He gets out of bed, washes and dresses, kisses his wife goodbye and, promising to be careful, heads off to work.
Some hours later I get a call to a male having difficulty in breathing.
We get there as quickly as I can drive because there is something about the job that makes me think it is serious.
We arrive after the FRU, the patient is on the floor and the FRU is performing CPR – the patient has no heartbeat and isn't breathing.
What happened? Did he have a sudden heart attack? Did he choke on his food? Did he have a clot in his lung?
I'll never know.
We do our job, it's a long resuscitation attempt for a number of reasons, lots of interventions.
The FRU who was first on scene tells us that the patient's workmates were taking turns in doing CPR, one of them puts his head around the door and explains what he saw.
“He just collapsed”, he says looking worried, “I tried to help but I was only doing what I've seen on TV. I was going to do mouth-to-mouth, but I didn't want to blow the vomit into his lungs…”
We all tell him that he did the best possible thing, that he should sleep easy tonight – but I know he won't.
At the hospital the staff work hard on him, but it is an effort that has no result – one more person dies today.
The police are asked to inform his wife. It's a job I don't envy. They bring her to the hospital, I'm outside cleaning the ambulance so I don't hear her tears.
I wonder who will tell his workmates.
After my shift I visit my mum and give her a hug – as I leave for home she tells me to be careful.
“Always”, I say.