A Thank You


A Thank You

Dear two Paramedics,

I don’t know your names. Perhaps I should have asked. Or maybe I did and I just don’t remember.

A balding man with calm mannerisms and a sense of humour, and a lady who went to elocution school, who told me not to cross my legs in the ambulance because it affects your blood circulation. I have a terrible habit of doing this.

I even proceeded to do it on the hospital bed, with little sense of what was going on. But jumped into action when you instructed me again.

I want to thank you. This may never reach you, but I hope it portrays my appreciation of you personally, your profession and the NHS as a whole.

You picked me up when I needed you, but was hesitant to call. You reassured me I had the right to, and reassured me that I deserved to be looked after by you.

You held my hand and hugged me, without me having to ask. You probably do this every single day, but treated me with kindness that I can only aspire to project onto others myself.

I want to send you flowers, I want to invite you to my house for a drink. I want to know everything about you, but I know that you wouldn’t expect me to.

You told me that it would hurt, that it would be uncomfortable and that there’s no certainty when I asked if everything would be okay.

Looking back, your honesty humbles me and I smile thinking about how your entire job revolves around telling people the truth.

It’s not often you meet people who are trained to emit honesty in everything that they say.  

It’s not often you meet people who you have no choice but to trust, with every fibre of your being.

It’s certain that I will be forever in your debt. Our country would be lost without you.

Dear two Paramedics,

Thank you.








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