Medics may succumb to many perils: alcohol, weed or perhaps prescription drugs. We were a privileged lot, having a red cross embossed on our military identification cards. My own weakness was engaging in a bit of malpractice. We were not particularly trained in a formal ‘ethics’ class, so we were susceptible to some peril. Two examples encompassed my own experience.
PFC Jackson, a well liked member of headquarters company, approached me late one Thursday night. His popularity and challenge poised the perfect storm for an ethical dilemma. He came to me and said he wanted light duty for the weekend. Jackson asked, “Doc, could you wrap me up, so that no one would question why I needed light duty?”
Wrapped ace bandages are indeed works of art. Medics spend hours perfecting that ‘look.’ Our craft is studied and critiqued by fellow practitioners. Few can mimic the subtleties of our trade, from without the medical field. I only knew of one infantryman who could come close, and he learned by wrapping sports injuries in the gym.
I felt like I could wrap him so well, and provide the finishing touch of a great arm sling, so that no one would dare ask for his light duty papers. That’s exactly what I did! My one condition was voiced, “Jackson, report to me Sunday night!”
To this day, I am not sure what Jackson was pulling with the bandages and sling. I can tell you that he reported with all smiles on Sunday night. I immediately disposed of the evidence. Even I would not dare go beyond the one Friday duty day. We laughed and carried on, mission accomplished.
The second instance of malpractice was of the very highest profile and involved unusual complicity. This was probably my all time biggest caper. I was assigned weekend field duty with a company, being the lone ranger medic. The assignment gave me complete medical responsibility.
We drove deep into the field on deuce and a half trucks. All was well, as we fell out to engage the mission. A platoon sergeant approached me and said, “We have a problem, doc.” Now this Private First Class medic turned up his ears. Sarge says, “Weather report looks mighty bad.” I said, “Sergeant, the weather looks kind of normal to me.” Sarge says, “You had best discuss this with the First Sergeant!” I am thinking to myself, this conversation is going in a strange direction. What am I getting myself into?
Top Sergeant looked me square in the eyes, as we gathered in a huddle with the Platoon Sergeant. Top says, “I got something very important to do tonight. We’ve got to get to hell out of here. I need you to go to the Captain and scratch this mission for purposes of threat of frost bite.” Top completed his instructions with the customary, “Do I make myself perfectly clear soldier?” And I automatically replied, “Yes, First Sergeant!”
Anyone in military leadership knows that heat or cold injuries, to subordinates, are career busters. Prevention of unnecessary injury is paramount. In our day, weather was predicted in no uncertain terms; weathermen were right or wrong. Thinking for a minute, while struggling in this ethical dilemma, it was my sworn duty to convince the Captain that we were about to expose our unit to unnecessary and avoidable high risk.
Risk unspoken is often assumed safe. I dutifully approached the Captain in my official capacity. I said, “Sir, we have extremely high risk frostbite issues, with our weather report. It is my duty to inform you as your medical support.” The two Noncommissioned Officers appeared as I made my last statement. Put on notice, as all eyes looked upon him, Captain ordered, “Have the men return to the trucks. We are cancelling this mission due to an official threat of extreme weather conditions.”
We were about half way to the base when the sun broke loose on my face. It got so hot, I had to take off my field jacket. I hadn’t exactly told a lie, but I knew that I had been used as a scapegoat, by higher powers. By the time we returned to barracks, it was an unseasonably gorgeous winter day.
My final duty, as scapegoat, was to disappear, as fast as possible. Now that the deed was done, no one wanted to see my face. I nodded to the Platoon Sergeant and went on my merry way. I realized then, that persuasion was an essential medical skill. I also had an unexpected grand weekend.
My highest regards to the Noncommissioned Officers, who actually run this man’s army.
althompson101 