This is a blog post that has been 3 years in the making. It also goes without saying that this post comes with a massive trigger warning. As I come to the end of my time as an ambulance call handler I’m reflecting back on the crazy reality of taking emergency calls. I’ve been shouted at, sworn at, called a c***, called a bitch, I’ve had people threaten to kill me, to rape me, to find me and harm me. But the one consistent question everyone loves to ask- “What’s the worst call you’ve ever taken?” But how do you narrow down the worst moment amongst thousands of awful moments. So, here it is- a snapshot of those ‘worst things’ you’ve been sucked into, whilst doing your job as ‘just’ a call handler…

I’m the one giving CPR instructions for your young child who’s just been hit by a car.

I’m the one counting through your contractions as you go into preterm labour by yourself.

I’m the one listening to your screams for your Daddy who you’ve just watched die in a head on motorbike crash with another fatally injured biker.

I’m the one listening to you call back to complain about your half an hour wait as ‘your’ ambulance has been diverted to a dead 13 year old- which was my call before yours.

I’m the one hearing you beg your wife to wake up as you do CPR in the middle of the night.

I’m the one comforting you as you miscarry twins at 4 in the morning.

I’m the one struggling to find where you are in the forest after you’ve crashed your mountain bike and fallen 30 feet down a ravine.

I’m the one listening to your cries as you explain the ‘concern for welfare call’ from your ex is actually his spiteful way of trying to hash up your custody dispute when he keeps calling us to say you’ve taken an overdose.

I’m the one who hears your mother’s soothing words of love and calm as your 14 year old self lays unresponsive after taking an overdose.

I’m the one praying for a faster ambulance as I hear you bang and clatter on the floor as you have your sixth seizure on the phone to me, as you are alone with no one to check whether you’re still breathing after this one.

I’m the one coaching you through CPR as you beg your 26 year old fiance to start breathing again after they collapsed in front of your eyes.

I’m the one offering words of comfort after you’ve found your elderly mother dead at the bottom of the stairs.

I’m the one finding out that the elderly couple found dead by the cliffs weren’t found at the top as I’d first believed but at the bottom- together.

I’m the one listening to your screams after you’ve found your husband hanging in the garage as you also try and shield your young children from their dead Daddy.

I’m the one you tell a life story to of the family member you’ve just found dead on a tractor on his little plot of land that meant the world to him as you couldn’t move him but needed a comforting voice whilst you waited for practical help to come.

I’m the one hearing your hysterical shout as you’ve come in to find your 22 year old brother dead.

I’m the one listening to the 2 health care workers bring you back from the dead as they walked past you collapsed in the street first thing in the morning on their way to work at the hospital.

I’m the one listening to the horror of you and your teenager who’ve just been attacked by your ex partner with a hammer.

I’m the one who had 4 patients die on one shift- a Christmas eve night shift.

I’m the one hearing the team of medics in the dialysis unit try and save your life after you went into cardiac arrest during a routine procedure.

I’m the one triaging the 4 year old who’s just fallen out a tree and fractured their skull.

I’m the one who hears the small gasp of shock from your carer when she realises you’ve stopped breathing whilst we do a simple stroke diagnostic test.

I’m the one hearing with horror that a 90 year old has been assaulted on their front door.

I’m one of the people too late to help the 33 year old who’s tied a ligature round their neck.

I’m the one hearing you make breakfast for your child with additional needs as you calmly explain that you’ve just found your husband dead on the sofa but you don’t want to bring her world crashing down till you have to.

I’m the one pleading with members of the public to answer my questions as you lay in the road dying having been hit by a lorry.

I’m the one who spends 40 minutes soothing you on the phone as you threaten to take your own life for you to finally reveal it’s because you were raped that morning.

I’m the one hearing your shouts as you find your elderly tenant dead in their armchair with a plastic bag over their head.

I’m the one comforting your kids after you’ve taken a massive overdose.

I’m the one giving you CPR instructions after you found your 8 year old not breathing in their bed.

I’m the one giving you, a 12 year old, instructions on how to help your mummy who’s miscarrying, pouring out blood and passing out.

I’m the one hearing you beg for help as mental health has taken over your family home and your 10 year old has tried to stab their younger sibling.

I’m the one pleading with you for 45 minutes to come down off the bridge.

I’m the one giving instructions to help you as you have a seizure whilst burying your husband.

I’m the one cringing hearing how your dog has bitten a chunk out your throat.

I’m the one arguing with a retired GP who is refusing to start CPR.

I’m the one hearing you screaming as you refuse to let someone control your bleeding after you’ve cut your throat with a razor.

I’m the one waiting for you to come back to the phone with a towel to control the bleeding on your foot to be met with silence and a message from the crew after the line goes to say you died instead.

I’m the one hearing a stranger help you after a motorbike crash that has left your leg hanging on by a thread and your arm bone sticking out.

I’m the one listening to how a child has fallen off a harbour wall to find out the next day that they didn’t make it.

I’m the one who hears the fear in your voice as you tell me your child has fallen 10 feet from a tree landing on their back and now they can’t move or talk.

I’m the one reassuring you after you grabbed the steering wheel and avoided a crash as your Dad had 2 random fits whilst driving.

I’m the one comforting you after your Mum and younger sibling have attacked you with a pole and tried to kill you.

I’m the one arguing with care staff to restart CPR after they found you drowned in a bathtub.

I’m the one giving you CPR instructions for your friend who has choked to death on vomit after you had a wild night to celebrate going sober the next day- that day never came for him.

I’m the one listening to the horrendous story that your Alzheimer’s ridden father has sexually assaulted his wife and between you, you can’t look after him anymore.

I’m the one listening to your sobbing apology after your coke binge is potentially triggering another heart attack, then you tell me it was all triggered from when your partner tried to kill you.

I’m the one who was too late to help when you put a ligature round your neck in the cell block.

I’m the one hearing the strangers trying to help you after a tree has crashed onto your car in a storm.

I’m the one listening to your husband soothe you as your pregnancy comes to an end 4 months too early.

I’m the one desperately trying to get hold of you after hearing your hysterical daughter who’s miles away say you’ve been found unconscious, nobody got hold of you in time.

I’m the one hearing what physically happened to your broken body when the train hit you at the station at peak commuter time.

I’m the one taking details of your rape- you are 7.

I’m the last person you hear as you take your final gasping breaths with your inhaler just out of reach.

I’m the one hearing the screams as you pull out your intestines after stabbing yourself in the stomach.

Writing it all down like that and I honestly don’t know how you pick the ‘worst’ call, the worst moment. They were all pretty bad and how do you say this bad moment is worse than that bad moment. All they do is make you appreciate the ordinary as you see how quick life can change.

It does feel a bit like the end of an era and I will miss my green family. And yes there were some good outcome calls too- like the 2 babies I helped deliver and the countless successful CPR stories. It’s a job that has taught me so much, not just when the actual right time to call an ambulance is! But it’s taught me so much about myself- what I am actually capable of doing, how I can stay pretty calm when the shit hits the fan and how as cheesy as it sounds- I’m actually the person I’d want in an actual crisis. But writing this post out has made me realise I’d probably reached my limit.

So if you ever do find yourself dialling those 3 number 9’s just take a moment to appreciate that the person on the other end of the phone is far from ‘just a call handler.’