One afternoon in our humid backyard workshop, my dad's hand slipped against a spinning table saw blade as he was passing carpentry knowledge on to me. Blood flowed rapidly into his shirt, and I stood still and could only call out for aid and wait. I have never fully come to terms with that feeling of being powerless. It made me realize that medical knowledge is useful if it can be translated into action before medical care arrives. For this reason, I need to become a physician who can act to bridge that gap.
The ambulance arrived at the house after 19 minutes. I recall counting them and imagining the pallor of my father's face as he held a rag to his palm. My mother's palms were shaking as she looked for a paramedic phone number that she had memorized. Nineteen minutes seemed like a long time for a young student who knew nothing about bleeding, pressure points, or shock. By the time the paramedics arrived, one of them knelt by my father's side, spoke to him calmly, and began working with a steady calm, even given the circumstances. I remember that I wanted one day to be able to bring that stability to another family since I didn't want another youngster to feel as helpless as I did in that moment.
During those intervening weeks, I went to a community first aid course and decided I would never again be standing by and doing nothing when someone I loved was injured. I learnt to manage the bleeding, identify signs and symptoms of shock, and prevent patients' distress until medical help was provided. The concept I found particularly interesting was that emergency care depends on having a clear head, using relatively simple, well-practiced skills, and using very simple equipment. The correct use of a tourniquet in the first few minutes can be more important than the operating room an hour later. It was no longer a vague thought of helping people; instead, it was a goal of becoming the person who knows what to do when something went wrong, whether on a construction site, a sports field, or a rural community a basic distance from a hospital. I started bringing a tiny first-aid kit in my pack and ended up using it more than I ever expected to, to treat sprains and strains, friends with asthma attacks, neighbours who fell off a ladder, and once for someone at a bus stop.
I have been trying to make progress towards it. I worked in my local fire department's community outreach program, teaching basic first aid to teenagers working on summer construction projects, many of whom were having their first experience with a family member or coworker getting injured and needing first aid. As they rehearsed applying pressure to a wound, I could see the same fear I once had slowly giving way to confidence. One summer, I observed a family doctor as she attended a male patient who presented with a cut hand suffered at his place of work; a very similar story to my father's. In just a few minutes, she had him stabilized, speaking quietly to him as she examined his blood flow and heart rate. I could see in her all the composure in the paramedic years that I have admired, and I knew, observing her, that this composure could be learned.
All of these experiences have taught me that medicine is not a dramatic rescue, but a multitude of little actions, systems in place, and a lot of mistakes to avoid, done well and with practice, under pressure. Another lesson I have learned is that prevention is an integral part of response, and the doctor who repairs a laceration well may be the same one who is dealing with a patient's chronic condition, follow-up, and recovery. This is the continuity I hope to offer, especially in my community, the working-class, trade-based community that I grew up in, where injury occurs in a work site or farm, miles from the nearest hospitals, and where a few minutes of proper action could prevent a lifetime of disability or worse. I have seen my community take these wounds in silence, unasking for any treatment, and will not complain when no one in the vicinity knew how to treat the wound. As a result, I want to be that first, informed, person at the scene, and ultimately the physician carrying out the story long after the bleeding ceases, leading the way in recovery, rehabilitation, and a return to normal life.
My father's accident not only left me interested in health care but gave me a clear picture of who I want to become. I want to be with the injured, as an equal, with steady hands and with a plan in mind, filling in the time between injury and professional help. Medical school is the next step toward making whatever that nineteen-minute wait is into something I don't have to suffer through helplessly ever again, and something that allows others to get the care they need at the time they need it.
