A warm welcome to all of you who have found your way here from the Guardian’s Blog, it’s a pleasure to have you, though unfortunately you catch me in the middle of something of a writing hiatus, a festive break away from work has temporarily run my inspiration dry.   As such, let me introduce you to some excerpts from Trauma Queen’s history. The press have made much recently about how much time we spend attending bull-shit calls, calls that would be better dealt with the next morning in a GP’s office, or those that have nothing wrong with them that a night’s sleep and two Alka-Seltzer wouldn’t fix.

But occasionally? Just occasionally?

We do what you imagine us to. We run at high speeds, lights flashing and sirens wailing to people who have minutes to live.

And we fix them.

The following are a series of articles from Trauma Queen’s history, with any luck they’ll give you another angle on what we do.

Over Christmas I spent some time reflecting on the relationships between Mothers and their teenage daughters.

I’ve dispensed vital health and lifestyle advice that might make you think twice about polishing off the last of those festive chocolates.

As ambulance staff we’re not always considered in the same realm as the police or fire service as having a ‘dangerous’ job; you shouldn’t buy into those misconceptions.

We deal with society’s most fragile and vulnerable citizens, the ancient and infantile.

There are times when your mind runs at warp speed as you try and puzzle out the patient’s problem and others where it’s wiser not to think too hard about whatever happened to land someone in the back of your vehicle. You can’t fill your head with too much navel-gazing, because the next job may well be ludicrous.

We’re there to tuck you back into bed, to have a respectful conversation with your family and leave them to await the priest and at times we’re called upon to have conversations that we rerun in our heads, agonising over whether we said the right thing at the right time, knowing that we’re central characters in someone’s life-altering afternoon.

Regardless of your thoughts about us, whether you consider us heroes or taxi drivers, NHS lackeys or health care professionals, it’s worth remembering that for all we train and study, you, the patient, hasn’t read the rule book.

Sometimes we win, sometimes we draw…and sometimes we’ll send you home to join your family.

It’s just a job.