The Blood Runners - Emergency Riders - Emergency Blood Riders

John methodically straps the blood to the rack on the back of his bike. Every strap has its place and the technique is one he’s practiced over years. Again I find myself willing him to go faster, but it’s simply not worth getting it wrong. Imagine trying to explain to a grieving relative that you made it in time, but unfortunately the blood is spread all over the windscreen of a car on the M40…

It’s about a 40 minute ride to Northampton General and it’s dispatched in the same fast but controlled fashion as the ride to the blood bank. As we near the hospital an ambulance whizzes past, sirens wailing, blue lights ablaze. He jumps the red light, pausing only for a safety check, and disappears into the city. I can feel my fingers starting to let the clutch out to follow: he made it, why can’t we? Then I see a car cross the junction. If I hadn’t resisted the urge I could be on his bonnet now.

A few minutes later and we’re parking up outside the A&E entrance to Northampton General, alongside the very same ambulance that passed us earlier. Its back doors are open and two paramedics are busy at work. Trying to ignore the sight, I follow John to the main reception.

Spotting the package in his hand the receptionist makes a call and a nurse arrives almost instantly. John reaches inside his pocket for the paperwork but the nurse just says: “follow me” and trots off at a serious pace. John’s expression tells me this isn’t normal. Following behind at almost a run she leads us deep inside the hospital. The brilliant white corridor leads us to a door marked ‘theatre’. John passes her the box. As the door swings shut I catch a glimpse inside, only to see gowned-up doctors in a flurry of activity. A shiver sprints down my spine.

The nurse who led us to the door sees my shocked expression: “It’s a young kid; that blood should make the difference,” she says. What started out as a story on a bunch of blokes who transport blood in their spare time has just become very, very real.

 I walk outside to the bikes and grab a breath of fresh air, still trying to come to terms with what just happened. My heart is pounding and I feel faintly sick. John meets me outside and I ask him if that is normal. “No, usually I just give the bag to a nurse at reception,” he says. “That wasn’t normal.”

Looking at him I can see it’s hit him hard too – the ride back to his house is certainly slower than normal.

When we get there John’s wife makes me a coffee while he checks in with the controller to let them know he’s made it home safely and is ready for another call. He might be, but I’m not. I head home, reeling from what I’ve just seen.

These are volunteers who give up their time to put a little back into an NHS with more pencil-pushers than face-workers. Without the men and women of SERV giving up their time to help, many more families might be grieving today. I for one would like to publicly thank them for that.

For more information and how to help SERV visit: www.serv.org.uk