We walked through the double doors of the large supermarket. The irony of pushing our trolley into the same shop I had visited the night before, this time for a very different reason, entered my mind.

“Aisle 14,” the security guard said, gesturing toward where our patient was located.

Cleaning products. Just seconds before, we had been placing bets on where our patient would be.

“I reckon she’s leaned too far into a freezer, and her back’s gone,” my crewmate suggested.

“No—she was probably trying on some new clothes and fell in the fitting room,” our student countered.

“I bet she saw the price of toilet roll and passed out,” I offered, recalling my own shock the previous evening.

We steadily pushed our trolley toward the scene, weaving around shoppers who froze like statues—unsure how to react, defaulting to stopping dead to stare. It always amazes me how people handle sudden changes to their routine; add a little excitement, and they either stop and stare or, worse—film.

As we walked down the cleaning aisle, the overpowering scent hitting us like a wall, we saw a lady sitting on a chair, leaning forward and clutching her ankle.

Just in front of her, bent over and looking flushed and uncomfortable, was a shop worker with a small green first aid badge pinned to her uniform.

“This is Leanne. She was running with her trolley when she tripped and felt a crack. She hasn’t been able to walk since,” she explained between shaky breaths.

I thanked the shop worker, who looked relieved that her responsibilities had come to an end.

We worked quickly, cutting Leanne’s trousers slightly to expose her ankle and compare it to the other side. It was already swollen and bruised. The purples and blues of the forming bruise stood out starkly against her pale skin, blooming like an ink spill beneath the surface. I gently encouraged her to stand, but she was unable—instant pain etched across her face, a sharp intake of breath escaping her lips as she winced.

Leanne’s trolley was still there, abandoned mid-aisle, its contents spilled slightly as if frozen in time. A bottle of bleach lay on its side, rolling gently back and forth with the movement of passing shoppers. A mop handle stuck out awkwardly, resembling an unfinished game of pick-up sticks. The irony of her cleaning supply haul wasn’t lost on me—if only bleach could fix broken bones.

We gave her some gas and air, the familiar hiss and click filling the space as she took her first few deep breaths. Relief washed over her face as the pain dulled slightly, though the giggles soon followed. We moved her onto the stretcher and wheeled her out of the shop. Shoppers stopped again, stuck and expressionless while their brains caught up with the disruption to their normality. A few whispered to one another, clutching their baskets tighter as if unsure whether to continue shopping or wait for a grand finale.

All the while, Leanne was giggling away.

“What’s so funny?” my student asked, bemused.

She looked over at my crewmate.

“You look like Dale Winton,” she howled, the gas and air clearly doing its job.

“Shame you won’t be able to enjoy the rest of your supermarket sweep,” he quickly shot back, earning another round of laughter.

Once loaded onto the ambulance, the shop workers arrived with bags of groceries—the shopping she had been doing. They had given it all to her free of charge, a small silver lining to an otherwise painful day.

We later found out that she had been running to grab some bleach after a tannoy announcement about a flash deal. In her haste, she had broken her ankle in two places.

As we pulled away from the supermarket, I couldn’t help but glance back at the double doors. Life continued as normal inside—trolleys rattling, scanners beeping, shoppers shuffling along in pursuit of deals. For us, another call completed, another story to tell. For Leanne, a painful lesson in patience and the perils of bargain hunting.

“78 YOF, Unconcious, Noisy Breathing” Came up on the MDT. We had just finished ordering our coffee and I was sat absent mindedly stirring it and watching the world go by. It was remembrance Sunday, we were on an early. I was doing an overtime shift out of area and so far; 3 hours in. This was our first job.

The location was in public; in the town centre. The town I worked in had a war memorial in the town centre and I knew the roads would be closed off. We headed towards the job – anticipating that we would have to fight with some traffic cones.

As we approached – the pedestrian traffic increased. There was a marching band, lots of service people and onlookers. On one of the benches to the side of the high street there was a crowd of people with a member of a well known voluntary aid organisation furiously wind milling in our direction.

Windmilling – the form a bystander takes when waving furiously at an approaching emergency vehicle.

I pulled out up in the road; next to a line of soldiers who looked ready to march and went to grab the bags.

“Which one are you here for!?” A shout came from the crowd.

I span around – there was a gentlemen who was dressed in the uniform of an army officer. He must have sensed the look of confusion on my face as he soon followed with: “You do know there is 3 of them!?”

As I walked towards the bench – there in a row were three very pale looking elderly people – two ladies dressed in black and a gentlemen in the middle wearing a trench coat. The colour of their poppies and his medals at a contrast to the black and white of their skin and clothing.

As it transpired all three were veterans. They had all been stood still waiting to move off with the parade when like dominoes they fell over. Luckily, there were no injuries.

My crewmate and I set up a little triage system. I would wheel them one by one to the ambulance; we would do an ECG, take a history and do a postural blood pressure. We would rule out the red flags before settling on the prodromal symptoms and a diagnosis of syncope.

Prodromal symptoms – the horrible symptoms you get prior to a syncope (feint) – usually sweating, feeling hot, nausea, collapse, fast recovery time and sometimes a tunnelling of vision.

Finally, we wheeled the last patient on – the gentleman; and, he was a gentlemen. He had let the ladies go first and ensured that they were all happy and heading off with family before he would even talk to us.

We introduced ourselves to the patient, who said his name was Bill. As I gained a history I systemically went through – his presenting complaint, the history of the event, his past medical history and medication. I then went on to ask “Who do you live with”.

This question is usually an easy answer. However, Bill found it really difficult. He shuffled on the trolley; looked down at his feet. “I live alone”.

Those three words were heavy with sadness. Bill reached for his coat and pulled out a handkerchief. He blew his nose and then reached for his wallet. It was worn, leather and had his initials etched into it. He pulled out a photo. It was fairly recent, it showed Bill stood next to an elderly lady – they were at a wedding.

He handed it to me – hands shaking, voice thick with emotion.

“That’s my wife, Elizabeth”. He explained.

They had met just prior to the onset of WW2. Bill had been in the army, and had been deployed abroad and they had married when he had got back.

“She was my thing to fight for – I always had her to come home too” He said tearfully.

She had died in the past year, it was obviously still really painful. Bill had come to the remembrance parade as they had done every year. For him, it was usually bitter sweet as it reminded him of the war – but also of his marriage. However, this year had been massively different and he had struggled. We took him home.

On the way back I sat with him and we chatted. Mostly about the war and his wife. When we got him home I arranged for the local social prescriber to get in touch with some befriending support and bereavement counselling. Bills family all arrived and we left them too it – they were massively supportive. However, I couldn’t help but feel that Bill’s fight had gone – his anchor and steady was gone and he was left floating in an ocean of sadness with nothing but his family keeping him afloat.

I love working events. The atmosphere, the people and the things I get to experience are amazing. It also challenges me. You find yourself working remotely, with very little equipment and support. A lot of initiative is used – and experience gained.

This particular event was a very well known rock festival. I had volunteered to work the night shift and was stood in a medical centre (think gazebo) in a very muddy campsite. My job was healthcare provision for the attendees who were camping over this weekend event. The site I was working on had 6 members of staff. Myself, four first aiders and a cycle responder – an ambulance technician who was placed on a bike in order to respond within the footprint of our patch.

The atmosphere was incredible. It was early evening, the sun was still blazing and a steady stream of people moved around the campsite. We dealt with a few minor illnesses and injuries as the evening went on.

All in all, things were calm. A bit too calm. Dare I say it; quiet.

Within the healthcare setting the Q word is something which remains unsaid as it is known to bring around great storms of chaos and usually make a pleasant shift a lot, lot harder.

As the night drew closer; the area around us got a lot busier. People were returning from the stages and digging in for the night in scenes reminiscent of post-apocalyptic movies. The atmosphere was ramping up; the calm I had come to enjoy was very quickly coming to an end and with it our patient flow increased.

As the darkness closed in we switched to headlamps and camping lights to light up the environment. Directly opposite us was three food vans with a constant queue of people. Further along, there was around 9-10 toilets. The ground in front was a large lake of chemicals; and presumably, faeces where they were leaking into the surrounding soil. This meant for the most part the toilets were deserted.

While I was pondering the implications of this great lake of defecation a group of young lads hurried into the medical centre.

“We need help! Our friend has taken something and we think he has overdosed” A very panicked young man half shouted, half choked.

The technician on the bike took the call and off he went into the distance. I went over to the table with our information pack and radio on and called it in.

“Treatment Centre 1 to control” I spoke into the radio.

“Go ahead, treatment centre 1” The voice replied.

I quickly gave a grid reference of the approximate location of the tents I could the lights of the bike stood by and asked for some support – specifically some security staff to meet the technician at the location. The voice came back and confirmed. Not two minutes later an all terrain quad bike type vehicle lit up the group of tents.

My personal radio came to life.

“Cycle Response 1 to Hotel 1” It was the technician calling me.

“Go ahead” I replied.

The technician gave me a quick sit-rep* stating that they had a young man who was currently unresponsive. He was going to return to the post with the patient on the back of the security staff’s vehicle and await backup with us. That way I could assist in stabilising the patient.

I watched as the headlights moved across the rows of tents; illuminating people stood around the camping area, sometimes causing an eerie haze through the clouds of smoke from barbecues, shisha pipes and various substances that were being exhaled around the campsite.

As the vehicle moved closer we got the bits we would need ready. I worked with some of the first aiders to get the ECG machine set up, hang a bag of fluids and prep some airway kit as well as a cannulation kit.

The vehicle pulled up and four security personnel dragged in a young man and placed him on the trolley. He had an NP airway in already from the technician (Nasopharyngeal Airway – a flexible tube placed into the nostril that maintains the airway in a patient who cannot maintain their own).

“17 year old male – ?substance taken. Found by friends face down on floor – snoring”

This young man/boy was completely unconscious. He was breathing for himself and his oxygen levels were a reassuring 97% on air. However, his heart rate was 130 and his blood pressure was low. I placed a large cannula in his arm without even a flinch and gave a bolus of fluids in the hope of raising the blood pressure while the technician undertook a secondary survey – searching for injuries or clues with nothing found.

Whilst I was pushing the fluid into the patients cannula I looked out of the treatment centre and made eye contact with a young lady. The lady in question – if you could call her that, was squatting down and adding to the sewage.

“My job is so glamorous” I thought to myself as I watched security escort her away from the area.

The young man had taken an overdose of spice we came to find out. He required further intervention and spent a week in intensive care before being discharged fit and well. The young lady – I am reliably informed was ejected from the festival – she left without her dignity, although I’m not sure she had any in the first place.

*Sit-Rep is a situation report. A brief description of events unfolding and resources required.

Last year we were clapping. Stood on our doorsteps; supportive of the NHS. However, now the claps have fallen silent. The rainbows have faded, the signs have come down. Instead the pressure is rising.

As a paramedic working frontline, in hospitals and in urgent care I see the pressure. I see frustration in 90% of my patients.

“We’ve waited 6 hours”

“I can’t get hold of my GP”

“The hospital has turned us away”

“They said you would be here within 18 minutes”

Talking to my colleagues; doctors, nurses, reception staff, call takers and everyone else in the NHS we all share the same feeling. We understand. We are frustrated as well and most of all, we still care. However, the NHS is on its knees. We need your claps now more than ever. We have fought a pandemic for over a year now, watched your loved ones suffer and delivered vaccines around the clock. We are fighting for our lives, our families lives and your lives.

Winter pressure is a real thing. The calls go up; the complexity goes up and due to all of this, So do the wait times. So the next time you’re frustrated because you have waited 6 hours for your sore throat please think about the person outside on the ambulance who has had a stroke. Or the grandmother who has been laying on the floor waiting for an ambulance for 12 hours since they are queuing outside the department unable to respond to her.

The NHS is still free for all. Wait times are not first come first served. Sometimes even the sickest wait. Please consider other options – have you seen a pharmacist? Have you phoned 111? Have you tried to deal with it at home?

The NHS is on its knees. Let’s help it stand again.

Working in an urban setting you get used to the nightlife. With various pubs, clubs, casinos and gentleman’s clubs on the patch; dealing with alcohol fuelled injuries and situations was not uncommon.

That’s why; when the next job came in whilst working the night shift on a pay day weekend in July, my crew mate and I were not shocked.

The first year student we working with – was.

The student – a very well spoken young man called Tom was on his first placement with the ambulance service having embarked on his degree in Paramedic Science. He had moved around 200 miles to study. His parents were both solicitors. He had; up until now, led quite a sheltered life.

We were being sent to a busy taxi office in the city centre for a “concern for welfare”. The patient was a 33 year old man. No more details had come in so far.

We headed towards the incident. The Emergency Care Assistant was driving, and the student was going to attend with me for support if he needed.

“What does concern for welfare mean?” Tom shouted through the hatch in the back.

“It means that there is some suspicion the patient has come to some harm. Usually the caller is not with the patient so the call handlers struggle to categorise the call” I replied.

We pulled up in the road, it looked like something out of a cheap zombie movie. There were people staggering in the road everywhere as they went from one bar to the next.

As we drove down the road towards the location that had been given to us I could see a crowd building. This normally meant one of two things; a fight, or a patient.

I quickly explained to the student that we would make a quick assessment. If it was a fight we would hold back and await the police. It soon became clear however, that they would not be needed.

There in the middle of the crowd. Sat on a bench. Was a man; crouched down, head in hands. Completely naked.

“Tom, I think your going to need to grab a blanket” I called through the gap separating the back of the ambulance from the front.

I watched through the divider as the student fumbled with the locker, attempting to get a blanket out, clearly embarrassed.

“It’s ok, we only need one”. I gently called through.

Eventually, the student managed to grab one. I opened my door and stepped out. The warm air immediately striking us. I opened the side door and took the blanket from Tom.

“I’m sorry we didn’t know what to do, so we had to call”. A voice from behind me said.

I turned around and was met by a couple of young ladies; dressed for a night out – looking concerned. The taller of the two had spoken, and was looking bemused.

After a brief discussion I found out that the man on the bench was unknown to the group and had been found by them being kicked out of the taxi office. According to the group, the patient had been trying to get the taxi rank to let him use the phone. However, they had been adamant that he could not and had forced him to leave. That is where the group had found him.

We approached the patient. As we approached he looked up. You could see from the immediate flushing in his face and his widening eyes that he was embarrassed.

“Give him the blanket Tom” I quickly said to the student.

Tom shuffled from side to side. For a minute I could not tell who was finding this more awkward; Tom or the patient. Tom extended his arm and the patient gratefully took the blanket and wrapped it around himself. A sort of NHS toga.

Sheepishly, the patient headed toward the ambulance. The plan being to get him inside and try and recover some dignity while we established what had happened.

The patient sat on one of our seats, wrapped in his thin NHS issue blanket. “My name is Matthew, I live on the street behind and managed to lock myself out my house. My dog was chasing something in the garden and the door closed behind me. I can’t get back in” He quietly said.

“So you went to the taxi office?” My ECA said, bemused.

“Yeah it was all I could think to do – I needed to use a phone. They wouldn’t even let me in!” His eyes scanned the ambulance and all three of us. “I’m sorry I called. I don’t need an ambulance” He added.

We drove around to his street. Astonishingly he must have walked past a couple of pubs and betting shops on his way to the taxi rank. I wondered why he hadn’t gone in any of them to get help. When we pulled up outside his house he asked us to go and knock on the door. No answer.

We tried the windows. Locked.

The ECA tried the back – met a friendly and excited little dog and then found that door to be locked too.

Matthew stared at the floor the whole time. We asked him if there was anyone he could call to let him back in. Turned out his wife was deployed abroad with the armed forces and his family were a couple of hours away with no key.

20 Minutes Later…..

I watched as the fire service got to work. Unscrewing the locks to Matthews front door. We had come to the decision that we would have to call them to help him into his property. They usually are good at opening doors that need opening and can get into most places somehow. They were very careful to ensure that the door was able to be secured again.

Of course, there was the banter. Then we had the conversation about things we had seen before in taxi ranks. We were all in agreement that this was probably the strangest.

As a Paramedic, when your off duty – your never off duty.

It was around midday. The heat of the sun was beating down as I drove through some country lanes on the way to meet some family for a barbecue. I was driving along enjoying the weather with the radio far too loud. It was the first day off after a run of gruelling shifts and I had just woke up from a post-nights sleep. Usually, I would be struggling through the post-nights haze. With a headache or jet lag type feeling. Today was different. I was feeling awake and alert – and looking forward to some days off.

My immediate family were already there – waiting for me to turn up, they had been picked up earlier by the in-laws and I was the lift home at the end of the night.

As I drove around the corner I got stuck behind a queue of cars. I slowed down and waited my turn to overtake whatever obstacle was ahead. As each car had its turn and we edged closer I could see what was ahead – a group of runners.

The car in front was preparing to overtake the runners. Suddenly, it swerved. I had just enough time to slam on the brakes and my car came to a sudden halt. There – on the road, laid a runner. I sat for what felt like a couple of minutes and took in the scene.

The runners had stopped and were looking down. The runners foot was in a pothole and he was sprawled out in front of it – in the same position as a crime scene chalk man.

He wasn’t moving. From where I was sitting, I wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Pressing the button for my hazards I swore under my breath. I reached down, unclipped my seatbelt and got out of my car. Walking to the boot of my car I could overhear the runners agitated tones as they were all talking amongst themselves.

“Call an ambulance” “Can we move him?” “Did anyone see what happened”

I placed on my ambulance high vis in order to identify myself and pulled a pair of gloves out of the pocket. I approached the gentlemen and introduced myself as a paramedic. I asked someone to call 999 and put it on loudspeaker for me when they got through to the ambulance service and knelt down next to the man.

I was acutely aware that we were in a dangerous area. It was a country lane – and although there was traffic the road was still live. I asked some more of the runners to stand further up and down the road to control the traffic. D is for danger – this was now sorted.

I could hear the call handler over the phone asking if the patient was conscious and breathing. The patient was breathing – and was not conscious. I quickly relayed this back and told the call handler I was a paramedic and needed P1 (Immediate) backup.

I then started my assessment. I needed to move the man but was aware that there was potentially reason to suspect an injury to his neck. I got some more of his friends to help me and we log-rolled the patient. This was a very controlled manoeuvre that allowed me to get the patient onto his back to manage him better.

As we rolled the patient we could see that he had quite a large head injury. He was also completely unconscious. His breathing was irregular and he was loudly snoring. His airway was obstructed. I relayed this back to the call taker as I placed my thumbs on his cheek bones and fingers under the back of his jaw. I pulled with my fingers and his jaw moved up – with it the patients tongue. Straight away the breathing normalised.

Once in this position I was stuck. If I let go the patients tongue could fall back. I instructed someone to pat the man down to see if they could feel any other injuries and updated the ambulance service on what was happening.

Around 10 minutes later – my hands hurt.

In the distance I could hear a siren. I looked up to see an ambulance pulling up. As the crew jumped out I recognised them. I gave a quick handover and let them take over the care of the patient – assisting them to get him into the back of the ambulance.

“Never off duty, eh” The Paramedic said.

Rubbing my hands, I agreed.

We watched from the warmth of the cab; sipping our hot drinks, as the drama unfolded.

“Do you know what would go great with this?” My crewmate said.

“What’s that?” I asked, intrigued.

He switched to Classic FM.

We surveyed the scene unfolding in front of us. There; in time with the dramatic chorus of string instruments on the radio, was a hail of bricks coming down from above onto the street below.

It was around 2 in the morning. We had been sent to support the police with one of their customers. A 19 year old male who was currently involved in a stand off with them. He wasn’t pleased that he had breached a restraining order by visiting his girlfriend; whom, he had recently placed into surgery for facial reconstruction.

When the police arrived they had been spotted quickly. The patient had then chosen to climb out on some scaffolding and unleash all sorts of building materials down on anyone; or anything, that was close enough to be within firing range.

We watched; as the orchestra reached its crescendo, the patient flung more rubble at the officers underneath. It struck one of the shields as the officer underneath braced himself.

Two hours later, we were still there. It was now beginning to turn into dawn.

“This has to be over soon” My crewmate sighed. An hour and a half before that we had turned Classic FM off. It wasn’t helping us stay awake.

We both watched as the police seemed to be moving around a lot more. I thought that they were probably getting into position.

Suddenly there seemed to be a bit more action. I could see a group of officers on the roof with the gentleman. Slowly, they moved in formation. Shield raised. I could see one of the officers arms sticking out of the side with a yellow object in hand. A taser. The patient was stood in the middle of the roof, no where near any danger if they decided to taser him. I saw him reach for a slate to throw.

“TASER, TASER, TASER” I heard.

I watched as the male stiffened. Body rigid, he fell forward.

“Kind of like a tree in a forest” My crewmate remarked. I had to agree.

There was a knock on the window on my crewmates side. He wound it down. A police officer stood there.

“Any chance you can take the probes out please?” He said, grinning. We agreed. We both got out of the cab and into the back – getting the equipment ready for this task – some gauze, a dressing pad and some micropore tape.

We could hear the patient before we could see him.

“I cant believe you tasered me!” He was shouting. I could believe it.

He walked towards us. Arms behind his back, cuffed. On his rubble covered t-shirt there were two probes. Towards the end of them was some blood where they were embedded.

“You can cut it off mate” The patient grumbled, he was talking about his t-shirt.

I grabbed my shears and made light work of it. Exposing the patients chest I could see the barb embedded just below his left nipple and slightly above his belly button. I quickly explained that the tasers had barbed ends. The only way to get this out was a quick pull – and that it may hurt but I would be as quick as I can. The patient nodded and clenched his teeth.

I went for the one near the nipple first. Taking my left hand I made a V around the barb to anchor the patient down. Grabbed it with my right – the patient flinched.

“Ok, on the count of three..” I said.

“One” and I pulled. There was an audible pop as the barb came out intact. The patient squealed. I dressed the wound, and then moved onto the next.

“Two” I said, and did the same again.

We then thoroughly assessed the patient. He had fallen hard so had some bruising and abrasions. However, otherwise had got off lightly. The patient and police left and we started to tidy the back of the ambulance.

Just as we were about to leave there was another knock on my crewmates window. It was the same officer who had knocked the first time. This time, he was stony faced.

“He has got chest pain” He said and pointed to his body worn camera – which was flashing. Recording. He then mouthed “Incarceritis”

Incarceritis is a term used by police and some medical staff. Essentially it means a condition that has suddenly started when the patient is presented with the prospect of time in a police or prison cell. Usually, their symptoms would spontaneously resolve just before a blood test or diagnostic procedure was carried out.

The patient was brought back in. We reassessed him. When we got to the stage where we wanted to do an ECG he refused.

“No way mate, not after pulling those out my chest. Those sticky dots are going nowhere near me” He barked at me.

I explained that we needed to do an ECG to see if there was anything going on with his heart. Again, he refused.

I treated him for cardiac chest pain. Gave him Aspirin, GTN spray and paracetamol to relieve the pain. We all sat in silence the rest of the way.

When we arrived at the hospital I handed over to the doctor in charge of ambulance streaming – the triage area where ambulance crews hand over. I explained the situation. The doctor looked less than impressed.

The last I heard the patient had managed to spend the night in hospital under “observation” as he was refusing to allow an ECG or repeat bloods to be done. He was discharged the next day after his pain resolved.

I couldn’t help but think that the police that initially tasered him were probably now regretting this, as they had spent the night with the patient as he was still in custody. In essence, the patient had won.

It was around 10:30 in the morning as I pulled up outside the patients address. I was working on a car and had been dispatched to reports of an elderly lady who had a fall. She had managed to get up with the help of her husband. However, now had considerable hip pain.

I got out of the car and put on my Level 2 PPE – a mask, goggles, apron and gloves. Although necessary during the COVID pandemic this feels as though you are placing more than just a barrier to infection on – there is an element of removing the element of humanity and ridding the patient of the ability to read expression; a vital part in communication.

I walked to the boot of the car and collected my equipment: Monitor, primary response bag and oxygen as well as my tablet computer. I ensured I was well balanced as I carried the equipment to the front door. As I approached it swung open. Stood in the doorway was an elderly gentlemen. His aged face wrought with worry. I quickly introduced myself and he told me his name was Stan.

Stan wobbled back through the hallway – grabbing onto anything he could find as he showed me the way to his wife. He introduced me to her on the way. Her name was Betty, like him she was 86 and had tripped on a piece of post that had been dropped on the floor by a carer causing her to fall backwards onto her bottom.

I walked into their living room – and there on a bed was Betty. Betty looked a little less frail than Stan. Although, was obviously in pain. I quickly gained her details and past medical history while I obtained a quick set of observations. Betty explained that she had osteoporosis and felt as though she may have broken something.

Betty was describing groin pain and inability to lift her right leg. She was in severe pain and given her medical history and the mechanism of injury I was suspecting that she had a fractured neck of femur. This type of fracture is relatively common in our frailer patients. It is the bone that connects the femur to the ball joint that sits in the hip. In my experience of seeing many of these – they are extremely painful.

With this in mind I called for backup on a priority 2 – I wanted an ambulance to run on emergency conditions (lights and sirens) to back me up.

While we waited for my backup to arrive I got Betty ready for her trip to hospital. I put a cannula in and gave her some pain relief – which made her a lot more comfortable and in turn, more chatty.

Betty told me how she met Stan. It was at a train station. He was the guard and she was travelling to London to meet family. This was 10 years after the end of World War 2, and travelling to London was quite a depressing task. Betty said that the evidence of bombing remained in the landscape as the train approached the city.

Stan came and sat with Betty for the last half an hour of the journey. He admitted then that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. However, at the time he told her he was due a break and didn’t want to sit in the smoking car.

For the next month or so, Betty would be on that train on a weekly basis – and every time she travelled Stan took his break with her. Eventually, she started bringing him bacon sandwiches. Which; he says, won him over.

For the last 50 years, they had been inseparable. Stan loved her. Really loved her. You could sense it, from the way he spoke about her and also the way he spoke to her.

Eventually, talk turned to the pandemic. Betty explained that she was worried about this – and that she had been isolating away from it all with Stan. They had only had carers in and they had been in full PPE. Something that stood in the way of Betty communicating with them as she felt it made them less human – I agreed that the masks were a bit of a barrier.

I explained that currently, the hospital was not allowed visitors. There was silence apart from Stan shuffling from side to side nervously.

“I have to go love, this needs sorting. I will be back before you know it and causing you all sorts of mischief” Betty said to Stan.

I couldn’t help but notice the wobble in her voice. Stan noticed too. He came over and sat on the bed next to her. I moved my monitor to give him some room. For the next couple of minutes nothing was said as he held her hand and mopped her hair out of her eyes.

Nothing was said, but at the same time. In that moment, Stan said so much.

I excused my self to give them some time together. As I started getting my things packed up in the hallway the ambulance arrived. I led the crew into the room and handed over. The crew were tender and caring and had Betty smiling in no time.

I watched with Stan as Betty was wheeled out on a stretcher to the ambulance. I saw a familiar look on Stan’s face. It was the same worried expression I had seen as I approached the front door.

“They will look after her” I said out loud. I’m not sure if it was for me or for Stan.

As the crew were loading Betty on board she stopped them. She wanted to give Stan a kiss.

“Ill be back soon, make sure you eat properly” Betty said to Stan, and they shared a kiss.

“Love you”

With that, the doors to the ambulance closed and Stan shuffled towards the front door. I helped him into the house and watched to make sure he got in okay.

He walked to the window – and watched for a while before the crew left. With that, he pulled the curtains across and disappeared into the house.

It is widely known that patients who suffer from Neck of Femur fractures who are elderly spend longer in hospital. They also have a higher risk of death whilst there. During the COVID-19 pandemic Betty would not have been allowed visitors at all.

I do not know the outcome for Betty, but I hope she was reunited with Stan again and they got the chance to spend longer together. While I stood watching Betty tenderly kiss her husband, I couldn’t help but think this was more than just a quick goodbye.