UDI

Chatting to a Nurse at the local Hospital last week, I encountered a new term.


We had been dealing with yet another violent idiot that needed help but was refusing to accept it - for an example, have a look here at Kingmagic's post.
Basically, take that scene and transplant it into a busy London Hospital rather than a busy A&E anywhere else in the country.

Our suspect/victim/patient had been spotted having an altercation with a number of drunks in a local town centre. On our arrival, realising he was the target of our attentions, he scoffed all of his copious drugs supply rather than get nicked.

Cue a fight, followed by a roll around, followed by another fight, this time drug fuelled as his gear kicked in.
Of course, he refused medical attention. However we (unfortunately) have a duty of care, so LAS turned up and the not-so willing volunteer was transported up in the back of the Ambulance to the hospital, cuffed and stuffed and attended on by four knackered coppers.

And of course a chipper ambo crew.
Ambo: 1 "Name and date of birth please?"
Patient: "Fuck you, fuck you, I'll fucking have ya!"
Ambo 2: "We'll take that as declined."
Ambo 1: "Right. Doctor's name?"
Patient: "I'll fuckin' take ya, get these cuffs off! AAAGH!"
Ambo 1: "Ok. I'll take that as declined again."
Ambo 2: "Officers, would you mind awfully keeping the noise down? I'm trying to listen to the football results and frankly you're all making a bloody racket back there."

So, into the Hospital. Still kicking off, our man was cuffed with one hand on to each of the trolley rails he has been moved on to. Of course, he got a private room whilst the seventy year old pensioner outside continued to wait, but hey ho. Nurses and all staff were very helpful as always - security were also called to assist if necessary. This is always a very kind gesture, but the combined age of the two frail security guards there is similar to the age of three retired coppers.

Wonder of wonders, a Doctor was pushed forward. But wait, why were the two nurses and the staff nurse grinning? Ah yes, a new attendee Doctor.

"Can you take one of the cuffs off please?"
(Snigger snigger from the nurses)

Five minutes later, after a brief struggle, blood and medical liquids over the doctor, and a couple of extra injuries for all concerned all round, we stepped outside to chat and chill. Sedatives were issued pretty quickly after the very brief initial examination by the Doctor.

I knew one of the nurses quite well, and noticed a large bruise on her arm.
"You OK? Did he get you on the arm? If so he'll be coming in for that"
She blinked, and looked at her arm: "This? No, its fine. It's just a UDI."
"UDI?"
She stared at me for a second - "Yes - an Unidentified Drinking Injury."


Incidentally, yet another time where my boots are caked in blood, as are my trousers. However, we have to buy our own boots and we have been told due to budget restraints we are not allowed to order any uniform until the next financial year.
Wonder if I'll get in trouble for turning up for parade in my boxer shorts?

Kitchen Nightmare

As we meandered our way through the streets, enjoying the lull between the pub kick outs and the night club kick outs, the radio crackled into life, shattering the fragile peace.

"Bravo Xray 21 or any other Bravo Xray unit now, units to attend Johnson House, Hackett Street, abandoned phone call with sounds of a disturbance, on an 'I' grade."

An 'I' grade call is the top priority for calls in The Met.

I called up: "BX23 to your last," and two other units (amazingly) were also free and answered up for the shout.

I arrived on scene at the same time as one of the other units, and called our TOA (time of arrival) on the radio. As I climbed out I saw that the other unit was being driven by a good friend of mine, Sam. I winked at him as we parked up by his car, close enough to make him have to get out of the passenger door. All four of us walked to the block, a new build that I'd never been to in a nice part of the division, with controlled electronic access.

There was no answer to the door buzzer, but a neighbour let us in after we had hammered on her downstairs window for a while. As we entered the block, sounds of shouting drifted down the stairwell and I started to run, as did the boys with me.

What we should have done was got the lift.

As we wheezed up to the address on the fifth floor, a woman was standing outside. She seemed worried but not frantic, and the shouting had stopped. "Thanks for coming so quickly officers, Joe is inside and he's gone a bit funny again, I just need him out before he breaks something else. Or starts playing with the kitchen knives again."
We paused. Sam and I swapped a look. I decided to try what we like to call "investigating."
Area: "You say Joe has gone funny... What exactly does 'funny' mean?"
Strangely Calm Woman: "He sometimes gets little bad patches. That's all."
Area: "You said 'again.' What happened last time?"
SCW: "Well, the police were very understanding really, no one really got badly hurt."

There was a sound as Gary, twenty years old and with a hand on the door knob about to go in to the address let go of the handle as though it was hot, took a step back and buried his chin into his protective vest thoughtfully.

And then the shouting started again, punctuated with crashes from the house. It sounded like there were two very pissed off people having a major argument.

Area: (slowly) "Who else is in there?"
SCW: "No one. Just Joe."

Deep breath. Sam gripped the handle and opened the door to the address. "Brave man," I thought. Sam looked at me, and beckoned me forwards.
Sam: "After you."

Oh. Bugger.

Joe was naked. Bleeding from a scratch on his neck. Six foot two in height, slim build, bulging darting eyes. And stationary in the middle of the kitchen.

I thought back to the comment about kitchen knives. We fanned out around our side of the room, and I attempted some light conversation.
Area: "Er, Joe I presume? Watched the football today?"
Joe: (Breathing heavily) "No."
Area: "Ah, right, me too. Um, having a bad day today Joe? Would you like to see a doctor or talk to someone about it?"
Joe: "No."
Area: "Ok, fine, good." I searched the room frantically with my eyes for inspiration, and noticed a crucifix on the wall with a plaque beneath it.
Area: "You a church goer Joe?"
Joe: "Yes. Jesus talks to me. So does God."
Area: "That's nice..."
Joe: "He's talking to me now. That's why I'm being nice to you."

Oh Hell's bells.

The problem in this situation is that we have the power to section people under the mental health act, but not inside their own homes. And he wasn't committing any offences by smashing up his own flat. We continued to chat, in broken fractured syntax as calmly as possible, trying to keep Joe from hearing any bad messages from God.

Gary was pushed out of the way, and two Ambo staff strolled in. Joe shifted slightly and I heard rather than saw Sam draw his asp and hold it by his leg.
Ambo 1: "Evening Joe. Have you been causing trouble again?"
Joe: "Sorry."
Ambo 2: "Haven't been here for a while Joe. You coming down to the Hospital now Joe?"
Joe: "OK."
Ambo 2: "Come on then mate."

We stared in silence, feeling more than slightly inadequate as the LAS crew led Joe out to the Ambulance. We followed the Ambulance up to the hospital, and whilst Joe was talking happily to a Nurse, I asked the crew how they had managed it.
They laughed.
Ambo 1: "Well, we've been there before. He decided to kick off one time, and so we kicked him out of the ambulance until he behaved."
Area: "And that worked!?"
Ambo 2: "Well, it was 2am in the middle of January."

I love the LAS so much.