Regular Caller
The other day, Neenaw commented on regular callers.
Well today I went to a regular caller who I thought had dropped off the face of the earth. The job was at a railway station, and was given as a 36 year old male with chest pain, intoxicated, passive.
I arrived to see the patient standing next to the payphone he’d called from, and I recognised him instantly. Last time I’d gone to him, he was complaining of having painful feet for four years.
Today, he told me he’d called because he wanted the suitcase at his feet carrying upstairs, across the footbridge, and down the other side so he could catch a train. He said his “chest pain” had gone.
When I refused to carry his case, but suggested he go to hospital to have his chest pain investigated, his complaint progressed to having post-traumatic stress disorder. It was getting a little wearing, and I was giving him a lecture on inappropriate use of the ambulance service when the crew turned up. The paramedic on it got out and was fuming.
“Don’t fucking talk to him!” she shouted. “This is the third time I’ve been to him today – the first time was to actually find his bloody case!”
Each call had been a Cat A, so not only had he had three ambulances today, but he’d also had three FRUs. Apparently he’d called four times yesterday.
To cut a long story short, we ended up calling the police because he was refusing hospital, and we just knew if we left him he’d only call again. In the end, before the police arrived he was last seen leaving the station on a train after tricking some poor unsuspecting member of the public to carry his case for him (which was filled with old newspaper and used Tesco carrier bags).
I’m back in next on Tuesday night. It wouldn’t surprise me one jot if I end up going to him again.
Well today I went to a regular caller who I thought had dropped off the face of the earth. The job was at a railway station, and was given as a 36 year old male with chest pain, intoxicated, passive.
I arrived to see the patient standing next to the payphone he’d called from, and I recognised him instantly. Last time I’d gone to him, he was complaining of having painful feet for four years.
Today, he told me he’d called because he wanted the suitcase at his feet carrying upstairs, across the footbridge, and down the other side so he could catch a train. He said his “chest pain” had gone.
When I refused to carry his case, but suggested he go to hospital to have his chest pain investigated, his complaint progressed to having post-traumatic stress disorder. It was getting a little wearing, and I was giving him a lecture on inappropriate use of the ambulance service when the crew turned up. The paramedic on it got out and was fuming.
“Don’t fucking talk to him!” she shouted. “This is the third time I’ve been to him today – the first time was to actually find his bloody case!”
Each call had been a Cat A, so not only had he had three ambulances today, but he’d also had three FRUs. Apparently he’d called four times yesterday.
To cut a long story short, we ended up calling the police because he was refusing hospital, and we just knew if we left him he’d only call again. In the end, before the police arrived he was last seen leaving the station on a train after tricking some poor unsuspecting member of the public to carry his case for him (which was filled with old newspaper and used Tesco carrier bags).
I’m back in next on Tuesday night. It wouldn’t surprise me one jot if I end up going to him again.
written on the PRF by Steve at 7:33 pm
2 Comments:
You guys get all the nutters and dropkicks.
Can't he be arrested, or at least charged for wasting your time?
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