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The call was a priority one response to a ‘shortness of breath’ case.

‘What do you reckon?’ Tim queried as they cleared the garage. ‘Asthma, pneumonia or heart failure?’

Laura flicked the switch to start the beacons flashing. Her finger was poised over the control for the siren but the road was quiet enough for it not to be necessary yet. ‘Could be an acute myocardial infarction,’ she offered. ‘That can make you a bit short of breath.’

‘So can smoke inhalation.’ Tim pulled the map from the pocket between the gear shift and the dashboard. ‘We were lucky with that kid this morning, weren’t we?’

‘I’ll say.’ Laura smiled. A job like that always reminded her how much she loved this career. It more than made up for all the time and effort spent on less than genuine cases.

Like the one they were dispatched to as their final call for the day. The ‘traumatic injury’ turned out to be back pain that the grossly overweight, middle-aged woman had been suffering from for ten years.

‘Has it got any worse suddenly today?’ Laura asked.

‘No. And it hasn’t got any better either.’

‘Who called for the ambulance?’ A thin, tired-looking man had opened the door to them and Laura was assuming he was their patient’s husband.

‘I did,’ the woman said belligerently. ‘What am I supposed to have done? The doctor’s useless. I rang him and he said to take some pills. I’m a walking pharmacy as it is. I rattle when I walk. I’m fed up to the back teeth with taking bloody pills.’

‘What medications are you on?’ Laura was beginning to understand why the man was so quiet and weary. She’d only been in the room for two minutes and she was more than ready to escape. Tim was having trouble getting the Velcro on the extra-large size of blood-pressure cuff to meet around her upper arm. He was also carefully avoiding Laura’s eye and she suspected he was having difficulty keeping a straight face.

‘Ow!’ The oversized arm was moved enough to displace the disc of Tim’s stethoscope. ‘That hurts.’

‘It’ll only be tight for a few seconds,’ Tim responded patiently. ‘Try and keep still.’

Laura caught the gaze of the man. ‘Has your wife got a list of her medications anywhere?’

‘She’s not my wife, she’s my mother.’

‘Sorry.’ Maybe living with the woman had aged him rapidly. Laura was feeling older by the minute. If the squeeze of a blood-pressure cuff was enough to elicit such an agonised response, the back pain was probably no more than a mild ache. Her impression that they were wasting their time strengthened as she read the list of medications.

‘So you’re taking pills for your high blood pressure, high cholesterol, diabetes, airways disease, depression, weight control, constipation and pain – is that right?’

‘Isn’t that enough?’

Laura stepped over an overflowing dinner plate that was being used as an ashtray. ‘When was the last time you were in hospital, Mrs Pearce?’

‘Two weeks ago.’

‘And what was that for?’

‘Stomach pain. Something terrible it was. I was in bloody agony.’

‘What did they say at the hospital?’

‘They gave me six enemas. Six! If they knew what they were doing it should have only taken one. They’re all useless, the whole lot of them, and I told them so.’

‘Did they say anything else?’

Mrs Pearce’s son sighed heavily. ‘They told Mum to stop smoking, lose some weight and start getting some exercise.’

‘And I told them, if they could do what they’re supposed to be doing and fix me up then I might be able to start doing some bloody exercise. What do they expect? Some sort of miracle? I have enough trouble getting out of my chair and they seem to think I can go trotting around the block at the drop of a hat.’

Tim had finished taking basic vital signs and filling in the paperwork. ‘There’s no real need for you to go to the hospital right now, Mrs Pearce. You’ll end up waiting for hours and then being sent home, probably with exactly the same advice you were given last time. Is that what you want?’

‘I want to get fixed. I’m not going to get anywhere if I just sit at home and put up with it, am I?’ She glared at Tim. ‘It’s the squeaky door that gets the bloody oil.’

‘Fine.’ Laura wanted to get this job over with. ‘But you’ll need to walk out to the ambulance for us, Mrs Pearce.’