I’m furious. 

I’m angry for everyone whose life is at additional risk because ambulance response times in England are now at their highest since current monthly records began. 

I know from experience that this has been a problem for years. In 2018, my dad died within 24 hours of reaching hospital, having waited around seven and a half hours for an ambulance to arrive. He was 59.

To think things are now even worse, with even longer waits putting more people at greater risk of losing loved ones, makes me despair.

Dad had initially developed flu-like symptoms and was advised by the GP to rest – if things hadn’t improved within a couple of weeks, to book another appointment. I was 26 at the time, not living at home, but as a family we weren’t particularly worried as it seemed like a fairly routine illness and he had been seen by a doctor. 

Six days later though, things escalated significantly. He suddenly started to experience a swollen knee, worsening flu symptoms and was coughing up blood. Mum put in a call to NHS 111, at 8.31pm. Clearly she was concerned by now, and Dad got her to pack him an overnight bag, in case.

We later found out, in an investigation report, that this had been forwarded to 999 and initially generated a ‘Category 3’ response. A national standard introduced by NHS England in July 2017 states 90% of calls in this category should be responded to by all ambulance trusts within 120 minutes.

By 2.07am, still waiting, mum phoned 999 directly, as dad’s body was now aching, he felt like he was going to pass out and he now had a pain in his kidneys. She started to realise she had been naïve to imagine an ambulance would just turn up soon.

They told her they were organising help for her now and it had all been arranged, but they didn’t give an estimate of how long it would be. She was advised to call back if things got worse.

Mum asked Dad if she should try and take him in the car instead, but he couldn’t bear weight by this point, so they couldn’t get him downstairs.

It took another call at 3.44am – when he had started to struggle breathing – for them to come. We later found out this had been upgraded to a Category 1, which means it’s life-threatening. The severity of symptoms made very clear that things had escalated quickly and Mum was now a lot more concerned.

Trusts must respond within seven minutes on average for Category 1, with a target of 90% arriving within 15 minutes.

A rapid response vehicle paramedic arrived just outside of that timeframe, but a backup of an ambulance then had to be requested, turning up at 4.26am.

Because of the sheer number of incidents, the majority of which were Category 1 and 2 calls, ‘there simply were no ambulances available to send’, we later found out from the Trust.

When staff did arrive though, Mum said they were wonderful with Dad. Two very reassuring paramedics were really professional, and did some tests. Mum was relieved they had arrived at last, but Dad’s voice was getting weaker.

Mum went in the back of the ambulance with him and was just in shock that things had now got to this point. She knew they had an arrangement with the rapid response vehicle to stop and treat Dad en-route if needed, so it was becoming extremely apparent how very serious it had got.

I arrived on the scene at the hospital that afternoon, having travelled back to the area. By that evening, Dad had been put into an induced coma. Doctors said he was working hard to keep breathing, so this was the best course of action. They said things may not change for days from that point, so advised us to go home and rest.

But then we received a phone call a couple of hours after getting back to the family home, with the hideous news that he was ‘deteriorating’, and that we should come back.

It turned out dad had Group A streptococcus, which is a bacterium often found in the throat and on skin, for which most infections are unpleasant but mild. But in Dad’s case it resulted in lung abscess, bronchopneumonia, and severe sepsis.

When we ran back into the hospital, ambulance staff spotted Mum and one of them said: ‘Hey, we remember you from last night – what happened? Are you OK?’

We quickly explained, and they instantly found a vacant wheelchair and guided Mum into it because she was in a state of shock. They pushed her and accompanied us back to Critical Care, hugged us, and wished us well. Their presence was almost angelic. I will never forget that gesture.

We spent lots of time by Dad’s bedside in what turned out to be his final hours, though staff arranged us a small room to alternate between. After several hours back at hospital, a nurse burst into this room to tell us that things had took a very concerning turn and they needed to perform CPR on him.

I asked if we should go to be by his side. ‘It won’t be very pleasant to watch’, she said. She returned a few minutes later and told us that she was extremely sorry to say he had died. We were both in utter shock at this news.

She was really gentle with us and led us through to say goodbye to Dad. She cut a lock of his hair for us to keep, and gave us the relevant paperwork. She even mentioned how nice it was to see the support I gave to my mum.

So when I say I’m furious to hear about these incidents only getting worse, of course I’m not angry at ambulance or hospital staff. It’s at the wider political picture that has allowed people’s chances in life-and-death situations to become even more precarious than Dad’s.

Of course, nobody could guarantee he would or wouldn’t have survived had the ambulance arrived when it was meant to, and the letters we received said symptoms would have built up over the prior couple of weeks. This was severe sepsis, with Dad in a potentially life-threatening situation from the beginning and critically unwell from the point of admission to hospital.

But clearly, people’s survival chances will be worsened if they’re waiting so much longer than they should.

His experience prompted us to complain to the Ambulance Service Trust, the severity of his case leading them to raise it with their commissioners as a ‘serious incident’, meaning it was reported to NHS England and we received an investigation report.

The Trust stated ‘delays of this length are a significant concern and are not acceptable’, that this was an ‘exceptionally busy day’ and ‘the number of calls that we were receiving at that time was exceeding our supply of paramedics and ambulances’. Even though they were resourced to planned levels of provision, ‘demand simply out stripped [sic] capacity’.

Finding this out just added to the despair and heartbreak. In hindsight, Mum reflected she didn’t expect to have to keep ringing about how serious things were getting as his symptoms progressed, to get a response. She wasn’t aware of the category system until afterwards. But why should the public need to know the system?

If people are having to wait hours longer than NHS targets for response times, it seems substantially more resource is needed, so that what happened to Dad doesn’t happen to anyone else.

We are just one family whose lives have been turned upside down by a loss that you can’t help but wonder might have been preventable, had the wait for help been shorter and so much time not been lost.

The fact that statistics now suggest people are going to be at even higher risk is very bleak indeed, and to anyone who has lost – or goes on to lose – a loved one who might have otherwise been saved, my heart truly goes out to you.

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