Three straws held in a hand; each a different length; a
decision to be made. It was September 1990, the hospital commander held them so
they appeared equal in length. The instructions were simple, the long one wins.
The consequences, though, were not – separation from family; physical and
emotional hardship; possible injury and even death. There were three of us,
Army physicians assigned to the hospital at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky. We stared
at the straws the weight of the decision palpable. One of us would stay back,
the one who drew the long straw. I drew it. I would stay while my two
colleagues deployed with the 101st Air Assault Division to Saudi
Arabia in support of Operation Desert Shield soon to become Desert Storm, the
First Gulf War.
I sat motionless, the long straw in my hand. At first, there
was relief. I would not be leaving my wife and three small boys to potentially go
into harm’s way. I looked at my partners. One was only 2 months out of training
and newly married. His eyes were downcast, shoulders slumped forward. The
other, like me, experienced, with a young family as well. Suddenly my thoughts
went back to my father. It was the summer of 1965, Ft. Benning, Georgia. He was
packing his gear to deploy to Vietnam with the 1st Cavalry Division. It was the
first major buildup of the war. He was happy, my mother was not. He was humming
and whistling to himself which only made my mother madder. I heard her say,
“Why are you so happy? Don’t you know you could be killed and leave me with all
these children?” I remember my father’s answer vividly. “Don’t you understand
that this is what I have trained and prepared for my entire life?” Suddenly, I
knew I had to go. I could not remain back. I, too, had prepared and trained for
war starting at West Point. A decision was made. My new colleague stayed back.
Decades later, a decision is to be made again. The
coronavirus has appeared, a pandemic declared, the unknown, still unknown. For
me, this is a war, very different from my first, but a war nevertheless. This
time the enemy is invisible. There is hype from the many media avenues. What is
true, not true? What to do, not to do? A novel infection, unanswered questions,
people dying - a recipe for fear. I remember the straws and my father’s words.
I could not sit back while others – physicians, nurses, hospital staff remained
in harms’ way. They are my friends, colleagues, co-workers; my “band of brothers
and sisters”. I have served with them through the years doing what we do best,
caring for others no matter the circumstances. I make a decision. I will go back to patient
care after 5 years in hospital administration. I cannot do other-wise, my father’s
words echo in my mind.
To everyone on the front lines of medicine, you are trained;
you are prepared; you are ready to do what you do best; and you will do what
must be done. Thank you for
making a decision to do so.
Andy Lamb, MD
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