and disparate community by shared location.
A trip by ambulance and the various encounters of A&E departments.
Something that I was initially introduced to 10 years and 6 or maybe 7 months ago. (well the original theme of this blog was encapsulating many journeys and adding in some specific anecdotes ).
Now thus far none of the trips I have made in this mode of transport have been for my personal medical needs. They have mostly been for my mothers but my father is trying to even that out recently . The most recent with my father having prompted this post.
Like my bus journeys to work, things start before the actual journey. In this case with a medical or health issue and the phone call. with various levels of panic and control, or lack thereof.
Point one, in the call it is hard to remember that the call handler has to ask their questions in their order and at their speed. It is no good trying to second guess them, pre-empt them because you remember this from last time or indeed get overly frustrated if you had gone through 111 first then been transferred to 999 and have to start all over again. Less haste more speed with this, hard I know and I can slip up here.
Managing to take it steady and not get panic themed annoyed is something I have struggled with even whilst the inner logical medical drama watching me is trying to point out the error of that to my "I am not adulty enough for this daughter with am ill parent side".
So after they assess condition, assess urgency, categorise and slot into the order of calls already being handled you get the estimated time for the ambulance or paramedics to arrive. It does not matter how quickly they say they hope to be there it will never feel fast enough. However, when it is going to be more than an hour then the wait feels interminable and also with the underlying dread, for both the other person concerned but mainly for your own loved one, that another more medically urgent call will gazump your position.
Or if you went via 111 you may be told to expect a follow up call from the Ambulance Service.
Waiting is awful, balancing the polite remember how busy they are, that they are coming, against the clock watching have they forgotten us, should I just maybe call again to see if the timing has changed, I should call "shy bairns get no sweets" is the local saying. Speak up or miss out, make the call and feel bad for talking that time or don't and feel bad for not actively "doing". They have a new method to try and ease you to the former and away from the latter. a TEXT message confirming you have called, they are sending someone and asking not to call 999 again unless there has been a change in the person's condition or to cancel it if needed. It sort of worked this last two times. Even getting the call from the Ambulance service at the time you were told you might expect the Ambulance with a change to the potential timings feels like being remembered, reassured.
This overlaps with the odd dance of getting ready to go to hospital, in case you need to because well you called an ambulance. List of medication, phone numbers you might need, or I guess more recently your phone, is it fully charged (I am going to come back to that one later) do you have money for things in the hospital, do you take things in anticipation of a longer stay, or do you leave that in the hope it can be addressed by the medical professional coming. You would much rather be a bit stupid in making the call than there be something bad happening.
This process is better with two as one can stay with the patient to be whilst the other prepares. In the past that was how it worked when my mother was the patient and my father and I were the worry filled trying to be organised people. Back in the days when my dad drove (as you can tell from the original purpose of this blog I don't drive, can't drive) and off I would go, in with mam and he would follow in the car. All focus on getting there, getting treatment. Quite often being rushed through as an emergency.
Then the hard drive home with just two of us, if she had to stay in. More recently as my dad's health deteriorated and he could no longer drive, he has had to wait at home and as we found out during covid when neither of us could go with her, waiting is harder at home than when you are with the person.
Once there , the same questions, over and over, trying not to answer for my parent and let them answer as that is part of the assessment process, how they are able to respond. To balance out where I need to answer as they can't always do so as we go through the various levels of triage depending on those original assessments added to by the paramedics then reviewed and refined at the hospital.
Or, a quick hand over and find a space in the waiting room, waiting for a name to be called. Gradually, whilst waiting, surreptitiously taking in the others waiting, counting, gauging. The shudder of how long when the tannoy says it is a 5.5 hour wait, shudder even more as those already waiting chuckle painfully at the optimism of that timescale. Conversations start in bits and pieces, fits and starts somewhat like bus conversations, the weather the wait, the draft of cold air each time the doors to the outside open and close, the addition to those waiting as chilling as the drop in temperature they bring in with them. Or perhaps comparisons in facilities and waiting times at different hospitals. Sometimes speculation over the patient waiting with a police escort, victim or perpetrator..ah handcuffs, the latter then in this instance. Passing on hard gleaned information, just how the vending machine works differently for card or cash, where the toilets are, which button to push to open the various doors,
There was a set of signs that made me give a weary smile. On the doors it said push the Big Green Button to open doors. On the wall over the Big Green button was a sign with an arrow that said This is the Big Green Button!
Called for a triage, an assessment, a blood test and x-ray, out and back, sometimes to the same seat sometimes not. Each time seeing who is still waiting, who has gone.
There is, as with the bus a strange warping of time here, well if you are not in an area with the TV on keeping pace with the time. A strange fugue of stillness so that hours blur.
Now in the winter and if you as nicely you can get a heated blanket for the patient to deal with the cold. Or perhaps off set the shock of the vending machine prices after you negotiate how to use them.
There is also the worry of if we had to go to the toilet will that be the point we get called, if we are not there will they think we left, will we then be waiting in this strange limbo, uncalled forever?
So you leave your name, well the name you expect to be called, with someone and off you go. Check in with them when you come back and settle down to waiting once more.
Now, I had my phone, but it was on very low and I had not thought to grab my charger. I was only using it to text updates to my BFF who was then calling my mother. I watched the charge fade away bit by bit as the night wore on. In this instance after being seen by the doctor and with a few more checks 4 in the morning he was discharged. The hospital transport (of which I have also recently become more familiar) stops running a 1 a.m. so at 4 it was up to us to figure out getting home. My BFF and her husband came to get us, quite a journey for them.
I returned home with a mental list, of just in case which included taking my charger even if the phone was fully charged. (My phone is apparently not one as delighted in my the hospital staff of other patients so I could not borrow one) Notes about the times various transport options ran or where available, those sorts of things. A book to pass the time even.
Within days I needed the list, and we were back again, less waiting time in the waiting area, more time in the little room, then well an overnight in the hospital for my Dad. And whilst that decision was taken before the 1a.m cut off point for the patient transport the operative word there is patient, and that was not me. Another friend living closer to the hospital was kind enough to get me home.
And on the other side of things, well once my father was in hospital, overnight stays that were not anticipated, there was getting him home. Waiting for calls that he had set off.
I much prefer the normal bus journey, indeed I do.
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