I had been locked in the quiet study room for going on eight hours. My eyes could no longer take the fluorescent lights. My ears could no longer take the silence or frustrated sighs. And my brain could no longer take all the pharmacology it was cramming. It was time. For. Facebook.
I defiantly turn the volume up on my Mac as loud as it will go (all you Mac users know that this is not very impressive.... but what can you do), hit 'play' on some Justin Bieber song (no judging), sign on to Facebook, and start creeping. My East Coast people are my main targets today, and it becomes a competition to see who has the most exciting Hurricane Sandy update. My family and friends are all back on the east side of this glorious nation, and my best friend lives in Manhattan. Another friend lives in Virginia. He was freaking out, as the ocean is literally in his backyard, and this was his first hurricane experience. I asked him how he was preparing, and his answer was "Batteries. And beer. Lots and lots of beer." Solid.
Anyhow, the most memorable status was from my friend who is a pediatric nurse.
"manually evacuating the PICU and NICU in NYC?! who ever thought they'd actually use the med sleds. wow, that's some dedication right there. it's no joke up there...prayers for all of them..."
Someone asked what med sleds were, and here was his response:
"Basically they're plastic sleds used to evacuate patients in emergencies. but the baby ones, which they'd use in the NICU in this case, have a foam fit-in that can hold 4 babies as you take them down the steps. but doing that for an entire NICU which probably has a lot of babies in it, and doing it in the picu which has kids of all sizes, plus kids that are intubated, need to be bagged by somebody, and God forbid a kid is on ECMO..."
This image really hit me. This is the first time that a big storm/natural disaster has occurred while I've been in med school, where I actually thought about what it would be like to be a healthcare provider in this situation.
Imagine having to transport four very sick, most likely premature babies in a sled down who knows how many flights of stairs, while the power is out. And then, where do they go from there? Imagine coordinating with all of the patients, parents, family and staff to ensure that the right baby goes to the right healthcare center, with the right parents, and gets the right treatment.
Imagine having to transport these kids down those stairs, in the sled, while someone else is bagging them.
How do you monitor vitals in transit? How many patients will code during transit? How many patients will die or suffer worse injury as a result of transit?
So many questions filled my head. It made me so thankful that there are other people out there that train for/know how to deal with these situations. But really, can you ever be truly prepared for these situations? In which case, I am so thankful that there are resourceful people willing to take risks, work long hours and put aside their own family concerns to save the lives of others.
Rescue response to natural disasters, such as this scenario, highlight one of the many reasons why medicine is so awesome. Awesome, as in the true definition of the word: extremely impressive, worth great admiration.
Medicine is awesome. It is challenging. It is scary. And it is totally worth it.
Imagining being a physician in a scenario such as this one absolutely excites me and absolutely terrifies me. Game time decisions. Intuition. Creativity. Risks. Knowing that someday I will be at a point in my career where I will be able to perform at that level is worth very single minute studying, every single drug I have to memorize (even if they don't even use it anymore), every single minute of lost sleep, and every single meal I forget to eat (well.... almost... I really like food).
Basically, this post is a shout out to all physicians, healthcare providers, rescue workers, and volunteers who have been involved with reinstating organization, normality, and most importantly, hope during a natural disaster. And, to all of the family and friends who took care of these brave people's families/children, so that they could do their job.
I defiantly turn the volume up on my Mac as loud as it will go (all you Mac users know that this is not very impressive.... but what can you do), hit 'play' on some Justin Bieber song (no judging), sign on to Facebook, and start creeping. My East Coast people are my main targets today, and it becomes a competition to see who has the most exciting Hurricane Sandy update. My family and friends are all back on the east side of this glorious nation, and my best friend lives in Manhattan. Another friend lives in Virginia. He was freaking out, as the ocean is literally in his backyard, and this was his first hurricane experience. I asked him how he was preparing, and his answer was "Batteries. And beer. Lots and lots of beer." Solid.
Anyhow, the most memorable status was from my friend who is a pediatric nurse.
"manually evacuating the PICU and NICU in NYC?! who ever thought they'd actually use the med sleds. wow, that's some dedication right there. it's no joke up there...prayers for all of them..."
Someone asked what med sleds were, and here was his response:
"Basically they're plastic sleds used to evacuate patients in emergencies. but the baby ones, which they'd use in the NICU in this case, have a foam fit-in that can hold 4 babies as you take them down the steps. but doing that for an entire NICU which probably has a lot of babies in it, and doing it in the picu which has kids of all sizes, plus kids that are intubated, need to be bagged by somebody, and God forbid a kid is on ECMO..."
 |
| http://evacuationchairs.com.au/webfiles/fck/image/Medsled%20Infant%20Insert.jpg |
This image really hit me. This is the first time that a big storm/natural disaster has occurred while I've been in med school, where I actually thought about what it would be like to be a healthcare provider in this situation.
Imagine having to transport four very sick, most likely premature babies in a sled down who knows how many flights of stairs, while the power is out. And then, where do they go from there? Imagine coordinating with all of the patients, parents, family and staff to ensure that the right baby goes to the right healthcare center, with the right parents, and gets the right treatment.
Imagine having to transport these kids down those stairs, in the sled, while someone else is bagging them.
How do you monitor vitals in transit? How many patients will code during transit? How many patients will die or suffer worse injury as a result of transit?
So many questions filled my head. It made me so thankful that there are other people out there that train for/know how to deal with these situations. But really, can you ever be truly prepared for these situations? In which case, I am so thankful that there are resourceful people willing to take risks, work long hours and put aside their own family concerns to save the lives of others.
Rescue response to natural disasters, such as this scenario, highlight one of the many reasons why medicine is so awesome. Awesome, as in the true definition of the word: extremely impressive, worth great admiration.
Medicine is awesome. It is challenging. It is scary. And it is totally worth it.
Imagining being a physician in a scenario such as this one absolutely excites me and absolutely terrifies me. Game time decisions. Intuition. Creativity. Risks. Knowing that someday I will be at a point in my career where I will be able to perform at that level is worth very single minute studying, every single drug I have to memorize (even if they don't even use it anymore), every single minute of lost sleep, and every single meal I forget to eat (well.... almost... I really like food).
Basically, this post is a shout out to all physicians, healthcare providers, rescue workers, and volunteers who have been involved with reinstating organization, normality, and most importantly, hope during a natural disaster. And, to all of the family and friends who took care of these brave people's families/children, so that they could do their job.
 |
| https://s3.amazonaws.com/healthtap-public/ht-staging/user_answer/reference_image/8988/large/Natural_disasters.jpeg?1349479091 |
