Wednesday 10 January 2007

THE BING.












It was over a year ago, the summer of 2005. A good hot day where everyone seemed to have a smile on their face. I know I did and my crewmate who is normally grumpier than me laughed on at least two occasions. All was well.

We were on station having a cuppa when the bat phone rang. Motorbike accident at random shale Bing in the general area of Smallruralvillage. Off we went trying to get more precise directions and were advised that we would be met at the end of Road to Nowhere road. As we got to the allotted spot there were a couple of youngsters on Trail bikes that waved and headed off along a track. This was not good; it felt like it was going to be a proper job and seeing these blokes tearing off at speed sent a shiver down my spine. I reached into my bag and got out the stethoscope and tough cuts. Progress was slow over the mud track and it seemed to take forever to get to where the track ended.

Out we hopped and grabbed the response kit, bag, O2, defib and even a blanket. Everything that the manual says you should take and that we don’t to most jobs. Dodging around the police car I wondered where the coppers were and started a half-walk/jog thing over the half mile to where the patients were. I heard another ambulance arrive and thought, “Thank fuck”.

I get a brief history from a kid on a motorbike. Head on collision, probably each doing 40 mph.

Turning a corner I saw two people on the ground with a policeman doing CPR on one. This is where I headed and relieved the copper of this responsibility. Could he hear me? No. Were there resps or pulse? No. Good man that copper, doing the right thing. Checking his c-spine told me it was broken, very broken. Think of immobilising it and then think – better to get the oxygen in and blood moving. I started to continue CPR and one of the Paramedics on the second ambulance tubed the guy and got IV access. He was in charge here so I went to the second patient.

This person was 18 and conscious, GCS 15. Where are you sore? Ok, left leg and arm and your ribs. Head to toe examination to find any other injuries then expose and examine – look, feel, listen. No evidence of c-spine. Yip, pretty sure the arm and leg are bust and think there’s reduced air entry in the right lung. My partner confirms this. He’s already on oxygen and I can’t give Entonox for the pain, as there is a suspect pneumothorax. IV access and Metoclopromide then Morphine. He’s comfortable.

The helicopter is on the way; this should take 15-20 minutes. I see CPR still being done in the distance and new oxygen cylinders and bags of fluid are being brought up from the bus. It really is not looking good for this young man, 20.

I take a BP and get my patient wired up to the defib to see if I can spot anything sinister. Nope all well. His stomach is normal with no swelling or rigidity and his BP is normal. Limbs are splinted. I explain that despite the fact he has no pain in the neck or down his back were going to have to immobilise him, given the mechanism of injury. He’s ok with this; I’ve already cut off most of his body armour, boots etc. so I didn’t think he’d mind. Collar on and some friends are instructed how to assist with a log role as my mate has taken hold of the head and can’t let go. We have time to explain this as someone retrieves the spinal board from the ambulance; they also come back with the Area Officer, a good man.

On to the board and where the fuck is the helicopter? It’s been called primarily for the person who has arrested as a result of the trauma but we are all getting to the point that we know it is, ultimately, going to be futile. We’ve been there half an hour now and it’s getting time to “call” it. He’s been flat line since arrival and probably for the 15 minutes from the accident to our arrival. My colleagues are still pumping his chest with a determination and resolve that says “your 20 and we wont give up, not yet” but a decision must be made. The area officer steps up to the mark as the helicopter arrives.

It kicks up a storm of black, fine dust that blinds us and sticks to our sweating faces. The medics on the ‘copter take a handover and load the 18 year old into the back. Most of the spectators have dispersed at this point with the help of the 7 or 8 policemen who have turned up unknown to me in my focused state. The young man I have been dealing with for the last 30 – 40 minutes has gone. He’ll be OK. Sore but OK. Between us my crewmate and myself covered everything we could think off. Nothing evidently life threatening but x-rays and a doctor will confirm this. I’ll never see him again.

As the dust settles there are half a dozen coppers, with one of them owning braid on the peek of his hat, and 5 ambulance men, one with 3 pips on his shoulder, standing in silence. No one wants to look at the corpse of the 20 year old as if it screams out “why did you stop? Why! Why could you not do more?!”.

Slowly people start to move, gathering equipment, talking in hushed voices. Everybody feels it. Whatever “it” is about this job “it’s” got to us. The other crew are passed their finish time so we say we’ll remove the body to the police morgue. He’s covered up and placed on the orthopaedic stretcher and carried to the ambulance. I catch a look at my face in the wing mirror and that of my partner.

Maybe it’s the dust that covers us but the lines on our faces look deeper – we look like we have just become a little bit older, we’ve left something of ourselves on this remote, barren landscape. But not as much as some.

I leave work and go for a drink, go home and cry. Call my colleague and cry some more. I turn up at work the next day, not because I want to, but because I need to be with someone who understands.

I don’t know why, but I took this one home. I can no longer remember their names but I will always know their faces and I will always recognise the haunted look on my partners face as we closed the doors on the back of the bus.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Powerful.

raisins said...

That was so moving. As someone who's brother died as a result of a motorbike accident, I can not thank you and the the traffic police who helped at his time of need enough.

Very powerfully written.