I called an ambulance myself last month. I’d developed flu complications suddenly after work and couldn’t breathe. In central London on a Friday night, I knew the service would be strained but, as the minutes went on, I worried whether they would get to me in time. I ended up calling 999 three times due to the wait; in the end, paramedics got to me after about 45 minutes (time blurs when you can’t breathe).Yes, it's everyone's favourite shroud-waver, Frances Ryan there, who admits to calling repeatedly for an ambulance because she 'couldn't breathe'. For 45 minutes.
Which must be some sort of new record.
I was lucky in the end. I was at least well enough to take myself to A&E a day later for the tests I needed and had the family support to recover at home. But I can’t help but be struck by a worrying thought: rather than the NHS being a safety net, nowadays it’s as if it isn’t safe to be sick.Clearly it is, because you're still gobbing off in the CiF columns.
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