I arrive on station early to check my ambulance unpaid, knowing the alternative is to arrive at a patient missing vital equipment. Meeting my crewmate for the day, a terrified-looking newly qualified paramedic, I can’t help but visualise her probable remaining career countdown hovering above her head. It says five years.
We exchange pleasantries and head straight out to the first call: Margaret, an elderly female who had fallen on the landing without injury. When we arrive her husband looks at me with a familiar mixture of relief and suppressed anger. I ask when she fell. “I rang eight hours ago” he tells me. I assess her to find she is hypothermic, has pressure sores and can no longer stand due to her long lie on the hard floor.
Frustratingly, had we arrived last night. I could have put her back in bed. This morning though, I’m going to have to take her to hospital where I know she has a fair chance of catching pneumonia or some other infection from being bed-bound on a crowded ward.
Afterwards I attempt to fill in an incident report on the harm caused by the delay but I’m interrupted by other calls. Throughout the day dispatch calls out in vain on the radio open channel for any available crews to attend life-threatening emergencies. This is all performative, as we on the road can only physically see so many patients in a day and are always with, or driving to, a patient. We all know there is nobody left to respond but hey, it ticks a box somewhere.
I continue seeing patient after patient until I finish late as usual. Due to hospital delays, a final job converts my 12 hour shift into a 15 hour shift. This is not an unusual occurrence any more.
When I’m finally back on station I see a bunch of new faces waiting for my vehicle, the names of many of which I’ve mostly given up learning as they don’t stay that long. Even amongst these newer paramedics much of the general chat is already about escape plans — moving into GP practices and walk-in centres, going to teach at university, anything to get away from working these long shifts on an ambulance.
They’ve already figured out that it’s an unsustainable career. I’ve never met a full-time paramedic working anywhere near my retirement age of 68.
I figure, good for them that they plan to escape the exploitation of a workplace that will reward the sacrifice of their physical and mental health with real-terms paycuts and a few claps. But then again, who is going to pick the next Margaret up off the floor?
