DOCTORS’ LOUNGE
DOCTORS’ LOUNGE
HEROES
Brian Ferguson, DO, MPH
I
introduce myself to the frail elderly male in the medical ICU. I am resuming his care from the night staff. He has improved remarkably, and is smiling, speaking in full sentences— a rare feat for an ICU level patient, and a nice change of pace from the string of deaths we have recently experienced.
He will transfer out today, and probably, hopefully, this will be my last medical encounter with him as he continues to improve and is soon discharged home. My temporary relationship with him will be remembered and my image of him, suspended in my memory until either he once again falls ill and I am privileged to care for him, or, rather, 10 years down the road, I dust off my mind’ s file of him to present it in a teaching setting.
Ironically, medical teaching about him is unlikely, as there was nothing remarkable about his medical care. His presenting illness was typical; the pathogenesis of his condition, well understood; and the treatment met textbook guidelines. It is his life that was memorable.
28 LOUISVILLE MEDICINE
He was one of many enlisted to an overseas conflict in a time much different from our own. He was a Green Beret, an Army Special Forces operative, involved in Korea and Vietnam. He was a prisoner of war in North Korea. He did his duty, he never quit, he never gave up, he never complained. If it was not for my random morning questions about his service in the Army, I never would have known that this 115 pound, pleasant, thankful gentleman, eating his morning toast, was once one of our Nation’ s utmost trained soldiers, making it through a training program that most of us would not dare dream existed, let alone graduate from it.
We often feel ourselves that we have accomplished something in the letters behind our name, our prestigious job title, our ability to make decisions, our long nights, our sometimes pompous and frequently esoteric knowledge and education. Yet, of the staff that participated in this veteran’ s care, no one would dare compare their frequently recounted all-nighter study-athons, or their dreaded EMR initiation, or their reduced compensation, or anything else that brings us down, to what this man must have experienced. Our struggles in a warm library are cush compared to those of a starved man, alone on the cold cement of a dilapidated holding cell, waiting to be tortured in North Korea.
Out of respect I offered my gratitude and condolences for what he must have experienced, he sincerely and simply replied,“ I had it way easier than some of the others.” After he was rescued, in spite of what he endured, he continued to serve.
It was a slow morning, and if it had not been, I certainly would have been buried in charting, orders and morning labs, and speaking with this gentleman would be second, if at all: Medicine first. Yet, Medicine is not always about the labs or the antibiotics. Sometimes the relationships we form, and the lives we come across in our desire to serve others, are much more significant.
He may be elderly and weak now, but his mind is still that same, determined young 20-something, rucking for miles with a 50 pound pack, and marching for days on a single MRE and two hours of consecutive sleep. He may have a poor prognosis, there may in fact be little I can medically do for him, but his stout heart is still the same stout heart that sacrificed more than I can ever understand. My time and respect is the least I can offer him.
Because of what this man, and other men and women have endured, I am free and able to lead the life I am grateful for every day. And now, this soldier’ s care is in my hands. Down the hall is a WWII veteran who was one of the first African Americans in the Marines. He tells me there will soon be a movie released about his particular regiment, and the struggles he and his comrades faced. He explains,“ I fought two battles: the war and racism.” He states if it had not been for the latter being so tough, he would have served until retirement.“ I love America and I love the military.” Desegregation of the Armed Forces was announced in 1948, 16 years prior to the Civil Rights Act of 1964— making the military one of the first major US institutions to do so, thanks in large part to the sacrifice and precedents set by African Americans during WWII.
Nearby I am caring for another WWII survivor, a soldier who fought in the Battle of the Bulge( the last major German offensive, notorious as carrying with it the highest American casualties of any operation during the war( 89,000 casualties, 19,000 deaths). After surviving the conflict with boots inadequate for the cold weather, he had such severe bilateral frostbite he begged his doctors to cut his legs off. Prior to our hospital evaluation, this 92-year-old was carrying haystacks around his self-operated farm, walking on his natural God-given
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