Life within North-West Ambulance Service

Every now and then in Public Services such as the Ambulance Service, the Police and the Fire Brigade there comes a job where patience is tested. It is not only tested but it is stretched. It is also dragged kicking and screaming away from your compassionate side. In short, patience gets a damn good kicking and suffers from severe bruising for a lonnnggggg time!

Now they do say that “Patience is a virtue”.Some people have more patience than others. For some it is none existent for any number of reasons which may stem from a sociological, psychological or pathological dislike or aversion to things not going their way. Patience is like common sense…it is hard to quantify and difficult to measure from one human being to another.

But in the Emergency Services we can call upon bucket loads of the stuff. Patience, having empathy, listening and a core belief in doing the best you can to help someone are all skills which are either inherent, taught or learnt through experience. It is the difference sometimes between life and death. That extra few seconds or minutes can help resolve a difficult situation…..When it is appropriate!

It is night time. Black skies filled with dark clouds shielding any light from the stars in the heavens.

It is late…or is it early? 2 o clock in the morning. I wish I was tucked up in my bed but instead I am as usual, in my office, and now filling in on a shout.

It is cold. No. Not cold, it is freezing! The icy grip of Jack Frost is taking hold of my bones and causing me to shiver.

It is wet. It is pouring down with icy rain. I can feel it finding its way between my jacket collar and my neck!

We had just arrived at an address in inner Bolton. Parking the truck behind the already on scene police car we gingerly alight from the cab trying to avoid the huge puddles of water with their usual assortment of used condoms, empty take away cartons and human waste. We walk over to the two police officers who stand there looking like two drowned rats!

The call has come in that a female has been assaulted. At the entrance to the address stands a door that has seen a lot of action recently. It resembles a patchwork quilt made of wood due to the many times it has been repaired through previous encounters with boots, bricks and the occasional Police door opener. There is just one door to this address, a converted building housing a collection of flats.

The Police have been talking to the woman on her mobile. She is inside the property. Her assailant has long gone. But she is not making a lot of sense. She cannot come to the door…is she injured?…is she afraid?…has she been locked in elsewhere in the flats?…No. A big fat double NO…with a generous helping of NO relish! She is drunk, mullered, hammered, rat arsed! This we know because this woman is one of our many frequent flyers!

We all stand around outside hunching our shoulders into our jackets trying to make ourselves a smaller target for the incessant rain that is lashing down upon us. All we want to do is get inside where it will be dry, and hopefully warm and sort out this situation. Its now been approximately ten minutes and we still maintain our professionalism and duty of care as we all know that one day one of the many frequent flyers will turn out to be a genuine call!

All the while I can hear the police officer talking to her and letting her know that we will be helping her shortly. Suddenly I catch the end of the conversation…but its not from the officers mobile…its from the other side of the front door! Tentatively I crouch down and peer through the letter box pushing my fingers through the bristles of the draught excluder. It is dark in the hallway but very soon I manage to see our caller…sat in a chair in front of a nice warm fire!

The chair is surrounded by empty cans of beer and pizza boxes.

We are now taking turns at shouting through the letter box to encourage her to open the front door. Each one of us employs a different tack to our requests. The casual laid back approach is a none starter. The logical reasoning and intelligent argument approach also falls on death ears. The urgent imploring and insistence on checking out her possible injuries meets with a garbled alcoholic response. Our last approach uses the age old technique of yelling as loudly as possible in an attempt to wake others in the flats. No effect……

I ask the police officers if they are Taser trained? I put forward the notion of firing a Taser through the letter box and hitting our caller then dragging her to the door! This idea is greeted with appreciative nods and momentary serious consideration. But we all know that it would not go down too well with our bosses. Oh well..just an idea.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and the Police officers bring out the big red door opener. One! Two! Three hits later and the door gives way…we are in!!! The darkness of the hallway is tinged with a warm reddy glow from the fire where our caller is sat. The water is cascading off our jackets as we shake the rain from us. Within an instant the warmth of the fire begins to dry our souls and the murderous adrenaline coursing through our veins is replaced with concern.

After a brief check of our caller for any injuries she may have sustained from the alleged assault over 10 hours ago I let the Police officers began their task of gaining the facts. She is not injured…she has not been assaulted…she has run out of credit on her mobile…she wants someone to contact Social Services so she can get a different flat!

Murderous thoughts once again replace the concern for our caller. We stand there in the semi gloom hovering over her. There is a glint in our eyes. It is that glint of primeval instinct, of dark thoughts, of murderous intention. Could we get away with disposing of the body? Would our unspoken thoughts secure a bond of silence and loyalty between us …?

We leave our caller with the fire keeping her warm. Only this time she will have a draught blowing in from the street through the remains of the front door! Between gritted teeth we bid our farewells and step back out into the dark, freezing rain lashed night. With a knowing nod we jump into our respective vehicles and drive off into the night…each one of us dwelling on the possibilities of murder………

We could have got rid of the body………..could,nt we?

Sometimes you wonder just what is the mind set of some people? I mean we all go on living day to day following a more or less predetermined set of rules, ideals and behaviours that have evolved from the dawn of time. We are the superior species…are we not?

So the human body has evolved and developed into a superb piece of kit. It is capable of many wondrous things enabling us to move and live within our world. It fights off infections without us knowing it and rebuilds itself when something breaks down…usually.

But there are times when we need to be more aware of our selves and respond accordingly. For example when we feel sick or dizzy we tend to sit down and relax, or if we cut ourselves we try and plug the bleeding with a bandage.

And so……recently I came across a fine example of possible Darwinism in the shape of a male in his thirties.

We were called to a “male…unconscious” in a park near to the Town Centre. When we arrived we were met by a small posse of “yoofs”who had made the original 999 call. They were gobby, they were foul mouthed and they had attitude…but I,m pleased to say that they were genuine in their concern for the male they had found.

Making our way across the grass in the pitch dark using our mag-lites to show us the way, we approached the now standing “unconscious male.” At first it was difficult to make out his features only that he looked about 6 foot plus and was built like a brick shit-house. (Apologies for the Anglo-Saxon description but it was true he was big!)

Getting nearer to him we could make out that he was approximately in his thirties and looked a little dishelleved and unkempt. (Although this is not something to rely on as the fashion trendies seem to go for the dishelleved/unkempt look…or is it just me?) I asked him how he was doing? He seemed fine at first sight…he was,nt swaying around doing the old drunk fox-trot or slurring his words and he was,nt Polish!

So I asked him why he had been sleeping in the park and if he suffered with anything? He replied that he was normally fit and well and he was just tired after having a good skinful of beer throughout the day. Although he did not appear drunk or seemed to be having any problems…something was just not quite right.

He would wince every now and then when he turned or pointed at something.

“Are you sure your okay?” “You look like your in pain…have you got a bad back or something?” I asked.

He then asked if we could shine our torch on him….and as we did he unzipped his jacket and then undid the buttons on his polo shirt and pulled away a small dressing….revealing underneath….

….the broken end of his clavicle (collar bone) sticking out of his skin a good two inches!!!

“Cor blimey!” (or words to that effect involving lots of F words and sharp intakes of breath) “When did this happen?” The shattered end of the clavicle looked grubby and surrounded by infected skin. “About 2 months ago.” he replied.

“Two months…have you not had it seen to? And does it not hurt a little bit?” Turns out that he had been sleeping rough and had fallen sustaining the injury but did not bother seeking treatment….and yes it was hurting him……a lot! So we persuaded him to come to A/E and get it sorted before septicaemia sorted him!

Now correct me if I,m wrong….but if I had fractured my clavicle and it had pierced my skin and it was “hurting like f**k” then I think the wisest course of action would be to get it treated. This guy thought it would “mend itself.”

I wanted to add a note in here about our little Abigail, she would have been with us for two years today had she not passed over to the side of God. I speak on behalf of all staff when I say how much she is missed and still thought of. We send our love and prayers to all of Abigail's family. She is missed a great deal in this office.

Just finished another continuous set of 12 days and nights! Time off to reflect on the happenings over the past fortnight gave some giggles, some frowns and some that just dont bear thinking about.

Usual jobs which was a mixed bag of minor medical ailments, UTIs (urinary tract infections) lots of chest infections, a house fire (more of in a later post) lots of alcohol induced injuries and a f*g swollen knee!

I have patience…bags of it. But when you are tired and hungry and you get called on three 9s to a male in his mid twenties with a two day history of a swollen knee at daft o clock in the morning….

What was his reasoning behind calling us?……he could not sleep knowing that it would still be painful in the morning! He had twisted his knee whilst playing football two days ago. He had been to the local hospital for assessment, X rays etc after seeing his own GP. There was no fracture and it was diagnosed as ligament /soft tissue injury.

Advice was given by the hospital to RICE. Rest/Ice/Compression/Elevation and take paracetamols and anti-inflammatories over the week. Sound advice…..

After reassuring him and telling him to keep off his feet instead of going round the bars drinking which he had done tonight, we left him. We even mentioned that yes it was a good idea to take the pain killers and brufen which he had not been doing! Even though we had diplomatically said to him that it was an inappropriate call and that he should heed the advice of the hospital, he still could not see it!

Thick…stupid…ignorant…arrogant…he did not appear to be any of these. But in his mind, as in a lot of peoples today, he genuinely thought that his knee was a medical emergency and that the docs and nurses at A/E would be delighted to see him and treat him with love and shower him with affection….I think not matey!

Paperwork signed and cleared on scene ready for the next job……

…..marvellous!

On a recent night shift we were called to a “House fire…persons reported!”

On with the old Blues & Twos and off we jolly well went. It did,nt take us long to arrive at the scene…a semi detached house at the end of a very long street. Already on scene were the Fire Brigade lighting up the surrounding houses with the swirl of their blue flashing lights and emitting a mechanical humming from the engines.

Most of the darkened street was covered in a haze of smoke as the fire had been put out and now they were damping down to prevent re-ignition. As I got out of the truck I could see an extension ladder up against the front bedroom window. Heavy scorching and smoke damage was evident all around the upper surface of the window frames.

With helmet and hi-viz jacket and O2 bag in hand, I looked for someone in charge. We get called to a lot of house fires with persons reported and thankfully we find that everything is okay. Just occasionally its not….and thats when things get a little bit hairy at times.

Quickly I found the officer in charge (Top Trumpton with a white helmet and black banding). He pointed me towards the fire engine where our casualty is sitting in the back with a neighbour. After making sure that we only had one casualty I climbed into the fire engine and introduced myself to the unfortunate receiver of these events.

Our truck is parked behind the fire engine so Tilly and myself carefully guide our patient to our vehicle where we can check her out properly. Once inside our truck we can see more clearly that she has suffered a lot of smoke damage herself! She is covered from head to toe in black soot. She is coughing like a demented seal with whooping cough after swallowing a hedgehog covered in barbed wire!

We replace the O2 mask for a nebuliser and administer salbutamol which eases her coughing slightly and notice that she has “sooting” in her nose and at the back of her throat. This is highly indicative of severe smoke inhalation and means that hot gases may well have been inhaled. Her chest sounds are wheezy and she is producing black phlegm on coughing. She appeared to have no other injuries.

This to me seemed like a straight forward job…O2/nebuliser/monitor/obs etc and of course bags of reassurrance and transport to A/E for further evaluation and treatment……except…….

…..she did not want to go to hospital. In between bouts of coughing she just got more and more irate that she was not being allowed back into her house for her things, handbag etc! Whilst trying to explain the consequences of smoke inhalation we were becoming more and more concerned as to the amount of smoke fumes in our vehicle that were emanating from off this woman!

We both strongly advised/insisted that she go with us to get sorted due to the fact that she was suffering now and that later she could suffer from secondary lung damage because of the chemicals in smoke. She was having none of it, and with that off came the mask, out of the door she went and marched over to her front door past the hose reels that were snaking into her hallway and collared the Top Trumpton.

I stood there watching this woman argue that she wanted to get back in. One of the fire men, who had rescued her down the ladder, asked if she had said any word of thanks? The answer was a big fat no! She was so wrapped up in her own world she was arrogant beyond belief! And no it was not due to shock or emotions or coping strategies….she was arrogant!She was insistant of returning into the building and collecting her purse and mobile phone, which apparently were stored on her desk upstairs, and the fire was contained downstairs. Fifteen minutes later, she suddenly said, if I cannot go get my personal belongings, can I collect my baby? The daft bint of a woman had sat with us and gobbled on about her purse and yet mentioned nothing of her 13 month old son still inside the blaze. Tellulah, a fellow collegue, reasonably new to the job, with a child of her own, wasted no time in running into the building, upstairs and collecting him personally. Luckily the child was in the room with the least smoke damage and so he wasnt hurt as he was in the extension, the same however cannot be said for Tilly. She will be immobilised for a while with third degree burns etc and needs time to recover.

We still had to carry on our shift and everyone we met said we stunk of smoke. Our clothes, our hair our breath! And we were not even in the fire! At the end of the shift when I got home I stripped off outside the back door and put all my kit in a bag ready to be washed. I expect that the woman will have had to attend A/E at sometime as she will not have got away with inhaling that much smoke without some damage! She managed to persuade a neighbour to accompany her son to the hospital as she needed to make sure no body accessed her personal items in the house. The arrogance and stupidty of some people...

I roll over again onto my side pulling the duvet around my shoulders tighter to squeeze more comfort and warmth out of the Tog 24 rated bedding. I am warm…I am cosy…I am comfy…I am in bliss. Very nice…marvellous.

All is quiet within the Metcalf house hold(yes i'm home for once, I felt like going home and actually feeding the animals rather than expecting my generous neighbours to do it for the 11th day in a row).

Sleep reigns supreme with the silence only being interrupted by the occasional low snore. The kind of snore that boasts contentment, that all is well with the world and that the ever approaching day is far far away.

Lazily I open one eye to sneak a look at the alarm clock. Just to reaffirm to my sub-conscious that I am in Heaven and that I have lots of zeds left before I need to mobilise my tired limbs.

“……..0418 hours…….” mmmmm! I,ll just have another five minutes…….

A slow burning candle at the back of my mind begins to burn brighter. Suddenly the candle begins to take on the shape and form of a bright halogen light bulb….Ping!

Realisation number:

1.
……the bloody alarm has not gone off!
2.
……I,m at work in 42 minutes!
3.
……It takes me 30 minutes to drive there!
4.
……I,m still not fully awake!

With the agility and grace of a gazelle I leap from my warm duvet which has cocooned me in warmth and nice dreams all night. The sudden shock of the cold night air hits my body as the bedroom temperature seems much, much, much lower than that of my nice warm duvet…!

Immediately my warm body seems to seize up and I stumble and stagger across to the en-suite bathroom. Whereas once I was gazelle like, I am now more akin to a one legged elephant pissed up in the dark! My foot catches on the corner of the door and I fumble about for the light switch. A light switch that I have turned on and off a thousand times with no problems…even in the dark! Now I seem to have lost all sense of spatial awareness and momentarily think to myself that I might not even be able to find my own arse with both hands!!!

Panic begins to creep in….”Wake up! Wake up!” I will my self to shake off the cobwebs of sleep from the befuddled edges of my consciousness. “Click!” I find the light switch…the bedroom is bathed in light from the bathroom and I look to Sammie who is sleeping and hope that I have not disturbed her.

I start to wake up now…formulate an action plan and begin to put it into action. I only have time for the three S plan…“S**t, shave and shower!” I will not have time to eat breakfast and I make a mental note to buy a big sausage, bacon and egg butty at the first opportunity.

“Uniform…?”…..I cant remember where it is….and it needs filling up with all the bits of kit that I carry during my shift. I will just bung it all in a plastic bag and sort it at work……

“……0431 hours!……” ….I,m not even dressed yet! I am going to be soooooooo late!

A sudden movement from under the duvet alerts me to the fact that I have woken Sammie from her slumber. “What are you doing…?” she asks me as I try and jam my left boot onto my right foot! “Bloody alarm did,nt go off!!!” I stagger with one leg in the air trying to chase down the errant boot that refuses to play fair.

Sammie looks over at the clock……”0436 hours……” She then looks back at me as I try to multi-task zipping trousers, tucking in shirt, sorting out collar and grabbing kit….still with one boot on the wrong foot! “Why are you up…?”

Realisation number:

5. ……I,m on days off…!!! Hence why Sammie is there

Simple Home Remedies

1. If you are choking on an ice cube simply pour a cup of boiling water down your throat. Presto! The blockage will instantly remove itself.

2. Avoid cutting yourself slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold while you chop.

3. Avoid arguments with the Mrs. about lifting the toilet seat by using the shower.

4. For high blood pressure sufferers: simply cut yourself and bleed for a few minutes, thus reducing the pressure in your veins. Remember to use a timer.

5. A mouse trap, placed on top of your alarm clock, will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep after you hit the snooze button.

6. If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives, then you will be afraid to cough.

7. You only need two tools in life - WD-40 and Duct Tape. If it doesn’t move and should, use the WD-40. If it shouldn’t move and does, use the duct tape.

8. Remember: Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.

Daily Thought:

SOME PEOPLE ARE LIKE SLINKYS. NOT REALLY GOOD FOR
ANYTHING BUT THEY BRING A SMILE TO YOUR FACE WHEN
PUSHED DOWN THE STAIRS

does anyone want to take bets on whther or not PB is laughing at the picture or not?... nope, not worth it, she probably is!

I wish that we could be allowed a greater degree of autonomy when it comes to dealing with patients. Rather than having to prescribe to a rigid protocol or algorhythm we should be allowed to administer a certain amount of “Corrective Re-Education” to our cerebrally challenged clients! For instance….if you should by any chance happen to be prescribed sleeping pills (diazepam 2mg - take one at bedtime) and then feel drowsy, then please when you dial 999 at 3 in the morning do not be surprised to be soundly beaten about the head and body!

also available in ambulance green!

Everythings a bit hectic at the moment and I need to sort a tonne of admin out and crack on with my training. (Only used my new trainers four times since getting them for Christmas!)

In the mean while take the time to have a look at this vid and enjoy….it starts off a bit slow but stay with it.

Makes me smile everytime, and be proud to be a Brit

Night shifts aren't really draining for me for me usually. Twelve years ago a busy night shift for us was doing two or three jobs per crew…(which seems a lot when your still 16 and doing exams at school as well as training during the night)

However, now if you do seven or eight jobs per crew then that is deemed a slack night! Average per crew at my station is between nine and eleven jobs per night shift.

If it was real emergencies we were going to then it might not be so bad, but….the vast majority of these so-called emergencies are of such a trivial and sometimes ridiculous nature that eventually you become worn down and start to resent night shifts.

I know I do….I hate duty night shifts with a passion because I know that for every real life threatening job I am going to deal with there will be at least ten others which require nothing more than education….or a quick cutting/slashing motion across the jugular with a sharpened metal Patient Report Form clipboard!!! Being alone in the office, or with a certain collegue is much more fun.

One of the best films that I have seen recently is the very dark “Bringing Out The Dead” released I believe in 1999 and starring Nicholas Cage as a New York Paramedic working in Hells Kitchen, Manhatten who is having a breakdown…on nights! If you ever get the chance to see it then do.

Pulling up outside the address we hit the “at scene”button and de-bus.

Its warm, dusk is a few hours away yet and the sky is still clear. No rain or sleety snow which makes for a change in Bolton. The street is quiet, most people are still at work, no curtains are twitching as we make our way to the front door laden down with all our kit.

The outside of the house is in a bad state of repair. The window frames are all rotten and the paint has long faded into a dark crazy paving sort of colour. The front door is coloured brown….although a hint of what was once the colour white peeks out from beneath the grime. The frosted/glazed windows are not frosted/glazed windows….they are plain glass but obscured with dirt, muck, grime, dust and what appears to be the beginning of a new life form growing from the corners of the frames!

The call has come from a concerned neighbour who has not seen the occupant of the house for a couple of days. We knock on the door and look through the letter box….nothing heard, nothing seen. And nothing smelt apart from the usual fustiness expected in these situations. We try the door, it is not locked and after some encouragement from our shoulders the door opens….slightly, ever so slightly.

Through the small gap we manage to see into the hallway. Its a mess! Nothing unusual or wrong in that. But this is a mess that has been accumulated over many years. All we can see are bits of old television cabinets and bike frames intertwined with pieces of tubing, cables, brass horse shoes, walking sticks, clothing, cupboard doors, bin bags, shelving brackets, a hat stand…..and stacks and stacks of papers under the assorted junk, in the assorted junk, on top of the assorted junk, behind the junk and in front of the junk……

……All this was on the one wall that we could see through the gap in the door!

We both push and heave against the door to try and move the mountain of crap that is barring our entry. Just enough space is made to squeeze into the hall way. There is no way we can bring our kit in….there is no room to turn around. The gap on the floor is only big enough to put one foot in front of the other in some sort of commando move. All around us from floor to ceiling we are surrounded, cocooned by junk and tangled mess! The ceiling is not even visible. Even though it is still daylight outside and the front door is partially open we cannot see further than a couple of feet into the hallway.

Stepping backwards and trying not to get snagged on the bits of junk that seem to be reaching out to stop us, we reverse out of the house. A quick look around the back of the house confirms that this is the only way in. We stow our kit back on the truck taking only the bag & mask and a torch with us. The neighbour has come out and explains that the gentleman who has not been seen is always coming and going from his house with parcels and bundles of stuff.

I toy with the idea of tying a rope around my waist before entering the house again….should I get lost then Louise could pull me to safety. Squeezing through the gap again I switch on my torch and follow the tiny footpath on the floor to where I assume the stairs should be. Calling out every minute or so to the occupier that we are from the Ambulance Service also confirms to Louise, my crew-mate that I am still alive, that I am still trail blazing ahead.

My foot hits something solid on the floor….its the first step of the stairs. There appears to be no gap left or right of my tiny trail leading to any other rooms. Cautiously I ascend the stairs shining my mag-lite left, right, up, down in an attempt to make sense of my surroundings. It is bizarre….I am essentially caving/potholing in suburbia! My heart is beating faster and my senses are working overtime…big time! Every now and then my progress is halted as I have to stop and dis-entangle myself from either a snippet of barbed wire or collection of old door handles.

After what seemed like an age, I arrive (I think) at the top of the stairs. My back is aching from having to stoop beneath the overhanging debris and having to twist in an effort to avoid being snagged. I think I have travelled maybe 10 - 14 feet up the stairs. Every so often, I come across an empty Pot Noodle container or an empty Cuppa Soup placed within the walls of this tangled madness. I make a quick mental note to get some “Sweet & Sour Pot Noodles” for my pack up!

To my right I can just make out a door….leading into a bathroom. I peer into the room shining my torch all around. Again there is only a very small trail that leads to enough room to stand at the sink or stand at the toilet. Everywhere else in the bathroom is full. Full of junk, full of papers, full of wood, full of clothes….in fact it is full! Carefully I move backwards and guess that somewhere to my left must be a bedroom or two.

Using my torch to plan out my next steps I edge ninja like along the landing…..slowly. Suddenly it all goes dark! “Big Shit & Stinky Bollocks!” My batteries have packed in! I cannot see a thing! Even my hand in front of my face! But I can still hear….and I can still smell….and I can still feel…..and…………….I can still sense! I know my crew-mate is only a matter of twenty or so feet away in the hallway but she might as well be twenty or so miles away! The hairs on the back of my neck are standing to attention!

Using my now defunct mag-lite, I tap along the junk walls and feel with my feet with my other arm outstretched to ward off any possible attack by a zombie, flesh eating, homicidal maniac. I make another mental note to stop watching horror films and watch Coronation Street instead! ………….“Crash!” Part of the wall has come away and toppled behind me! I shout back to my crew-mate that I,m okay and I continue on my quest.

To my left, I catch sight of a chink of light from somewhere up ahead. I aim moth like towards this beacon and eventually find the bedroom door. Calling out again to any unsuspecting occupiers (or zombies) “Ambulance…is there any one there?“ I push the bedroom door open. Everything about this house is like being in a permanent state of tunnel vision. My peripheral vision is crowded with junk and directly in front of me at the end of my tiny trail……I find the gentleman to who we,ve being called.

Even in the dim light that is coming through the dirty black net curtains, I can see that he is dead. Lying on his back on his bed surrounded by junk. He is cyanosed and when I attempt to lift his arm he is unyielding due to the onset of rigor mortis. I call back to my crew-mate that the gentleman is “Purpleplus”. Nothing can be done for him. All that remains for us to do is call his death, complete the “Diagnosis of Death” forms and other paperwork for the police and coroner.

Getting back out of the house is almost as difficult as getting in. And when I step outside I squint against the harsh daylight. Moments later the Police arrive and I jokingly advise them to dispense with their belt-kit and body armour before entering the house as they will become stuck and we will have to call the Fire Brigade to cut them out!

We call “Clear” on the radio and we are promptly returned to station for a welcome cup of tea! On the short journey back to base I wonder what would have happened if the gentleman had still being alive but unconscious? How the hell would we have got him out? And what on earth Robyn would have done should she have been in attendance.