Wellington Free Ambulance

Is he breathing right now?” asks operator Michelle with the calmness and compassion of a priest. Apart from the red light activated above her desk, the room looks like a normal office; All Blacks flags, computers, people in headsets, and laughter, although it’s quite windowless and dark for an office.
“I’m going to time his breathing with you.” She triggers an ambulance despatch and continues to talk the caller through what is a frightening and traumatic event in their life.
This is the central control room of Wellington Free Ambulance and it is anything but normal.
The room falls quiet; although you’re not allowed to say the word ‘quiet’ in this room – you have to spell it out, in case you’ll jinx the streets of Wellington.
4.20pm. I’ve got a Media vest on and am sitting in a Rapid Response Vehicle with community paramedic, Andrew. His primary role is to teach life saving CPR techniques to school and community groups in Wellington. He is a qualified paramedic and if he is nearest and closest to an urgent 111 call he will be deployed. In the past Andrew has been called to some “weird stuff, not appropriate for copy” and anything from tooth aches and skin infections, to hangings and, of course, fatal car crashes.
The majority of Wellington Free Ambulance call-outs respond to incidents less fatal, but often life changing. Andrew hopes that people will learn to do something about their conditions earlier instead of waiting for things to turn critical. “We’re moving away from the ambulance at the bottom of the cliff mentality into preventative and community care.”
4.35pm. There’s a One Charlie 5 (abdominal pain) for Tango 3 Kapiti. Not us. Conversation turns to the recent fatal car crash in Otaihanga, Kapiti. Silence: that one really got to him.
4.39pm. Our chat about the call-out code for hiccups is interrupted by a 30B01 (priority job) for Tango 3 Kapiti. Oh god, that is us. Andrew’s expression changes into the kind of controlled focus I don’t often see. He accelerates so fast I suck my breath in – and hang on. We’re nearly in peak hour traffic – this is a challenge. The greatest risk to the life of a paramedic is driving to the scene. I gulp at the speed in which we travel but we could be the first vehicle in attendance. A taxi in front of us responds very slowly so Andrew beeps between sirens. I don’t say anything now but four hours later, I’ll be screaming at drivers, “are you kidding me – this is an emergency people!”
It feels naughty whizzing down a suburban street this quickly. Drivers are legally covered to 130k and are personally responsible if they cause another vehicle to have an accident while getting out of the way.
Enroute to jobs Andrew is not only negotiating traffic with incredible skill but he’s calculating medication dosages based on known information. If it’s a large accident he’s communicating with the duty manager to form a plan before they even get there. He’ll be talking to his colleague in the vehicle delegating chest compressions and vitals. They’re in the business of when things go wrong.
The GPS directs us to Ngaio – a Freedom Medical Alarm alert; a fall and suspected hip dislocation. There’s an ambulance already there but access is poor. We enter the house and I take in the scene: woman on ground moaning in agony, husband unsure what to do, grandson watching on couch, quiet at first. Later he’ll be asking if he can ride in the ambulance with granny.
The paramedics insert a line and inject much needed pain relief. Grandson and husband are told Granny might sound funny soon, as the morphine kicks in. The paramedics act as psychologist’s as much as medical professionals; treating someone and calming them down while they’re in agony, plus managing their family, is no mean feat. The lives of this family have just dramatically changed.
Getting her onto a ‘combi scoop’ then out to the stretcher, up a steep path and into the ambulance, takes an incredible amount of skill, experience and patience. Goat-track Wellington is not the most ambulance-friendly of cities.
On our “Clear Ngaio” signal we leave the suburbs and head to the Johnsonville depot.
6.10pm. James, a paramedic intern, joins the shift. He used to be a mechanic until his scooter accident in 2009 when he rode in an ambulance to hospital; that same day he made the decision to enrol in Whitireia’s paramedic course.
“It brings a whole lot of skills together including perfecting a natural aptitude for this kind of work. I’m contributing.”
7.03pm. There’s a seizure in Titahi Bay. It turns out to be a drunk 17-year-old inside a dairy. He was left to the wrath of his parents.
We head back into town but turn around for a vehicle verses motorbike on the Hayward Hills. We’re turned away – an ambulance gets there first and doesn’t need us.
7.28pm. A shortness of breath takes us to Trentham. We’re the first on the scene. A very scared woman has had a chest infection and is having major problems breathing. Everyone is frightened. Andrew and James assess her and provide information to the ambulance paramedics who arrive a few minutes later. The woman is given oxygen and is carefully escorted to the ambulance. I wish her family all the best and they say, “she’s in good hands”.
Andrew has been bought biscuits by someone he’s saved before. “When you see someone who you’ve bought back from the dead you feel such adrenalin and emotion. He said thanks. What else can you say?”
The Michelles’ and the James’ and the Andrews’ of this vital service don’t just save lives. They provide an essential role at a time when there’s unfamiliar, scary territory somewhere between life and death. Fatal car crash or hip displacement – when the terror comes in, the highly attuned skills and resources of Wellington Free are crucial.
10.15pm. I’m tucked up in bed, slightly grateful (but macabrely disappointed!) that I didn’t have to take photos of smashed bodies or a life lost. I wonder at how quickly life can change and how some people want to get closer to that, by how they choose their profession. Perhaps that’s what life is – not the goals or comfortability we carefully construct but the way we cope when it all goes so horribly wrong. It’s certainly the home territory for the Wellington Free Ambulance.