Rage Support Group

I'm sure many of you are wondering how Rage Against the Machine went... Let me paint you a picture.

We're standing in Festival Hall, the crowd has swarmed in like a hive of angry hornets. The air is thick with sweat and cheers as the band finally appear on stage. The first riff hits.

As if from nowhere, a dark portal shimmers into existence. We can hear the wails of a million tortured souls and people who don't like puppies. As the portal grows, covering the entire crowd, a light appears from the center, a pinpoint at first but growing, feeding on the darkness we see the fires of hell. A clawed hand emerges from the fires, pulling itself further into our domain - the wailing increases until blood drips from our ears. Satan, the Dark Prince pulls himself free of the fiery gateway, a trail of burning flesh marks his wake as he slowly moves towards our post. Gripped with terror we stand, unable to move as the Fallen One moves towards us, fire burning in his eyes and a dark grin spread across his mouth, his pointed teeth just showing. He arrives at us, still stunned, leans over so that he is just inches from my face and whispers, almost mockingly to me.

"Just kidding."


Despite our fears, it was an extremely quiet event for us, the crowd was amazing in how good they behaved. There was the usual moshing, jumping around and people getting hit by a few stray elbows (and one poor fellow copping a bite to his head while moshing - another copping a head to his teeth), but apart from that I was impressed. To give you an idea of the situation, at one point I saw two guys walking in opposite directions collide, one spilling half of a just poured large beer. I tightened my grip on my kit, expecting to have to go in and treat a punch up, only to see the two guys look at the beer, shrug shoulders and shake hands!

One should never complain about being pleasantly surprised.

Rage Against Anyone But Me Please

This post is a preemptive post. Tonight, I head to Festival Hall for the Rage Against the Machine concert with St John.

Following some events from the Big Day Out, we're expecting a small piece of hell to break loose.

Should be fun. We've brought in extra members, equipment and vehicles to cope with the potentially rowdy crowd - here's hoping we can keep some of it under control... I'll be sure to post tomorrow morning to let you all know how it goes.

Operations

I came to my St John division in 2006, having never been a member of St John before. At that time, the division was being run by people who did a good job of it, but it was obvious to all that they were overworked, tired, pushed too hard by the organisation and were on their way out. Who can blame them – we’re volunteers… But that's a story for another day. About six months after I joined, I had well and truly fulfilled the required annual hours service as was well into making a name for myself as a ‘regular attendee’ at several duty types and loved working as a First Aider. Suddenly, there was a massive change in the administration of the division, with the Operations Officer pretty much leaving due to his work/study load and the acting Divisional Superintendant transferring to another region. Things were not looking good for the division.

I put my hand up to help out with the administration side of things until everything got itself sorted out – unfortunately I was thrown into the deep end and had to quickly learn the ropes. 10 months down the line, I somehow became Head of Operations and Training for the division.

Operations is a time consuming, frustrating, often painful and always annoying role to fill. Ask any Operations officer in any division (in pretty much any organisation), they will all say that this role easily consumes more time and effort than that of a Superintendant – you are more likely to be mistreated, abused, woken at odd hours and working the most duties compared to any other role in the division – the only time you don’t get yelled at is when everything runs smoothly. Thanks are few and far between.

But it's important that you don’t let this scare you off. It isn’t a glamorous role filled with perks – but it is definitely the most rewarding on a personal and organisational level. Although your division may not always notice or show it – your stature within the organisation does not go unnoticed amongst regional or state staff, and it is a brilliant way to make contacts within and outside the organisation which can be used in many other aspects of life. The feeling of having everything run smoothly is comparable to nothing else, the constant challenge of achieving that makes for a perfectionists dream. You learn that when nobody says anything, you’ve done everything perfectly – and that’s all the thanks you need.

Operations is still a very rewarding and fun role to fill, despite anything else I may have said so far. You have a ball with the members, because unlike other roles Operations is a role that requires you to know quite well each member so you can appropriately allocate them. But it’s hard not to know someone well and not become friends, so after even a brief stint in Ops you’ll have made friends that may very well last the rest of your life – this alone is a reason why it’s such a rewarding position and one I feel I'm lucky to have held this long.

What's sticking out of my arm?

Well so much for the bonus posts given I was in the trial... Turns out the internet is a hard thing to get a hold of in there when there's a bunch of people with nothing else to do. The good news is there's at least a few good stories from the event.


This is my arm. The thing sticking out? A cannula. The red stuff? My blood. I was participating in a Clinical trial. If you're not reading the link, it's the method by which developed drugs are tested on humans for research and developmental reasons, which play an important role that often gets overlooked by the public unless something goes horribly wrong. Which, fortunately, it usually doesn't. Which is not to say the drug is always a success - or even successful at what it was originally supposed to do, yet certain 'side effects' were noticed that allow for a continuation of trials (thus Viagra was born).

I volunteered to participate in a Stage One clinical trial for a new anti-arrhythmia drug - fortunately the initial screens had been done with no side effects and the study operators were just wanting to know the kinetics of the compound (how long the drug stays in your system for after taking it). Many people (my poor mother included) would hate a loved one being involved in such a potentially dangerous scenario, however it does offer the participant a rather large sum of 'financial reimbursement for their time' which equates basically to quick, easy cash. Those who are aware of the risks might even use such an event to fund a move to Sydney, for example.

The thing that frustrates me more than having to spend 3 days in bed with no chocolate, coffee, tea or other happiness inducing substances is that although the trial runs for a total of fifteen days distributed over two months, it pays me more than my PhD stipend would working full time (and then some) for three months.

Can anyone else say 'Highly educated people working as slave labor'?

Well not anymore for me, at least. I finish in the labs at the end of this week.

He DID!

Short but sweet - the results of my medical have come in and I got a call today letting me know that I was 100% confirmed in - my acceptance letter and request for accommodation on base are in the mail!

Like you ever had any doubts ;P

I did...

In other news, I'm enrolled in a Phase I clinical trial where I'll be bed ridden for quite a bit. It's ok - I will have internet access so expect a few 'bonus' posts. They might be long.

I also look after fools and drunks

I was with St John (as I'm known to be) at a local event where the crowd was happily served copious amounts of alcohol. While I usually dislike these events for the obvious work it provides me with, the crowd were actually a pretty good group of people all out for a nice fun time.

Of course, for two of them, the day after may have been slightly less so. Actually, for more than two - but let's just say these two in particular ;)

The first was a girl who had consumed her fair share of beer and then a little more. After that she drank herself silly. Thinking this might be a good time to head outside and purge her sins, she told her boyfriend her intent and strode forth into the night. After some time the boyfriend (who had stayed inside the warm room filled with friends) got a little worried, and before long we were called to an unconscious female in the garden.

On a side note folks, why always the garden? It's full of prickles, thorns and bugs - please, please try to pass out somewhere a little more convenient for me to get you from!

While she wasn't at the point of needing her stomach pumped, she certainly needed to sleep this off. Her boyfriend and a few friends were with us, which made my life a lot cleaner - I got them to hold the em-bag while she continued her projectile ways. The unfortunate thing for me was the fact that her location was completely inaccessible by vehicles (such as the one a friend was driving around to take her home), she was a large girl and was in no state for walking.

Out comes my best friend, the scoop stretcher. If there is one piece of equipment I recommend all first aiders get - it's this. We load her into it, secure her and (with the help of myself, a partner, the boyfriend and three other friends) take her over to the car. There was a bit of a wait, so we released her from the scoop and we sat around talking for a bit. Although drunk, she was a lovely girl and liked my sense of humor - this was also a good thing because I love an audience. A captive audience best of all.

After a few stories, jokes and musings she said something to me that I doubt I'll ever forget - "You're good at this." For some reason that simple statement made by a drunken girl sitting on cold concrete with a half full em-bag in her lap remains one of my warmest, fuzziest memories of first aid. I felt like, in my own small way, I had achieved something that night. After a bit the friend appeared and we got her into the car for her adventure to continue while we headed back to our designated spot.

A year later at the same venue and event (it runs every year) I met our second drunk. We were called to her under similar circumstances as our last friend, out in the garden 'unconscious' (of all the calls for 'unconscious' I've had, only around 5% of them actually are unconscious...).

Seriously - stop going to the garden, people.

Unfortunately this was the one time of the night when all the people requiring first aid needed us at the same time, so I was caught between treating her and also inspecting a young man who'd recently been in a fight. Luckily they were scant meters from each other, so my life was made somewhat easier. The girl was GCS 3,5,6 - but the 5 was borderline 4 depending on which time you roused her. Drunk girl this post, fighter in a later dedicated post (oh yes, it was a good one).

We got her into a stretcher (I had learned from last year), covered her in a nice thermal (foil) blanket/wool blanket combo and were wheeling her over to the car park so she could get a taxi to her friends place. She probably could have walked, but she was a very petite girl, continuous going 'floppy' and thus was extremely difficult not to drop - I was erring on the side of caution. I was also using this as a way of getting away from the 'fight scene', but again more on that later.

The girl was great when she was talking, a very giggly drunk and rather entertaining actually. While I couldn't stand it all night, a 5 minute stroll was quite enjoyable. The big laugh came when we approached the taxi area with the girl in a stretcher and, unsurprisingly the taxi just took off. We sat her up with her friends to wait for the next taxi with her thermal blanket still around her ("You look like you're about to be thrown in the oven!") and left them to the night. I was proud of the partner I was with, as it was her very first duty and she had handled herself well (which I of course told her), and she said she was impressed with all of our friendliness and humor and was keen to do more duties.

I heard through a friend of a friend that the girl made it back safely to wake the next morning still wearing the thermal blanket - but didn't remember how she got it. It's always nice to hear how our patients have recovered - better still when it can give you a chuckle.

Not there yet...

I've mentioned it in a previous post, but it feels time to go through it again due to the simple fact that I've re-read some of these posts and have realised how caught up in it all I've been.

Despite my hopes and ambitions - I'm not a Paramedic (yet).

A friend pointed out that a lot of my posts seem to be narrated as if I had reached that goal already, as if - when talking about Paramedics - I'm relating more as a peer than a student (who hasn't even started at that). To me, this is dangerous territory and something I think I should address sooner rather than later - for my own sake if nothing else. I know I'm nowhere near the level of Paramedic, and the things I've seen and done as a First Aider/First Responder are probably trivial events to the average 'ambo'.

My true challenges lie ahead of me, and I cannot afford to let myself think I am prepared for them yet, because it's the Paramedic (or Doctor, Nurse or even Barista for that matter) who is over-confident that makes mistakes, misses details and generally gives the rest of their profession a bad image. I don't want to fall into that category. Ever.

But to address the issue of relating on a personal level as a peer - in a sense this is something I probably won't stop, not due to the fact I feel as qualified as them (which, believe me, I don't) but for the fact that they are just normal every day humans. Yes - even just like you. They're just trying to do what they can - and to that I relate. I (think I) know how it feels to be doing something that is important to someone's life and health, I know how it feels when it's working, when it's not. When it fails. When it doesn't, and the clouds open up, the sun shines through - and I like the sun, it makes me hopeful. Most of all I know how it feels to want to be better, for their sake - then for yours.

I know I'm not there yet... But I will be.

About Chiron

A friend of mine who reads this blog recently emailed me asking what the whole 'Chiron' business was, so I thought this might be a good time to explain.

Chiron was (in Greek mythology) a healer, teacher and oracle - which, when I decided to take the path of paramedics were what I felt the three main aspect of the role were about. The wikipedia article regarding him will give you a much better background than I can in this blog (there's a few points I'd put differently but it is a good summary - go on, give it a read!), but suffice to say that in my journey from a medical researcher to paramedic I felt I was following the ideals and philosophy of Chiron.

I have a sweet spot for mythology... But back to the three foci - Healer, Teacher and Oracle.

Paramedics are, first and foremost, healers. They travel to those who are in need or pain to heal. By no means are they doctors or nurses, also healers, but they do play a vital role in the health services - one which I've felt long before I wished to become a paramedic was a vastly overlooked and under appreciated role.

But paramedics have one major advantage over their doctor/nurse brethren - they're constantly out in the community. Unlike the hospital or clinic bound others, a paramedic is free to roam the vast plains of... well, the roads... and actually interact with society in a way that only a paramedic can. 'But with great power comes great responsibility' - damn you Uncle Ben... Given this role, the paramedic is also a teacher. When examining patients in a public area, when out and about, when visiting a school or when providing (or even teaching) first aid, the paramedic will be asked questions on health care that they are in a much greater position to answer than a doctor or nurse simply because they usually have the time and audience to make answering the questions worthwhile. Really, paramedics should have 'the golden title'... But that's a rant for another day ;)

Finally, a paramedic has to be - in a sense - an oracle. Sounds a bit silly, I know - but given the nature of the role a paramedic must always be trying to stay the step ahead of what could go wrong - because as Murphy taught us, whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.

It's this strange combination of the three attributes that has brought me to the field (coupled with a strong sense of spontaneity, the constant mental/physical challenge and the fact that you never quite know where you'll end up or who you'll be treating). I was asked during my interview (and by family and friends) why I wasn't going to study medicine (to become a doctor) given I had an highly academic background and they were shocked that I couldn't have thought of anything worse.

Sure, there was a higher likelihood of being sued in medicine, the extra time, debt and financial hardship associated with another 6-10 years at university, but more than anything else it was the fact that I didn't feel medicine would provide for me that sense of 'teacher' and 'oracle' that I felt paramedicine would. I wanted to connect with my patients (which as I'm sure I'll get emailed about - isn't always a good thing) and to do something a little more 'free' from the confines of hospitals and business suits.

But back to Chiron - when I decided to chronicle this journey I went through several possible names for the blog, but none of them felt right. I tried to have a slightly comical sound to the title (I'm a big fan of 'Blood, Sweat and Tea', for instance) but felt it somehow that it lost a part of the seriousness or determination I held for obtaining the qualification.

So I went back to my roots, thought about how I truly felt about the role and there it came - Chiron. I was in pursuit of his teachings and philosophies.

I was Following Chiron.

Calling all Australian Paramedic Bloggers!

A quick shout out that I'm launching a new Australian Paramedic blog syndication called 'Stretcher Marks'.

Check www.stretchermarks.com for a preview - bearing in mind that it's still in its infancy and a lot of work will be done over the next few days/weeks...

Email followingchiron@gmail.com if you're interested in participating!

Don't tell lies

There is of course another side of the coin when it comes to my last post. I like to think that omitting information (or flat out refusing to give it) is more of a deficit of honesty more so than lying, so I bundled some of those examples into that post. Some people, however, just flat out lie. Not through omission, not to save their skin - they just lie.

Several cases in point; at a recent festival a member of the public came to my post and reported an unconscious male locked in a bathroom cubicle. On goes the response gear - a giant pack filled with Oxygen, breathing apparatus and other gear on me with a response kit complete with trauma gear and defib for my partner. Not the easiest gear to carry but we do it without complaint or question - it's the gear we need to do our job. We make our way around the corner to the bathrooms and I check every damn cubicle - all of them in use and filled with an angry male wanting to know why I was banging on the doors. Nobody else had seen our supposed unconscious male, and some patrons had been waiting for a cubicle for quite some time.

Now, I'm not afraid to go on a wild goose chase ('That's what wild geese are for.' - Anon), because I'm fearful of that one time we don't go when we are needed. But why would someone make up a story like that? It got the reporter about three seconds attention from us but wasted about fifteen minutes of our time. Time that we had to mark ourselves as a response crew as 'responding and unavailable'. At this event we had a rather large amount of drug OD's - and they wasted our time on this? But sometimes it's not the reporting of a patient that's the lie... Sometimes we have something much more fun in store.

And these are the cases that really irritate me - people who have nothing wrong with them, but they insist on treatment. These are the teenage girls who've 'fainted' at concerts, the patrons who travel around first aid posts at large events getting paracetamol from each post (we usually catch them out, but unfortunately they can get as much as 3mg before the flags get raised), the hypochondriacs who insist on us calling an ambulance for their 'broken leg' despite walking in with no problems only to find out this post doesn't stock penthrane.

It's the active lie that can do much more damage to our patients, ourselves and our work. I can understand sometimes why people might lie - the elderly or homeless sometimes just want someone to talk to, youths often just want attention and sympathy, addicts might want to score a pain killer when they have no money - and this is one of the things that worries me most about emergency medicine. You see, the problem with medicine outside the hospital (and even in many cases inside) is that we have little in the way of diagnostic equipment. For this reason EMS is rarely allowed to diagnose patients - but it's still a big part of what we do. So how do we go about doing this without said equipment? We have to depend on the patients complaints and symptoms to guide us.

For this reason the homeless will get their night in A&E in the warm bed, youths will get their attention and yes, addicts do score free pain killers - because we have to trust them and their word, because some times there is little else we can do.

Rule 1 of Emergency Medicine is everybody lies.
Rule 2 is supposed to be 'Never forget Rule 1'.

I sometimes think a much more appropriate rule 2 would be 'Know when to forget rule 1'.

Just be honest

Something that always amazes, amuses and mortifies me is the truth behind rule number 1 of Emergency Medicine.

Everybody lies.

One would be forgiven for thinking that, while being in an emergency situation, a medical technician might be provided with all of the important, relevant details needed to adequately treat their patient. This is not the case. Several instances stand out in my mind when 'the gang' is gathered and sharing battle stories in regards to this.

I was at a major festival at one of the busiest posts when, not surprisingly, an underage female is brought in with suspected OD. While she was stable, it was vital for us to be told exactly what she had taken or done in order for us to treat her in such a way as to improve her condition or ensure the proper care was given... Her three "BFF's" were gathered around crying she was going to die and the usual rants we hear in these situations (they'd be amusing if they weren't so annoying), and yet not a single one of them would tell us what she had taken. Oh, they knew, but (and I quote) "[they] don't want her parents to find out!". She was in no trouble at all, the only way her parents would find out is if a) she told them or b) we were forced to send her to hospital in which case the hospital would be forced to notify the parents given she was underage.
I always like to think that if it come between getting in trouble but being alive or not getting yelled at but possibly dying, I'd choose the former. Just me, perhaps.

Another case that comes to mind was at another festival where many people were brought in with scratches, lacerations or other injuries consistent with being scraped by a wire. It was funny, but I recalled hearing on the event radios of people jumping fences... But these people told me they cut themselves on cans after falling over... Also funny, this event doesn't serve drinks in cans... What's that? This was outside the event, before you came in? Of course it was. We didn't care how they cut themselves (although our paperwork requires us to ask just for record keeping), but knowing what people cut themselves on can be the difference between knowing a simple clean and cover will suffice or if they might need a shot after scraping on that rusty fence. Of course I recommended the shot given the 'nature' of the injuries to be on the safe side...

Of course my favorite to date (although perhaps not as medically relevant) comes from the humble drunk. How did you end up in the gutter? "I was just having a drink, minding my own business and the guards kicked me out." Do you remember how you got that black eye? "What black eye?" The police want to have a quick word with you regarding the patient in the other post, the unconscious one. I'll be back in a minute. "Never seen him in my life." I'm sure his fist looks familiar. Bloody-toothed grin ensues.

The short of it; we're only trying to do our job, and the more details we have the better we can look after you. We don't disclose details to anyone without your permission (yes, even including the police) so please, just be honest.

Did he or didn't he?

I sat at the table, three highly trained Paramedics in front of me. Their uniforms were clean, sharp and all said one thing; we are professionals. I was nervous, but ready for this.

My palms were slightly sweaty and I hoped they wouldn't notice. For an hour we danced our little interview dance, throwing questions and answers back and forth. Of course, at the time I could have sworn I'd been at that table for five hours, but in that little room it was irrelevant. Only the types of questions asked could be used to mark the passage of time. Every now and then I'd throw in a small joke or remark but only one would ever give a little giggle before the cast iron mask came back down - but that was enough, I knew they too were human (or at least I had suspicions) and that I could do this.

And I did.

But it wasn't over yet - next came the driving test. While the interview made me feel like I was there forever, the driving test seemed to be over before it began - and the instructor seemed happy with me. That $50 note could stay in my pocket, then...

We moved back into the Ambulance Training Center where I was sat down with one of the Paramedics who interviewed me.

"Kane," she said, "you've made it through to the next round. If you pass the medical check, you'll be a Trainee Paramedic with the Ambulance Service of New South Wales. Congratulations."

I was thrilled - there were no words (although I did gush out a 'thanks!') to explain how I felt. She laughed at my obvious relief and we discussed setting up the medical in Melbourne to save me having to fly back up to Sydney again.

I climb back on board the plane to Melbourne, we take off. For the first time QANTAS was the cheapest airline for the flight I was after, and lucky for me they do complimentary drinks.

I think I earned it :)

Nervous

Tomorrow is a big day for me - tomorrow morning I fly over to Sydney for my panel interview and driving test with the Ambulance Service of New South Wales. Then I fly home and either celebrate to the point where I may not be in at work come Friday or I sit crying in the corner. Regardless of what the case is, there's a nice bottle of wine with my name on it sitting in wait.

I will, of course, be posting the results of my little travel come Thursday night (think of it as a bonus post) to make sure you can also join in on celebration/commiseration!

The problem with makeup...

Some of the concerts I go to with St John provide enough amusement just from the audience - the show itself is just an added bonus. One such night stands out in my mind, however as I'm sure you'll come to understand it was only a while after that I was able to appreciate the situation as humorous.

Without mentioning names, a shock rocker was in town and performing - surely enough St John Ambulance was there to keep an eye on things should said things turn nasty. The crowds were massive, especially for such a fairly small venue, and we were expecting to have a busy night ahead. As usual, we had an 18-30 year old crowd but given the nature of this event most of them were goth - which we all had a giggle at as we walked in.

Oh, how the tables turned on us.

The night quickly became one of the busiest I'd worked for some time and we were frequently swarmed with more patients than Johnno's. Luckily the injuries were usually very minor and more often than not a sit down and a quick drink of water was all they needed, but the time it took to properly triage was extensive.

Why? Well, there was of course the difficulty in assessing their complaints given we were located next to the speakers. Next comes the fact that most of them didn't really want to talk to us. But finally, and most infuriatingly of all, it was impossible to tell at a glance who was genuinely sick or having trouble breathing because everyone was wearing white make up. Everyone came in looking like that were about to 'cease to be'.

It was a good if not frustrating night after all, the crowds almost rioted and we were contemplating a tactical retreat when the main act failed to appear 45 minutes after his set was supposed to start. This created just the right mix of tension and hostility in an already angst filled crowd to keep a steady stream of injured out way...

And here I always thought they 'didn't feel anything...' ;)

Attitude

Sometimes the work I do with St John makes me wonder what I'm getting myself into. Don't get me wrong, when I'm on duty with St John and treating people I feel like I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing with my life - it's just there are downsides as well as those upsides.

Take this article for example, coming from a very well respected Paramedic from the same city in which I live. I've had the privilege of working with Mr. Eade during my time with St John and have found him a knowledgeable, kind and hard working man - the story does not give him enough praise for his work, but nor would he want it to. But the content of the article raises many issues with the way Paramedicine works in the field - often Paramedics are forced to work in dangerous situations and in increasingly violent environments.

It's not surprising that many Paramedics worldwide want to wear stab vests to protect themselves when on call. Of course a few years back there was the story about an EMS worker wounded by a sniper ambush. There have also been random stabbings, beatings and then there was this story which I don't know where to begin trying to talk about...

I've talked about this with my girlfriend and family and they know some of the risks that are involved in working as a Paramedic - I'm grateful that they all still support my choice. Some might say they are trying to get rid of me, but I like to think they just want me to be happy ;)

Working with St John I've noticed a lot of small things already that make me wonder about some people, I'll run through a few examples so you know what I'm talking about. All the time we get people throwing up behind our vehicles when working at Festival Hall. At the Myer Music Bowl we get people urinating behind (and on) our vehicles. We also get abused when pushing through crowds to get to patients, we get abused by 'friends' of the patient who insist that despite their friends unconscious state 'they don't need [our] help'. Some patients swing at us when we're trying to treat/help them. A while back we were abused for knocking a guys sunglasses off when trying to get to an OD patient, he followed us for a while shouting abuse.

And I couldn't think of any other job I'd rather be in right now.

Now I know (especially when compared to the earlier examples) that what I've experienced so far are only minor irritations compared to what Paramedics encounter every day, but it's the bits that surround those brief moments that make them bearable. It's about getting a non breathing OD patient breathing again that makes a guy following you talking about sunglasses laughable. It's knowing that I enjoy what I do, and that I'm doing something valuable for the community that makes cleaning [censored] covered vehicles easy.

I know I won't always be working in the safest environments (although I will do whatever I can to make them safer for me, and if they're too bad then I won't endanger myself needlessly) and nor will I always receive the respect that I think a Paramedic deserves. In fact, rarely do I think will I receive the respect a health care professional deserves, but at the end of the day I sleep feeling I've done something right - even if things didn't go the way I'd like them to - that makes me love first aid, and wish to continue that into Paramedicine.

And that's the attitude I hope to keep.



Side note; Thursday the 10th of January is my Paramedics Interview and Driving Test (I'm doing two rounds in one day to 'speed up' the enrollment process - their words, not mine *grin*). I'll be sure to let everyone know how it goes!

Life Choices

Some patients make you sit and think about the way we live our lives. These can range from the elderly with stories of their life to the drunk 13 year old girl crying because she's afraid her parents are going to find out she's been drinking.

Others just make you wonder how they made it this far.

At an all day music festival with St John I had a 22 year old male come in to our post with blood all over his face. Oh, how I wish this was a rare occurrence at such events... Long story short, he'd split his lip, eyebrow (although it didn't need stitches) and had a rather nasty swollen eye. While getting a history he'd denied taking any drugs that day (as almost everyone else has said) but I always had a feeling he was lying. Call it a sixth sense, or the fact he was agitated, his pupils were dilated (although still PEARL) and he was having trouble obeying orders to hold a cloth to his nose to stop it bleeding. Of course it was possible he was just a nervous, oddly behaving type of guy so I had nothing I could really hold him on (add to the fact he was built like a tank, myself being built more like a mini I didn't like my odds of holding him anywhere) and he was anxious to get out of the post.

The day moves on as one would expect, and after two or three hours a familiar face is found once again at my post. He'd managed to get himself into another fight - of course not his fault - and his face was once again a bloody mess. That sixth sense was still tingling, his paranoia had increased as had his pulse and respirations. Mood was swinging a little more, but after I cleaned him up again some friends said they'd take care of him.

A few more hours pass and I was dropping off a patient into the Advanced Casualty Management Team (ACMT - a 'mini emergency room' if you will we set up for big events) when who should I spot but our dear friend Mr Bloody Face being treated by one of the nurses. I let someone in there know he was a frequent flyer and it might be an idea to have him 'move on' to the outside world.

More hours pass and I'm beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm almost ready to go home, when I get a call to respond to an unconscious male at the security office. As I get closer and closer I see a familiar face sitting in the security office. By this stage I could recognise him bloodied and bruised, after a minute with him I could see he was up to his old tricks. He'd been jumped by four guys after he'd picked a fight, although he had never lost consciousness. He was crying and kept repeating he wanted to go home, and although I got a base set of obs and was confident he wasn't in any life threatening situations, it was clear by now that my suspicions he'd taken Ice were more than likely correct, despite what everyone was saying.

It had been a long day, he was probably dehydrated as well as bloodied and bruised, agitated, anxious, paranoid and more than likely scared out of his mind being surrounded by security guards (although they weren't crowding him, the fact he was at the security office made their presence abundant) and two people with 'Ambulance' on their rather police-like uniforms - add to this Ice is known to give massive mood swings and increased hostility/aggression. I knew these things. Still, the sudden snap caught me off guard when he threw me away from him and starting swinging at everything and anything around him.

Luckily he didn't make contact with me (apart from the rather firm shove) and guards were quick to jump on him and pin him to the floor. His friends tried to calm him as he screamed and attempted to fight off his restrainers (luckily with no success). We had called in an Ambulance and Police by this stage, and as the Ambulance arrived he had calmed down sufficiently to let the Paramedics treat him under security supervision. Knowing the night was not yet over, I headed back to my post to wait for the next call until I could return to that glorious, soft bed and call it a night, knowing the Paramedics and Police would sort out our friends fate.


I've stated previously that I don't like to judge drug users, or anyone I treat for that matter. Their life is their life, and I'm only there to help when they need it. Sometimes I just feel sorry for people like the patient I've just talked about - if they could do it all over again, would they make the same decisions? If he had have known at the start of the day what would occur, would he still have done the same things? In the end we're all responsible for our own life, and hindsight is a wonderful thing. It might be that he was an otherwise great bloke, who I would have been more than happy to share a beer with down at the pub - I just caught him at a weak and vulnerable moment. Of course he could be a complete arsehole.

I just hope when he's back in his mind he has a good look at his life choices.