You Can't Save Them All

We've all seen the movies where somebody is dragged from the sea, or found collapsed, and our hero gets straight down and starts doing CPR. Shortly afterwards the poor suffering victim will splutter back to life and thank their new found hero.

I've had some success when it comes to CPR and lives have been saved. But it is not how the movies or television depict it.

Effective compressions on a person's chest are likely to break the ribs. One is required to compress about a third of the way into the person's torso. Imagine feeling the ribs crack beneath your hands as you push down. Then with each compression you can feel the broken bones inside the chest cavity.

I have been reliably informed by a doctor that CPR does not actually bring anybody back to life, it merely keeps the body alive. Compressions keep the blood moving around the body and therefore supplying it with oxygen, and rescue breaths into the victim's mouth keeps oxygen in the blood.

So you never actually bring someone back to life with CPR, you merely keep them alive.

It's not a glamorous task either. I would like to flatter myself by telling you stories of a poor, dying damsel in distress, images of me ripping my shirt open to reveal a six pack glistening in the sun while I run towards her in slow motion, before kneeling to bring her back to life with a few sensual compressions and a lingering kiss/rescue breath.

You'll be glad to know that the story I shall share is much more realistic, and a lot more gory.

A homeless man had jumped from a hostel window, falling from the second floor to the street below. As he had jumped his head had moved backwards and he descended as if lying flat on his back in bed. He landed this way and did not move. His head was flat on the pavement.

A fall from the second floor is most survivable. It is generally accepted that a fall from the 4th floor or higher will ultimately guarantee death. However, if you hit your head you could die from falling from a standing position.

Anyway, I was the first to reach this man. His facial expression told me he was dead. But there were onlookers. As I knelt beside him I started to see a grayish, clear liquid seep from the back of his head. I began chest compressions. Police officers are told that even if they know a person is dead, try CPR, their family may be looking on and just need to see someone trying to save their loved ones. Equally the public report feeling helpless and seeing somebody take action reassures them. Apparently.

That didn't matter though, I thought I had a good chance of saving this man.

CPR is a curious task. You become completely enveloped by the rhythm and strength of what you are doing. Making sure you do 30 compressions to 2 breaths (luckily I had a mask to help deliver the rescue breaths). I have always found that I become somewhat detached from my environment when conducting CPR. And that is how I found myself that day. It wasn't until I felt myself being dragged away by a paramedic concerned that I had completely lost the plot that I snapped back to reality.

The paramedic told me the male was gone. He turned the body slightly and I saw the man's brains dripping from the back of his head, which had taken the full force of the impact with the pavement.

I was covered in juices and blood. But, you can't save them all.

Anonymous Bobby

The Oxford Graduate on the Roof

Many years ago I was on patrol with my colleague Robert when we were called to an address where the informant's flatmate had climbed onto the roof of their block of flats. Nothing else was known when the call came out. Robert and I rushed to the scene to find out what was happening.

Upon arrival we noticed the address was a large block of flats, nine floors in height. The roof was in two parts, it had a pointed, triangular section and a flat section. I could see the silhouette of a young man standing on the edge of the flat section of the roof.

We went inside and up to the flat of the original informant, a flatmate of the male on the roof. He did not know the young man well, as he had recently moved in. We made our way to the top of the building to try and communicate with the young chap on the roof. Access to the roof was gained via a ladder to a hatch in the ceiling of the communal hallway (it was quite an old building). Unfortunately, the young man had somewhow wedged the hatch shut from above, it was not budging.

Robert and I knew we had to get a line of communication open with the young man so we resorted to leaning out of a living room window on the 9th floor. The poor residents of that flat were flabbergasted. I remember they were particularly worried about the paint on their window sill. I leaned out first and could just see the male. Robert held my legs tightly from inside the flat as I strained to make myself known and gain eye contact. I could see that the male was now sitting on the edge and was rocking back and forth. He was mumbling under his breath. I asked him his name and he told me his name was Kevin.

I told Kevin he would be OK and asked him to let me up through the hatch. But he had stopped talking to me. He was rocking, precariously, on the edge of the building and mumbling to himself under his breath. It was clear that he was having some sort of mental health breakdown.

His details were unknown to the police system and his flatmate said that he was usually healthy, as far as he knew. A quick look around Kevin's room gave us enough to work with. He was an Oxford University Graduate. He was keen on politics. Clearly an intellectual and academic. Robert and I guessed that something traumatic must of happened to cause his sudden breakdown.

Robert tapped a key on Kevin's laptop and it whirred into life. His computer's background was a picture of Kevin and a beautiful young blond. Could this girl be the reason Kevin was now rocking back and forth on the edge of a deathly drop?

Robert and I took it in turns to lean out the window and talk to Kevin. We continued for around 3 hours while other contingencies, such as the fire brigade, were put into place. It is excruciatingly difficult to talk to somebody that you barely know, without any form of response, for any length of time. Especially when you are trying not to irritate or upset them. It is a skill in itself. You quickly realise how repetitive you have become, and the spaces between the most calming and reassuring words you can think of becomes longer and longer. After a number of hours, I was leaning out when Kevin quickly stood and suddenly scrambled to the top of the triangular section of the roof. I watched him dart up there and was convinced he was going to leap off the top.

He sat on the point of the triangular roof and continued to rock, and we continued talking to him, just a little louder. He was now in an even more precarious position as the slightest slip would see him fall from the point of the roof.

Eventually he came in when the fire brigade made their way to the roof in a cherry picker. He simply got in it as soon as they reached him. I don't know if we had worn him down or he was just ready to come inside. All I knew was that I was exhausted and I couldn't feel my legs.

The beautiful young blond had, in fact, been the cause of Kevin's breakdown. They had been at Oxford together, studying politics and Kevin had then moved to London for a rather prestigious job. Due to the distance involved the blond ended the relationship. That was enough for Kevin to seriously consider ending his life.

We took him to a Mental Health Hospital to get help. He tried to run away when we got to the hospital so I hugged him. He was only small. I hugged him as if he were my own son and as I did so I walked him into the secure unit, without letting go.

Anonymous Bobby