A woman falling from a pier, a cancer patient close to death on holiday and a drunk... a day saving lives with 999 call heroes
Sophia Rippa sits in front of a bank of computer screens showing maps and a complex colourcoded call log. She puts on a headset and adjusts the microphone, then a call alert announces, “Emergency”.
She presses a button to pick up the call – and 10 seconds later she is saving another life. “Ambulance service, is the patient breathing?”, Sophia asks in a calm, confident voice. “Yes, but with difficulty,” replies the worried caller.
A 40-year-old man has collapsed with angina and someone’s dialled 999. As Sophia, 24, asks a series of crucial questions, she finds that the patient’s usual drug spray hasn’t worked, he’s had five previous heart attacks and his rapidly worsening condition suggests this angina attack is number six.
An ambulance is dispatched while Sophia gives CPR advice and locates the nearest portable defibrillator from a database. But within five minutes the paramedics have arrived, so she clears the line to pick up another call.
I’m with Sophia and her colleagues at South Western Ambulance Service’s “clinical hub” in Bristol, which features in the new series of Channel 4’s documentary, 999: What’s Your Emergency?
They’re officially called emergency medical dispatchers. But after meeting the dedicated and inspirational professionals, I prefer their boss’s own description. “They are everyday heroes,” says deputy head of operations, Paul Greatorex, 57.
“These guys are the first point of contact for people in life-or-death situations.”
Yet every day their battle to save lives becomes harder, as soaring demand stretches limited resources and the public sector wage freeze leaves them worse off.
This week, a TUC study showed hero ambulance workers are the hardest hit by the Tories’ brutal attack on pay – though millionaire Chancellor Philip Hammond still believes public sector workers are “overpaid”.
The EMDs in Bristol earn just £18,000£19,000 a year. They do the job because they love it, insisting money isn’t an issue, and they deal with harrowing calls 24/7. The service covers a vast area – 10,000 square miles across seven counties, or 20% of the UK. There are 5.3 million residents, but tourists flocking to holiday spots like Cornwall push it to 17 million in summer.
With a limited number of ambulances and paramedics, 999 calls must be prioritised so life-threatening conditions are dealt with first – and that’s down to 32 EMDs at the new hub, and another one in Exeter. A nurse, midwife, paramedic and doctor in the hi-tech centre advise non-urgent cases – a “hear and treat” system. Paramedics also “see and treat” in patients’ homes, so one in seven 999
A lad of 10 hanged himself. I could hear his parents screaming BRETT REDMORE ON KID’S SUICIDE ATTEMPT
calls can now be dealt with without an ambulance. But unprecedented demand is piling on real pressure.
Paul, who’s been in the service for 38 years, said: “We used to get an average 2,400 calls a day – 2,700 at times like New Year’s Eve. “But one Monday last month was our busiest day ever – 3,688 calls. Demand is rapidly outstripping resources because people call us for no good reason – when they can’t get a doctor’s appointment or when their toenail has fallen off.
“We’ve had people asking for new batteries for their TV remotes or a lift to hospital because they don’t like the car parking charges.”
Regular time-wasters or “frequent callers” are an increasing problem and nine local people are being prosecuted – three of whom face custodial sentences.
But Paul says the EMDs have to treat every call in exactly the same way because “even those who cry wolf may one day be in genuine need”.
He says they took part in the TV series to try and educate viewers about unnec-
essary calls and the pressures faced by 999 handlers. Recent terror attacks have highlighted the dangers paramedics and emergency workers face.
Paul explains: “If we get a call saying a vehicle has run people down we now have to think ‘accident or terrorism?’, and decide how to respond. The job has got harder and harder and while none of these guys does the job for the money, some do feel a sense of injustice. Because there are also vile people who ring up and threaten them.”
Call handlers have counselling available 24/7 and a system of traumarelated incident management has recently been introduced – based on support given to troops in Iraq.
Paul’s wife, Sarah, is also an EMD and he says “she still has sleepless nights over a man who drowned in his own blood while on the phone to her.”
He warns new recruits that certain calls can unexpectedly trigger emotions related to their personal lives. “I call it the black bag theory,” he says. “One lad insisted he was fine until the day he dealt with a hanging – because his stepdad killed himself. Mine is cot deaths, because I have been involved with that.”
Another call comes in – a young woman visiting an elderly relative in a care home is having a suspected heart attack. I hear a someone dealing with the coastguard after a woman falls – or jumps – from a pier.
There’s a minor road traffic accident, a man who’s hurt his knee and one of the regulars, who sounds drunk to me but is treated with equal care and courtesy. Then there’s a caller whose partner has terminal cancer. They’ve come away for a short holiday but the woman has suddenly deteriorated and is obviously close to death.
The partner is desperate, panicking, wanting to get her to the hospice where she hoped to end her days. But Sophia – who has been and EMD for four years but is now training as a paramedic – has to follow a strict protocol to assess her condition, gently asking whether she has made a do-not-resuscitate order, then trying to gauge the patient’s breathing rate until the ambulance arrives.
I suddenly have a “black bag” moment, taken back to the day I called an ambulance as my mum lost
her battle with cancer. Sophia’s
Calls like that are so hard... but it’s why I do this job SOPHIA RIPPA, LEFT ON TOUGH CASES
compassion and professionalism moves me to tears.
“Calls like that are so hard, but it’s why I do this job,” she says.
“One of my worst calls was from a 19-year-old girl who’s mother had fallen down a disused well. That lady was the same age as my mum and she was trapped down there. There were no instructions I could give to help.”
Brett Redmore, 25, worked in insurance before becoming an EMD three years ago. “One of the first calls I ever took on my own was a 10-year-old lad who had hanged himself ” he says.
“There was obviously a lot of distress, a lot of screaming, but I talked the parents through doing CPR until the ambulance arrived.
“I never found out if they saved him. You take a minute, a break if necessary, then move on to the next person.
“You have brilliant jobs too, like helping to deliver babies.
“I had one that came out in the amniotic sack with the umbilical cord around his neck, but I told the dad what to do and the little boy was fine.” “You have to warn them babies are slippery,” adds colleague Mike Buley, 47. “You don’t want them shooting out of dad’s hands like a rugby ball.”
He’s a former Navy medic who spent 28 years as a police officer before retraining as an EMD six months ago.
“Every day is different,” he says. “It’s very intense. You have to think on your feet but it’s enormously rewarding, even the most tragic cases.
“I had a man in his 30s who was struggling to breathe. A minute into the call he fell silent. I kept talking in case he could hear me, then I heard his mum come in and find him, screaming that he wasn’t breathing and was going blue.
“But she hadn’t seen the phone he’d dropped, with me on the other end, and she started calling the ambulance on another line. Then her son died.
“I heard it all, yet I couldn’t help. But I was the last person that chap spoke to and I like to think he knew I cared.”
999: What’s Your Emergency? is on C4, Mondays at 9pm, from July 24.