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I looked down at his small body, thinking that this time, I would make a difference.

He was breathing 2 minutes ago.

He was at school earlier that same day.

Maybe its just respiratory arrest?

He had a pulse as we moved him from the front room where I found him lying on the settee, looking nothing like a young boy sleeping, but instead like a much younger version of the hundreds of patients that have either died in my presence or have been dead before I even had a chance to help them.

I placed him onto the stretcher, carrying him out of the house in my arms rather than placing him on a carry chair.

He was small for a teenager.

“Does he normally have any medical problems Mum?”

“No……nothing”

My partner puts the leads on his body whilst I give him a couple of breaths.

“Good rhythm!!”

“Does he have an output with that??”

We both check………

Mum is standing at the back door of the ambulance, a look of blissful ignorance on her face, certain that we will help her son.

I look down at him, then I turn my head to the side and quickly glance at mum.

Silently, I curse to myself

As I start compressions I try harder than I have ever tried before to block out the sounds of his mother screaming at the back door of the ambulance, and I know that in that one moment, I will never, ever forget that sound.

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