Fit for hospital

Eight 999 calls – one assisted-only, one hoax and the others were genuinely in need of an ambulance.

Young people shouldn’t have cardiac problems so it is usually non-cardiac when you receive a ‘chest pain’ call to a 19 year-old. I never met the patient because an ambulance was already on scene so I wasn’t required but I’m willing to bet they weren’t too concerned about his imminent demise.

A pattern emerged for the rest of the shift – foreign drunks. A 28 year-old Lithuanian alcoholic, known to me and many of my colleagues no doubt, lay in an alley claiming epilepsy (this is an age-old stunt to get into hospital) and soliciting the sympathy of anyone who cared enough to stop and listen to him. He insisted on going to hospital and part of me wanted to leave him where he was but I couldn’t prove he wasn’t epileptic, so he had to go. He knew that and he was quite smug about it. He found a cigarette on the ground, picked it up, lit it and waited with me until the ambulance arrived to taxi him to a warm bed and a free sandwich (free for him, not for me or you).

This call was followed by another alcoholic patient, this time from Poland, claiming epilepsy. I think they all get on the ‘phone to each other and plan what they are going to call ambulances for each evening; chest pain, diabetic problems, epilepsy…alcoholism.

The police were on scene with this guy because he and his friends were being moved away from the doorway of a posh house in a tidy and quiet area where they had all settled down for the evening with their cans of beer and bottles of cider. Fair enough if you live there and pay your taxes.

I waited for 30 minutes before an ambulance arrived to take the man away, during which time he entertained me and the police officers with the most awful acting we had ever seen. He feigned as many ‘seizures’ as he could squeeze in and for effect, tried to slam his head against the small wall of the building – probably because we weren’t taking him seriously. He was an insult to genuine epileptic patients and before you feel too sorry for him and think of me as cruel and unprofessional, the lady who lives in the house came out to thank me when he had finally been removed. She had been admitted to hospital several times with stress-related illnesses as a result of having to cope with these drunkards on her doorstep, none of whom could (or would) speak English. She had called the police so many times to have them moved on that she had suffered a nervous breakdown. How much sympathy would you have for these men after seeing her poor broken demeanour?

Then a 28 year-old who got himself kicked and punched around the head simply for looking at someone the wrong way. He is a homeless gentleman and had been mooching around for his next meal when another homeless guy and his mates asked him 'who the hell he was looking at'. He didn't need to reply one way or the other because he got a kicking anyway. The police called us but he refused medical aid and insisted that he just wanted to get his evening meal.

The LAS have partnered an outreach group who want us to report on individuals who wish to be taken off the streets and into some kind of accommodation. I asked this man if he wanted help and he agreed to give his details. I called the number we have all been given and made my report. Apparently they email you to give you feedback on what has happened, so it'll be interesting to see if this is worth the effort.

Another known alcoholic soon after that job. I have written several times about this man. He has changed his hair and grown a beard and I think he used the new look to try and fool me but I recognised him when I got close. He had wandered up to a group of young men at a table outside a bar, plonked himself down, asked them for a beer (which he got) and then complained of chest pain. He demanded they call an ambulance (which they did) and I arrived to tell them the bad news. They were NOT happy at being made to look like fools and I think they wanted to do something about it there and then.

This frequent flyer is usually quite aggressive and can be physically violent but tonight he decided to play it meek so I had no trouble with him as he was led to the waiting ambulance.

Our West End hoax caller struck again. His modus operandi is to dial 999 and ask for police, fire and ambulance. He gets connected to the fire service first and hangs up before they can get any information. This triggers a ‘please investigate’ call, although why I should be the one to do this I don’t know. Surely the police should be running after him?

I fly round to the callbox in Leicester Square, three minutes after the call was made and find no-one. Surprise, surprise. He was probably watching with great delight from the shadows somewhere. He’ll do it again next week. He seems to know when we are busiest. Maybe he’s a disgruntled insider.

A posh hotel in West London was the setting for my next call. A 48 year-old man was suffering chest pains in his hotel room. He had a cardiac history, including a previous heart attack and was grossly overweight. I asked him how much he had been drinking and he told me he had downed only four glasses of wine but there were about a dozen empty bottles outside his room, so I guessed he was probably stretching the truth, unless he wanted me to believe his wife/girlfriend (with him in the room) was a raving alcoholic who could drink twenty glasses of wine and remain as sober as a judge.

When the crew arrived and moved him to the ambulance I tried to get his details from the hotel manager but he had used a false name on checking in (he had given us an English name but the man was quite clearly Arabic). I had given him the benefit of the doubt because he could well be Mr. Smith but the hotel manager outed him when I requested his full name. It’s nice to know that some traditions are truly international.

My last call was also a chest pain and was also for a 48 year-old, this time a female. It was likely she was suffering from a chest infection though as she had a long history of this and was on antibiotics and steroids. Her episode tonight had woken her up and she wasn’t comfortable; her breathing was shallow and she was restless with it. When I listened to her lungs they sounded ‘dry’ and raspy. She was living in a small flat while renovation was being carried out and there was a bit of dust around and the overpowering smell and taste of fresh paint, so none of that would have helped her condition.

I waited with her for an ambulance and her chubby brown cat (I called it the fattest cat I’d seen but she refused to admit that and preferred ‘well fed’) nuzzled and purred around me and my bags. I was going to be covered in cat hair when I got home. I’m not a cat person, never have been but I have recently been won over by the introduction of a kitten to my household. He was the last of his litter and a friend of mine offered him up and I couldn’t refuse – his future wasn’t bright otherwise and I have always been a sucker for rescuing mongrels. He has turned out to be a wonderful animal and highly intelligent. He helps me to relax (all animals have that effect on me). His name is Scruffs. I should give him his own blog one day.

Be safe.