Touched From Above

I see the mortar round explode a mere five meters from him. He is laying on his left side and motionless. I grab my Aid bag and leave my shelter to check him. I run on pure adrenaline and will, for he is a dear friend. I must save him. My heart races as I approach. Mentally, I begin my assessment, and he appears to still represent a normal human being, no missing limbs. I kneel next to him keeping my head low and begin my survey. Airway, Breathing, Circulation. Check, there is a pulse. He is unconscious but alive. I look over him generally, to look for obvious gaping wounds or unmistakable blood loss. There are noticeable abrasions and contusions about the face and neck. I open his shirt to check for wounds and there is blood on his undershirt. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, not from the sight of the blood, but knowing what that means. My outlook is jaded. I cut away the undershirt and see the contents of his abdominal cavity. My heart sinks as I know this is it. This is too much for even a good field unit, and we're hundreds of miles from a proper facility. I put his knees up to take the pressure off. I cover his gut with a large dressing. Check his pulse again. No pulse. At this point, I don't see the need of prolonging this any further. I let him go. Luckily, he never regained consciousness. It was then, that I noticed the mortars had stopped. I guess they stopped while I was tending to him. Hmmph, I think. I shoulder my bag and stand. Others place him on a litter, I watch as he is lifted and I light a cigarette as the take his body away. I am spent. I walk to supply to let the Sergeant know that we were close friends and to take care of him. He nods and I go to my hooch and sit on my litter/cot. I stare into the thick jungle of Central America and reflect.
It is 1984 and I am 20 years old...



I remember wanting to be a Physician around age five. Doctors fascinated me. My mother used to take me to the Dallas Museum of Health and Sciences at Fair Park. She bought me a book on how the human body worked, for kids, of course. It had many illustrations on the different organ systems, circulation, digestion, you get the idea. I read and studied that book constantly. My mother had many health problems and so there were abundant medical books around the house. I began to read them.
My best friend, Chris lived next door and he wanted to be a physician also. We began our journey's together. Around age nine, a new family moved into the house across the street from me and they had a girl who was a little older than Chris and I. Being a prepubescent female, she started showing signs of acne. Chris and I noticed that she always seems to have sores on her face, especially around her mouth. We immediately began to look for diseases that involved this type of symptom. When were convinced we had the correct diagnosis, we argued on who should give her the bad news. Neither of wanted to tell her.
Finally, I told Chris to gather all of our friends, including her. I delivered the news to her and reluctantly told her we were convinced that she had Syphilis. Of course, she didn't.

For my thirteenth birthday, I received the book, Gray's Anatomy. I was so excited. I had been hounding my parents for the 1370 page tome for months. I could not be separated from it. All other activities ceased. No fishing, playing outside, I even neglected my model trains, which was my favorite activity. No, I was in possession of The Book. I didn't read it cover to cover. I started with my favorite interest at the time, the heart. I read about the different vessels that associated with it, man this was much more detailed than the layman books I had been provided. You see, Gray's Anatomy is the most exhaustive anatomy book ever written. It was first published in 1907. I especially liked the section called Surgical Examination. This section explained the relationship of a particular piece of anatomy to it's surrounding structure. Real "nuts and bolts" stuff.
One day, while thumbing through the book, I stumbled on a new section I'd had no real interest in, until recently... The Female Organs of Generation. I had discovered something that I was increasing becoming obsessed with. I read and read and read. I had questions. Remember, this was not a book on physiology. It told about parts, not how they worked. I had books on sex, but, being the mid seventies, they tended to be vague. I knew what went where, but I didn't know why or what happened once they got there. Soon, I knew all about fallopian tubes, Bartholin's Gland, uterine ganglia and vaginal rugae. More than anyone, especially a thirteen year old boy, should know. Yet, I didn't know how it all worked or what it's purpose was.

I went to college and joined the premed program. I loved both biology and chemistry. I had a problem with both areas in choosing one for a major. I'd tested out of Anatomy and Physiology. Biology was too easy. It's black and white, either it is or it isn't. But it dealt with life and all that that entails. Chemistry was too cold and dealt with inanimate things, chemicals. I know, I'll combine the love for both and major in biochemistry! Boy, did I underestimate that! Now, instead of simple hydrocarbons, I was breaking down cholesterol molecules and complex proteins. Even though it was very complex and difficult, I loved it. I was learning about DNA, genomes and life! Part way through full time college, I began to tire of the whole college life. I was wanting a change. Although I loved my studies, something was missing. I dropped out of college and joined the Army and signed on as a Special Forces Medic.

Medical training, for the Armed Forces is done in San Antonio, Texas. That meant I could come home to Dallas, every weekend. It was also my first exposure to coed training. The early medical courses were extremely simple and are meant for students with higher aptitudes but little or no knowledge of the human body.
One day, after explaining how blood flowed through the heart, one of the instructors nicknamed me, Doctor Faris.  Anytime I was called on to answer a question, I was referred to as such.
I remember one occasion, we were studying vital signs and how to palpate the carotid pulse.
The instructor asked, “Who knows what palpate means?”

I raised my hand and was called on. “Palpate means to feel.” I answered.

“Very good, Dr. Faris. I'll bet you've palpated many girls in your time, eh?” he responded.

Everyone laughed, including me. I was having fun. Medicine was everything I thought it would be and I was getting hands on experience.

The advanced course for Special Forces involved more intense training, including surgery, trauma management and even some dentistry. It was an exhaustive course cramming all of pretty much a PA goes through into six months. It may have changed now. And the attrition rate was very high. Four of us out of thirty-six graduated. I felt very proud to be one of those four.

When I was first stationed in Korea, I worked at the local health clinic, pulling sick call and helping where I could. The unit was out in the field for Team Spirit and so the crew was skeleton.
One day, I had a soldier come in with a foot injury. An artillery spade had been dropped on his foot. It was swollen and red. I ordered X-rays and took a look. I saw that he had had a previous fracture of the third metatarsal, but no new fractures. I noted this on the X-ray slip. My assessment was soft tissue injury. I gave him a prescription for Motrin (It wasn't OTC back then), and some chemical ice packs and explained about elevation and later heat. And began to send him on his way, when the X-ray tech came out of his room and told me, “Only a physician can sign off on an X-ray slip.”
“Okay”, I said, and we both went to see the attending physician. I presented the case to him, what I saw and what my plan of treatment was. He looked at the X-ray, and then the slip.

He then signed the slip, handed it to the X-ray tech, looked at me and said, “I agree with your assessment, Doctor”, I told him I was just a medic.

“I know. We don't get many like you. Most do the bare minimum.” he answered. He extended his hand.

“I'm Jeff” he said, and I shook his hand.

“Specialist Faris, Sir.” I replied.

“What's your first name?”, he asked rolling his eyes.

“Mike”, I answered.

“Well Mike, it's good to meet you. Call me Jeff. You don't have to bother with that officer crap around here.” he replied.

I thought to myself, I like this place.
 
There were several Docs in Korea that took me under their wing and taught me everything from diagnosing and treating asthmatics to tying one handed knots.

A few months later, I met an Anesthesiologist, by the name of George. He was a Major and worked at 121st Army Hospital in Seoul. He used to invite me down for the weekend when he was on-call and I could help him with with surgical cases they got over the weekend. I was delighted. He taught me about the different types of blocks, how to determine a patient's level of consciousness. He also introduced me to the other surgeons. When they were told about my background they started letting me assist them on cases. I was on cloud nine. After a couple of months, on one night in particular, a surgeon invited me to assist him on an appendectomy. There were always several people observing and learning like me in the OR.

This particular surgeon was a Colonel, a natural teacher and loved instructing interested persons on surgical techniques. I was his number one fan and student. This night, we were standing in position, awaiting the go ahead from George. The Colonel looked at me and asked how many 'appys' I had assisted him on.

“Around nine or ten.” I replied.

“Well, then”, he started, “What is the primary cut and entry for this procedure?”

“Lower right quadrant, approximately 2 inches in length and diagonal, parallel to the iliac crest.” I answered.

“Good”, he said,
“Then, if you don't mind, I'll assist YOU on this one.” he continued.

I was in shock. He stepped back and we exchanged places at the table.

"Are we ready, George?” he asked him.

“Anytime you're ready, Dr. Faris” George replied.

My eyes widened and I shot a look to George. I could tell he was smiling and proud behind his mask, like a proud father. Looked back to the field, asked for the knife and I began my cut. (I won't go into the details of the procedure)

Afterward, when we were cleaning up, the Colonel said I did a very good job.
"Well, Michael, how do you feel having led your first procedure?" He asked me.

 I am on top of the world!  This is the greatest experience of my life!, I thought.

“It was better than sex, Sir” I replied with a big smile.

“Call me, John.”, he replied with a chuckle.