Safe in their hands

Not until you get this close to their daily, and in this case nightly routines, can you get a grasp of what the job really entails.

My hosts for the evening were Don Parkinson, 53, a former engineer, and one-time plumber Eric Finch, 45. Between them they boast more than 20 years' experience in the ambulance service. I was in very safe hands. And it goes without saying, that so were their patients.

During the course of the night, in which they had to deal with a stroke, a heroin overdose, a fatal heart attack, and a man lying on the street with a head laceration, they displayed a professionalism and integrity above and beyond the call of duty.

In addition to dealing with the immediate medical problems, these two men demonstrated an innate ability to say exactly the right thing, at the right time. And a depth of humanity that was near awe-inspiring.

And because they have worked together for many years there is a clear, unsaid, understanding between them. It's a partnership that works for them, and to the benefit of their patients.

Like a happily married couple, they communicate at times without speaking.

But at the same time they have a laugh. In fact if they ever considered giving up the ambulance service, a career as a comedy duo would be a realistic alternative. During the following five hours - in between drama and death - they had me in stitches - not literally, I hasten to add!

Based in the grounds of the Royal Bolton Hospital, Highfield ambulance station is the biggest and busiest in Greater Manchester.

Our shift started at 7pm, but 10 minutes before we officially started, ambulance control informed us of a suspected stroke.

"Ne Naw Ne Naw" went the siren as we sped through the streets towards Little Hulton.

After arriving at the address, Don and Eric jumped out of the ambulance armed with bags of medical supplies, and entered the house.

Several women were standing in the front room. There was fear in their eyes. Slumped on a chair was a middle aged woman, who had earlier collapsed in the street. Her skin was a ghastly wan colour, and she was mumbling incomprehensibly.

Eric and Don got as much background information as they could about the woman's medical history, as they assessed the situation.

With the deft touch that only comes with years of experience, they gently positioned her onto the stretcher bed and took her into the ambulance.

Eric sat in the back with his patient, carefully monitoring her progress, while Don drove us at speed to the Royal Bolton Hospital.

Here our patient was booked in and a report, compiled by Eric, was handed over to staff.

It was now up to the accident and emergency nursing staff to take over.

A push button console pad on the dashboard gives ambulance control instant communication with the paramedics, on this occasion, as Don pushed the button to say that we were leaving the hospital, the message was thanks - RTB (return to base).

So back we went to Highfield. But as we drove into the station, a message flashed up on the console pad.

A young man's family had rung 999 to say their son, aged 17, was not breathing and they could not find a pulse.

Back on the road we made our way swiftly to an address in Bolton. As we braked to a halt outside the house, Eric grabbed a bag full of emergency supplies. He asked me to grab the other bag, and together we ran in.

We were met by the boy's sobbing family. The young man had apparently come round. But you could see from his stance that he was very groggy.

At first he refused hospital treatment, but when Eric asked him to sign a sheet stating that he had refused hospital treatment, he changed his mind.

It emerged from his family that the young man was a heroin addict, and he admitted, with gentle coaxing from Eric, that he had unintentionally overdosed.

After taking him to hospital, it was then back to base. But no sooner had we collapsed into chairs in the mess room, and Don placed welcoming mugs of coffee in front of us, than the phone went again.

This time it was a 76-year-old man with a suspected heart attack. The message included the information that a member of his family was trying to resuscitate the man at the scene.

We arrived at the man's house, where he was lying on the floor. A young relative was leaning over him giving the man mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Sadly the man was obviously dead. But because of protocol Eric and Don were obliged to continue efforts at resuscitation, because it had been started. They could only stop their efforts when a doctor told them to.

Despite their efforts being hopeless from the start, Eric and Don went through the routine of administering heart massage, oxygen and drugs. The medical equipment told them that there were no signs of life, but still they continued. As we drove back to the A&E department, Eric continued the futile efforts in the back of the ambulance, and kept this up until we were in the resuscitation room at A&E. While Eric continued heart massage, he explained to the doctor on duty the situation. The doctor told him to stop his efforts and declared the man dead.

Don explained that if resuscitation had not been started, they could have diagnosed death at the scene and informed the man's GP, who would have declared him dead.

As we were driving out of the A&E department we were flagged down by a female paramedic. Apparently a patient was fighting with her male colleague in the back of the ambulance. Don and Eric didn't need asking twice. They dashed to the scene to restrain the man.

When they were sure that the situation was resolved, it was back to the station again. I must have a cup of tea now, I thought; my mouth was cracking with lack of fluids.

But we'd no sooner walked into the mess room than the phone began to ring.

"I don't believe this," remarked Don, throwing me a curious look.

The emergency call had come from police officers, who had found a man collapsed on the street. Blood was pouring from a laceration on his head. We were initially informed that it was a suspected hit and run.

Arriving in Bolton town centre, we found the man lying flat out on the cold, wet pavement. Two police officers at the scene said they had been unable to get any information from the patient.

"Can you take over now," they said. They looked relieved as Don and Eric said they would take charge.

They used a torch to take a closer look at the man's injuries. And like a mother hen, Eric asked the man, who had obviously had a skinful, what had happened.

He was repaid for his efforts with a grunt.

Again, gently, they picked the man up and put him onto the stretcher bed. As we made our way back to the Royal Infirmary Eric patiently, and with great kindness, asked the man his name, and details of what had happened.

Initially, the man was aggressive, and shouted abuse at Eric. But as the minutes passed Eric managed to persuade the man to tell him, his name. The man claimed his head injuries were the result of an assault.

At the A&E department, they wheeled their patient into the hospital, and when, and only when, Eric and Don were sure that their patient was safely ensconced in a cubicle, did we leave.

As they punched their position onto the control pad, a new message flashed up on the monitor.

It was close to midnight when we returned to Highfield. Emotionally and physically I had had more than enough. Incredibly Don and Eric had another seven hours to go before they knocked off at 7am the following morning.

In the past five hours we had been back on base for no more than 10 minutes in total. It was unbelievably stressful work.

But as Don explains. "That's the job. Sometimes you get a meal break, sometimes you don't. No one shift is the same."

I comment on how they treat their patients, whoever they may be, with respect, kindness and patience.

"You treat people as you would hope to be treated. You never know, one day it might be someone treating me," said Don

But how can they not become emotionally involved with the daily dramas that unfold before them?

"You just can't. If you did you'd never be able to function," says Don. "You can't take the last job onto the next job. It's important to us that we maintain our sense of humour, and as long as we do the job to the best of our ability we feel fulfilled. We have a laugh, but we never laugh at the patients."

They're a modest, self-effacing band of people, who face life and death issues every day. And luckily for you and me they don't let it get them down. They are not unmoved, but they are unflappable in the face of tragedy.

I asked the pair of them what they do at the end of a gruelling 12 hour shift, like the one they faced on the night I went out with them?

"We go to Ritzy's," jokes Don. Well, I presume he's joking. "Seriously, I'm in bed by 7.15pm. Absolutely knackered."

"I have to walk the dog before I can go to bed," admits Eric.

I comment on how pleasant and polite Eric is with his patients in the back of the ambulance. "You should see what he's like with them at 5.30am when he's really tired," laughs Don.

When I tell the pair, between yawns, that I'm going home shortly, the response was instant. "You're going now," boomed Don. "You're a bloody jinx."

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.