Well, Saturday was the last day I worked but GreenFairy mentioned something that I wanted to write about – but forgot, for some bizarre reason…
The first call of Saturday was to a “?suspended”
“?Suspended” means “Query Suspended” which means that the patient might be suspended (a.k.a “dead”)- we don't know, they might just be asleep, or drunk, or have a high temperature, or a cut finger but the person calling us is a twit
So we hack along the road, knowing full well that because it is the first job of the day the patient is definitely going to be dead.
We arrive at the house and the Rapid Response Car is there before us – so I grab my kit and bound up the stairs past the daughter who called us and into the bedroom.
Where a very dead lady was laying on the bed while the Rapid Responder was completing his paperwork.
One look is all you need to tell if someone has been dead for sometime – and this lady had that look. It turned out that the daughter last saw her mother alive an hour ago, but that she was feeling a little unwell and took to bed. Then the daughter had checked on her half an hour later and found her not breathing. She then waited twenty minutes to call us as she was in such a “tizzy”. A quick look told us that even if we had been there when it had happened it was unlikely we could do much – various clues led us to think that a stomach ulcer had ruptured and she had bled out into her stomach.
All around the house were flowers and cards – due to the next day being Mothering Sunday.
No sooner than we had informed the daughter that her mother had died than the doorbell went – my crewmate went down to see who it was. It was only a bleedin' flower delivery man, delivering flowers to the (now) dearly departed. My crewmate told the delivery guy that now, perhaps, wasn't the best time to bring flowers – but took them in anyway, hiding them in the kitchen.
Then we had to wait an hour for the police to turn up – which is normal procedure for any death in the home, and is nothing to worry about. I then helped the police turn her body (to look for anything strange) and put my hand in a puddle of urine* – something that wouldn't bother me, IF I was wearing any gloves.
*I lost my sense of smell ages ago – I can't smell urine, faeces or alcohol. I count myself lucky in this regard.