Can you see me now?

Have we all gone Hi-Vis insane?

Forget about a nanny culture or statistics about it making us safer.  Last I heard it was the flashing lights that attracted sleepy and inebriated drivers so turning me and my crew into passive crappy driver attractant is not my idea of a good time.

I wear my vest most times, really I do.  Mainly on account of my uniform is all navy blue and at night I disappear.  Perhaps the slight chance I get seen at the last minute is the point, but I have a big coat with reflective that could do the same thing.

“What the heck, Hap?  What got you all fired up?”

This photo from Ray Kemp at 911Imaging.

You saw this series on the cover of JEMS magazine a little while back.  The first thing that will catch your eye is the sea of reflective vests, running about $100 a piece on the rescuers, covering the reflective on their turnouts.  The ambulance folks have them on as well, well done, folks.


In the one place those vests can actually be useful and you’ll see two fellows wearing what I wear, all dark colors.

Well, I wasn’t there so I can’t blah, blah, blah.  No, I’m jumping in here and pointing out that perhaps we have our priorities a bit out of whack.  We go racing to jump on the Hi-Vis bandwagon without looking at what our people already have and using it to our advantage.  Hidden in all the stories of people getting hit and killed in the streets are the facts adding up that vests don’t stop cars, trucks and SUVs from killing you.

If you stand in the road covered in day glow paint carrying flares you will still die.  If we trained our drivers to block the road with the giant reflective rigs, perhaps the vests could go to those who have no giant truck to protect them.

Better yet, where is the increased driver’s education to stop the poor drivers from trying to kill us in the first place?  Rhetorical for sure, but I can see at least $1000 in this photo that could go a long way.

My own service is not immune to the allure of the shiny, reflective vests.  We have some that say Incident Commander, others say Triage.  Mine on the engine says SFFD in black on a field of bright yellow and silver.

Here’s a picture from one of our new engines under construction (Thanks Crimson-Fire):

That is where the reflective belongs!  And while we’re at it, can we get some more warning on the sides of these giant road blocks?  How nifty if we could get an arrow stick on the sides AND the back, since if we park to block the scene the rear mounted one is hard to spot.

Some Departments deploy street signs out ahead of the scene, cones, flares, all those kinds of nifty, expensive street decorations aren’t stopping the drivers who are going to hit us anyway.

Even on a simple vehicle fire on the highway, we need to focus on parking and awareness rather than throwing money into reflective to cover up reflective just to check a box on a state form.

If you have a vest wear it, but use common sense first.  Use that giant thing that drove you there to protect the scene and stay out of traffic.  Leaving the scene unprotected and going in and out of moving cars will get you killed, no matter how much shiny suit we plaster on you.

Be safe people,


“RTB for a cuppa” I’m allocating in the UK

chroniclesblogRTB means Return to Base.  A cuppa is slang for a cup of tea.  Allocating is something I very much wanted to see first hand.

On this morning in Newcastle, my second to last, Mark has arranged for me to meet with the executive staff of the NEAS at their headquarters.

Before meeting with them, however, I’m downstairs in the bullpens.  I’ve got 2 hours to sit in the dispatch center and do a “Sit-along.”

When you tell a guy who loves talking theory on systems allocation he gets to see the system work from the nerve center, he gets a touch giddy.

My first chair was at a call taker’s desk and I got plugged in.

BANG, less than 10 seconds, not even a chance to introduce myself to the call taker I’m with the first tone is in my right ear.

Before she can answer the call a timer has popped up on her screen 8:00, 7:59… the clock is running.

“Ambulance Service” she answers and begins reading from the screen the pre-ordained triage system called Pathways.  As I’ve mentioned before, this dispatch system makes no attempt to diagnose the problem, but the physician designed questions can dial up or down the response in real time as the call taker asks the questions.

While she is asking and answering, a small red circle has appeared on the screen, then, a bit away, a purple one.  Later I would learn that one is the location of the caller and the other the closest vehicle assigned to the call.  When that vehicle arrives on scene, the timer now passing 6:15 will stop.  This is their target and they take it very seriously.  As I’m listening to the call, it is a very straight forward sick call and the caller is honest about it.  It is then I see the benefits of the flexible front loaded system.  The rapid response car, the closest resource to the caller, has been stood down since there is not an emergency at the caller’s location.

The vehicle, or cot transport capable ambulance, is continuing, however, and the target is no longer 8 minutes, but now 16 from the time the call was answered.

As more questions are answered and the system confirms the lack of life threats, a simple screen gives instructions for the caller until the crew arrives.  The call taker then scrolls around her GPS monitor and finds the vehicle, then advises the caller about how far out they are.  The caller thanked her and the call was terminated.  Less than 3 minutes passed from the answering of the call to the triaging and confirmation of appropriate response.

At no time did a supervisor step in to augment the call taker’s classification, nor did the system err on the side of caution by upgrading the response, putting rescuers’ lives at risk, “Just in case.”

In the hour we were together I learned more about the desk I was at and the number of calls she answers in an average shift.  We took mostly non-emergent calls, details of which would obviously violate privacy, but I can share with you the CALLERS.

When I explained how folks abuse our service by calling from a cell phone miles away about a person they think might have been either unconscious or sleeping, she smiled.  Then, I went on, our criteria based dispatch system considers the caller’s inability to confirm consciousness to be unconscious and their inability to confirm breathing to be apnea, and 7 people are now responding code 3 for nothing.

It was just when the call taker was explaining some of the loop holes used that a care facility called to request an ambulance.

They were not with the patient so unable to observe their mental status, efficiency of breathing or if there was any bleeding.  The system took this information and kept the RRC responding.  Each time the call taker asked a question, the caller was already answering, knowing exactly which question comes next.

She later explained that folks have learned that if they take a cordless phone around the corner and call an ambulance, the crew arrives faster than if they honestly answer the triage questions.

“Same callers, different country.”

It was later in the morning across the room with the allocators that I saw the strength and weakness of the NEAS.

Mark and I spoke at great length about being honest but respectful when offering our observations and suggestions to improve each other’s systems.  Mark was an example of this when he met with SFFD Chief of EMS Pete Howes for a kind of exit interview before leaving.  I hope I can meet that example with the following paragraphs, but each time I write it it comes off preachy, so here goes.

Sitting between the allocators I watched them constantly on the radio with numerous vehicles and cars in various states of service.  Each color on their screens meant something different, from enroute, on scene, RRC, vehicle, on post etc, but it was the clipboard they were passing back and forth that caused them the most frustration and, more than once, delayed allocation.

Not by a definitive amount, we’re talking 3-5 seconds, but it was the constant flipping of pages and radio traffic related to the one thing that I think the NEAS needs to change for the betterment of the system.

No more breaks.

I can hear the UK medics now “Hell no.”

Let me elaborate for my work straight through the shift American friends.

The NEAS, as a portion of their labor agreement, provides their crews with certain breaks depending on their daily activities.  When they have been on post for an hour away from station, they get rotated back to the station.  This was commonly referred to on the radio as “Return for a cuppa.”  The basic premise is simple enough, really.  People need clean bathrooms and a chance to eat since eating is not allowed in the cars or vehicles, nor are they allowed to sit down and eat in an establishment while on duty.  This was evident when Mark was nervous enjoying some Pho in San Francisco.

In the car and vehicle this didn’t seem to be a big deal, we’d get a message to return to base, or that we were clear for meal break.  The meal break can be interrupted, should the allocators need the resources, but they avoid it since the crew interrupted gets paid quite a bit for it and the allocators, although they wouldn’t elaborate, appear to be held accountable.

Sitting between the two allocators on the desk that morning, 50%-75% of their time was arranging rotation station breaks or ensuring crews got their meal breaks.  These variables also added more color codes to the dispatch screen.  This car is on dinner, this vehicle is on base rotation…etc, etc.

When a call came in they shot a quick look to the clipboard showing who gets a break when and dispatch decisions are based off of that.  I did not witness it make a difference in response times, since that information is streaming in real time on giant monitors overhead, but these folks are scrambling to keep everything running smoothly.

With my limited dispatch experience it seemed like a simple change, since on the days I was on rotation in Newcastle we never had a point in the day where we were unable to reach a bathroom or food.

My head was trying to process all the information these women were basing their allocations on and one of them turned to ask me, inbetween moving a car back to base “for a cuppa,” “How do your dispatchers handle your breaks?”

When I explained we (listen to me, like I’m still in a rig), THEY are gone for 10 hours, no breaks, they froze.

It was passing the clipboard back and forth that I saw the only 2 seconds they both held still: glaring at me.  It was clear I was not to repeat that statement for the rest of my time with them.

“That would make, ‘Go ahead 405′ this so much ‘thanks and to base if you please’ easier.”

Yeah, 2 conversations at once.  I have trouble typing and listening to music or TV at the same time.

Mark had some family business to attend to while I was meeting the voice on the other end of the radio and he returned just before dinner time to collect me.  It was an eye and ear opening experience to see the chaos that a simple concept like breaks caused the folks moving units around.

Something I completely neglected to mention over lunch with the executive team.

Told you I couldn’t screw that up.  My conversation with the folks hopefully getting Mark cardioversion and CPAP, and where to put your coffee when the table is literally covered in signs that say “DO NOT PUT CUPS ON TABLE, USE SAUCER” soon.

Yeah I did.