually fell unconscious. Here, I would have lowered the legs and pulled them into the recovery position as soon as possible (I also would have put ice on my head by now, but that's by the by). However, my legs went higher.
The blood rushed to my head, cut off some important life-supporting veiny bit, and I died.
Ronnie's explanation was far better.
Cu dos to the team for trying though - this is why we do scenarios, so we kill people now, rather than out on duty.
Not that we have killed anyone in reality, because really we are damned good at our jobs =)
I think it's fair to say that we all kill someone at least once in our scenarios, because you have to make mistakes in order to learn, and the particularly fatal mistakes are the ones you'll remember never to do again. So it's all good really.
This is not CYA techniques in practice here, ok? It's very true.
Anyway, at least I can say I've died once now, and have lived to tell the tale.
So this is what I've done.
I suppose returning on Tuesday night to see the Elgin RC gang made me yearn for home a little bit more so than usual; the thought of getting bloodied up for casualty scenarios and being briefed about this weekend's exciting duty line-up was just too much to ignore.
Actually, mentioning that, Tuesday night was immense fun. Once again the usual four troops were called up to be casualties, myself included (actually, we're just smart to realise that when Ronnie asks for volunteers, it usually means you get to dress up in bruises and moan a lot about imaginary hurty places).
My scenario was simple; I had come into the office, tripped on the metal lining of the door, and had fallen forwards, hitting my head off the frame of the next door in. So I had a rather large and impressive bruise down the side of my forehead, which looked pretty damn real and daunting.
Good stuff for scaring first aiders with.
And the beauty of Ronnie's casualty scenarios is that we can make them as difficult or as easy for the victims, er, I mean first aiders, as we like. But on that night, we were all feeling particularly evil.
Other injuries included one unconscious casualty with a thoracic spinal injury, a nasty-looking laceration across the inside of the elbow (I keep meaning to find out if that area actually has a fancy anatomical name) and a bitten tongue. Ok, so they don't seem impressive, but they were injuries to make people think. Not the average every-day scenario really.
Anyhoo, I ended up dead. Fun times.
Apparently, me saying I felt dizzy instantly meant I had to lie down with my legs elevated in the air, on someones shoulders. Ok, to be honest, this is the approach I would go for as well.
But when Ronnie came for a nosey and signalled the old "finger across neck in knife-swoop action", I knew he wanted me to die. Nothing personal, of course.
So I gradually fell unconscious. Here, I would have lowered the legs and pulled them into the recovery position as soon as possible (I also would have put ice on my head by now, but that's by the by). However, my legs went higher.
The blood rushed to my head, cut off some important life-supporting veiny bit, and I died.
Ronnie's explanation was far better.
Cu dos to the team for trying though - this is why we do scenarios, so we kill people now, rather than out on duty.
Not that we have killed anyone in reality, because really we are damned good at our jobs =)
I think it's fair to say that we all kill someone at least once in our scenarios, because you have to make mistakes in order to learn, and the particularly fatal mistakes are the ones you'll remember never to do again. So it's all good really.
This is not CYA techniques in practice here, ok? It's very true.
Anyway, at least I can say I've died once now, and have lived to tell the tale.
I failed to mention fame...
Perhaps this is edging on old news now, but it is still something worth posting on here for any passing readers...
For anyone who remembers my post mentioning my stint in the spotlight at this year's Belladrum Festival, the video is finally up on the RC website. Of course, you can now click the link and visit the site and watch the video on there... or even pop on to youtube where the video can also be viewed.
Alternatively, you can just stay on my blog, and watch it on here =)
For anyone who remembers my post mentioning my stint in the spotlight at this year's Belladrum Festival, the video is finally up on the RC website. Of course, you can now click the link and visit the site and watch the video on there... or even pop on to youtube where the video can also be viewed.
Alternatively, you can just stay on my blog, and watch it on here =)
Monday 7 September 2009
Bravehearts
Sunday broke my Inverness duty virginity - I committed myself to covering a walk alongside my friend and colleague Lol. It was a trek alongside part of the Inverness canal, and for those of you who don't know this area very well, it is rather long. The leisurely stroll was to begin near the bridge - the sort of bridge which opens up to let boats pass through, like London bridge but on a far smaller scale.
The route travelled up to the canal's lock (Garoch Lock or something like that - someone feel free to correct or affirm me) and then back again to the starting line, where a picnic was to be held as a well done to all the walkers.
Lol and me, not being first aiders who like to be left out of the community spirit, decided the most practical way to cover the event would be to walk the lengthy canal too, and get our weekly dose of exercise.
So this is what we did.
The group hosting the walk was called Bravehearts, a cardiac rehab support group formed by a number of people who had all been affected by some form of cardiovascular problem. A fantastic idea, and I love the name, with it's relevance to bravery through heart difficulties and the film, obviously based in Scotland. Brill pun. Anyhoo, I digress...
The walk was a fundraising event, and it was actually really good fun, if not very tiring! The people were friendly and welcoming, and I think they enjoyed our company too. Actually, for being in the more mature age range, as most of them were (no disrespect here) and having suffered heart incidents, they were all very fit! More so than Lol and me were anyway!
There were no casualties, I'm glad to say, despite the pair of us being rather anxious of having to deal with a heart attack or something along those lines. In fact, the only casualty among us was myself - my boots rubbed my heels and I got a blister or two, to the amusement of everyone else on the walk. They found it very funny when I had to sit down, open the grab bag, and wrap my foot up in gauze and tape. Glad I entertained someone anyway.
The rest by the lock was welcomed really, not only for our poor aching feet (and blisters) but because we got choccie biscuits and water to re-fill the tanks. It also gave us a chance to admire the view of the busy canal, and the surrounding scenery.
Thankfully the sun never stopped shining, and the rain graciously held off. There was even a breeze to keep us cool. So we could walk quite happily and enjoy the surrounding nature with a single wish that at least one of us had taken a camera.
When we returned to the starting line, an entire buffet spread was lying in wait for us. And even the first aiders were fed, with everyone encouraging us to tuck in and eat our fill. It was brilliant! In fact, it might be safe to say that it was some of the best grub ever provided for us at an event. We definitely enjoyed it, especially the homemade raspberry cheesecake for pudding =)
So much for a nice healthy walk...
I suppose it was quite a fine wee duty. Certainly a contrast to what was going on back home in Elgin. Yes, Elgin has flooded with the torrential downpours that have plagued the North East for the past few days (well, the few days prior to Sunday when the sun shone again - weird, this weather...)
Although I wasn't there to experience it first hand, I know from reliable sources (and the emptiness of the Inverness office) that practically everyone turned up to help evacuate over 100 residents from their homes on the flood plains. The RC crews even helped out with the odd 999 call, and basically backed up the other emergency services during the initial flood response.
I also know that they spent a good bit of time sitting about watching the telly, waiting on something to do because some crews were a bit over-eager to sink their teeth into a real ER situation, and therefore there were too many people out on call, and not enough jobs to go around between them.
At least they were willing to help out... nothing wrong with being too over-zealous... as long as you don't get easily bored...
The route travelled up to the canal's lock (Garoch Lock or something like that - someone feel free to correct or affirm me) and then back again to the starting line, where a picnic was to be held as a well done to all the walkers.
Lol and me, not being first aiders who like to be left out of the community spirit, decided the most practical way to cover the event would be to walk the lengthy canal too, and get our weekly dose of exercise.
So this is what we did.
The group hosting the walk was called Bravehearts, a cardiac rehab support group formed by a number of people who had all been affected by some form of cardiovascular problem. A fantastic idea, and I love the name, with it's relevance to bravery through heart difficulties and the film, obviously based in Scotland. Brill pun. Anyhoo, I digress...
The walk was a fundraising event, and it was actually really good fun, if not very tiring! The people were friendly and welcoming, and I think they enjoyed our company too. Actually, for being in the more mature age range, as most of them were (no disrespect here) and having suffered heart incidents, they were all very fit! More so than Lol and me were anyway!
There were no casualties, I'm glad to say, despite the pair of us being rather anxious of having to deal with a heart attack or something along those lines. In fact, the only casualty among us was myself - my boots rubbed my heels and I got a blister or two, to the amusement of everyone else on the walk. They found it very funny when I had to sit down, open the grab bag, and wrap my foot up in gauze and tape. Glad I entertained someone anyway.
The rest by the lock was welcomed really, not only for our poor aching feet (and blisters) but because we got choccie biscuits and water to re-fill the tanks. It also gave us a chance to admire the view of the busy canal, and the surrounding scenery.
Thankfully the sun never stopped shining, and the rain graciously held off. There was even a breeze to keep us cool. So we could walk quite happily and enjoy the surrounding nature with a single wish that at least one of us had taken a camera.
When we returned to the starting line, an entire buffet spread was lying in wait for us. And even the first aiders were fed, with everyone encouraging us to tuck in and eat our fill. It was brilliant! In fact, it might be safe to say that it was some of the best grub ever provided for us at an event. We definitely enjoyed it, especially the homemade raspberry cheesecake for pudding =)
So much for a nice healthy walk...
I suppose it was quite a fine wee duty. Certainly a contrast to what was going on back home in Elgin. Yes, Elgin has flooded with the torrential downpours that have plagued the North East for the past few days (well, the few days prior to Sunday when the sun shone again - weird, this weather...)
Although I wasn't there to experience it first hand, I know from reliable sources (and the emptiness of the Inverness office) that practically everyone turned up to help evacuate over 100 residents from their homes on the flood plains. The RC crews even helped out with the odd 999 call, and basically backed up the other emergency services during the initial flood response.
I also know that they spent a good bit of time sitting about watching the telly, waiting on something to do because some crews were a bit over-eager to sink their teeth into a real ER situation, and therefore there were too many people out on call, and not enough jobs to go around between them.
At least they were willing to help out... nothing wrong with being too over-zealous... as long as you don't get easily bored...
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