Rocking Out

The world of medicine and surgery is a stressful one. In the blink of an eye a patient's status can change and what was going to be an easy shift has become the longest 12-hours of my life. But when my 12-hours are over, I get in my car and drive to the safety and comfort of my home. At least that is what my "other" life is like.

Here, I never know when I am going to go to work. I live at work, literally. I, along with my teammate and a physician, live in a tent with mere plywood walls giving us our own space. A large air conditioning unit sits just outside my head, about 2 feet from where I sleep. Helicopters and airplanes of different nations are taking off and landing at all hours of the day and night. In fact, when it gets quiet is when I can't sleep.

My best days are still the worst days of someone else's life. I am reminded almost daily that the gift of life is something that can change with one breath, one step, or one missed communication. The adrenaline rush is indescribable when working on a patient in the back of a C-130. There is nothing like this at home. It is addicting. It is why I wanted to come back, it is why I stayed.

While en route to a patient pick up, in an attempt to keep my adrenaline rush under control and to keep myself from getting too connected to what is about to happen, I have started to play my mandolin. Since I am not very good, it is a little embarrassing to play at the compound. On the plane, no one can hear me. I can "rock out" while looking like an idiot but since no one can hear me, I sing even louder!

One afternoon, one of the loadmasters on my crew snapped a picture. I had no idea until he showed me later. I think I am up to 8 chords, so I have a long way to go. Thankfully, I have plenty of flight hours ahead of me.