Hemorrhage: A Short Story

The sharp bang of an artillery simulator, followed by one of my classmates falling to the ground signalled the start of my test. After my other classmates had established security for me to work, I approached my fallen comrade. “He’s dying, soldier medic!” My instructor shouted, spraying a foul smelling red liquid into my face from a dirty old windex bottle to simulate a spouting arterial bleed. Despite the fact that most of what was being sprayed was getting into my eyes, by that point, I didn’t need to see to know what I had to do. A quick tourniquet application above the site of my patient’s amputated leg and a solid forty yards of dragging my two hundred pound casualty to get behind enough cover to shield the both of us from the simulated
bullets whizzing past us from a nearby hill allowed me more than enough time to plan out what would happen next. Hemorrhage.
Got it, I’m not being sprayed anymore, good for now. Airway and breathing. He’s screaming pretty loud, good for now. Circulation. The amount of fake blood on my face and hands gave me the impression he may be running a little low. “Administering 500 mL Hextend.” I mumbled, throwing open my aid bag and retrieving an IV kit. “Soldier medic, you think he lost enough blood to need that?!” My instructor questioned in a mocking tone. “Roger.” I replied, wiping the copious amounts of blood substitute from my eyes and readjusting my helmet in order to better see the vein. One quick jab and flash of blood later, I had an IV started and I could continue with my assessment. That is, until my instructor stopped me. “He’s gone, soldier medic. Think, when did he stop yelling at you? Blast injuries suck, soldier medic. Sometimes you can’t do anything about ‘em. Now reset, hurry up.” While losing patients was not all that uncommon in medic school, it was often due to some glaring mistake. It was incredibly sobering to learn for the first time that sometimes, even if everything is done perfectly by the book, failure is still
possible.
Obviously the feeling was blunted by the fact that the patient I lost quickly got up and removed his IV line by himself before walking over and commending me on my dragging skill.
Despite this, I can remember the panic that came with thoughts of having to do exactly what I had just done in a combat zone. It wasn’t until I arrived at my current National Guard unit as a fresh out of training Private First Class that I realized that medicine was not about taking everything onto yourself, but rather, working as a part of a team to ensure success.
After spending a few years working with the diverse group of highly qualified medics, lab technicians, mental health specialists, nurses, and physician assistants in training events ranging from simple snatch and grab emergency medicine to running a full-fledged field hospital, I gained confidence in what I can do, and further, what a well functioning team of medical professionals can do even with situations like my blast injury
patient.
Everyone I have worked with over the last five years of military service has been a mentor to me in one way or another, building me up with their own experiences, and sharing with me ways to better myself as a medical professional both in and outside the Army. For this reason, it brought me great pride to commission this May as a medical service officer through the ROTC program at NC State and return to my unit as a leader that can pass on my experiences to those new soldiers who may hold the same trepidation I did upon the completion of my medic training.
Of course the practice of medicine in any form does not remain stagnant for very long. Things are constantly changing. Treatments are improving, and some of the old standbys that I learned to rely on during my time spent training are no longer common practice. In fact, some of the new soldiers end up teaching me more than I feel I am able to teach them, at least in terms of practical skills. If anything, the humbling feeling of being schooled by someone fresh out of training has taught me that continuing my education is essential to maintain my effectiveness as a leader.
My undergraduate years were made far more turbulent due to the strain of maintaining a leader’s presence in ROTC, and the long weekends spent waking up far too early and training until it was far too late. Despite the hardship, I feel I’ve come out of it a much stronger person mentally, physically, emotionally, and socially. Though it didn’t feel like it at first, I’ve learned that I require that level of rigor to grow and thrive. Medicine is a field that offers this challenge to anyone willing to put in the time and effort to succeed, and I feel that pursuing a deeper understanding of its practice is the next step for me to develop as a leader, and a servant of the people.