A hero’s heart

I’m the type of person who finds it hard to sit back and watch, especially when it comes to showing someone how to do something. My friend Nestor can attest to that - when I was training him on design and layout at his first public affairs position, I was not the most patient of instructors, often pushing him aside so I can finish pages faster. I'm sort of like the parent who completely takes over their kid’s science project, because, obviously, I can make the volcano bigger, better, cooler.

So I understood completely when Dr. Lorn Heyne, an Air Force colonel in charge of a medical advisory team at the Afghan National Army hospital at Camp Hero, Kandahar, told me that his team was trying very hard to step back and let the Afghan medical staff take charge.

“We, as American’s, have an inherent desire to do, we want to get in there but we made a conscious decision and effort to have them do it so they could arrive at the right decision and course of action themselves,” he told me.

For the last eight months or so, Colonel Heyne and his embedded medical team has been mentoring the ANA doctors and nurses at the military hospital, with great success. The hospital mortality rate has declined 20 percent and they’ve doubled the number of doctors on staff; no easy feat in itself when staffing is one of the biggest challenges the hospital faces. Kandahar is a dangerous area, and professionally-educated people aren’t exactly jumping at the bit to work there.

But despite the obstacles – lack of qualified personnel, supply issues, inexperienced staff and security concerns, the hospital and its staff are doing amazing things. They’ve created a medical library, host a weekly women and children’s clinic, and have an emergency system in place including inbound patient communication systems and ambulances, and an intensive care ward, which they beefed up in preparation for Operation Moshatrak – their ICU is a source of pride for the hospital staff. On a visit to the hospital, the ANA deputy surgeon general said it was the best ICU capability he’s seen out of the other military hospitals.

There are three other regional ANA hospitals, and the 400-bed national military hospital here in Kabul, all doing their best to create a nationwide military medical system. It’s hard to see the big picture in Afghanistan sometimes, about what we’re doing here and even harder to see the results of all the time, money and energy we’re putting into this country. But when I toured the Kandahar hospital and saw the dedication of the staff, the pride in what they’ve been able to accomplish and where they hope to go, it definitely fills in the gaps. Two years ago, a suicide bomber attacked Kandahar City, killing 100 people and injuring 67; 47 of those wounded were taken to the Kandahar regional military hospital. For two days, they worked non-stop and in the end, they managed to save all but one patient.

The list of accomplishments is remarkable, but what was most impressive to me was the professionalism of the Afghan medical staff. These are people who were either left Afghanistan during the fighting to continue their education or practicing medicine, and have come back to care for their people. Col. Aelaj Basir, the hospital commander, is determined to follow his physician’s code of ethics and insists on treating everyone – civilians, Afghan National Army and Afghan National Police, who are infamous for their rivalry, and even Taliban patients – with equal care. He believes that all patients are human beings and deserve the same care and treatment.

And it is that belief more than anything that will help the Afghan people to have faith and trust in their government and leaders – I’m sure the Taliban isn’t offering their IED or bomb victims medical care.

A nurse I am not ...

I'm bleeding. A lot. I'm bleeding and I'm in a war zone. As the blood pours from my arm, I feel a little faint. Not good. Suddenly, hands are everywhere and as the IV bag was attached, the blood flow stopped. Petty Officer 2nd Class Horvath gently held onto the catheter as he placed tape over the IV tubing to hold it in place and gave the instructor an expectant look. He'd successfully placed an IV in my arm.

Ok ... so I wasn't wounded, I was attending a Combat Life Saver Course (CLS) at Camp Eggers where several of my co-workers and I were learning how to place IV's, apply tourniquets and to observe and treat for shock. CLS, a 40-hour course designed to supplement combat medics in the field, was taught at our Combat Skills Training (CST) course at Fort Dix, N.J., however I didn't have the chance there. When I got to Camp Eggers, manning levels required that most of the public affairs staff be CLS qualified. I was certified in 2007 during my last stint at Fort Dix so most of the training was familiar. The only hard part was knowing that I was hurting my "patient."

In reality, if someone had to place an IV or treat a buddy in the field, the injured person probably wouldn't even feel the slight pinprick and burning sensation as the needle pierces the vein, but in the classroom setting, you're focused on your partner's every grimace. When my turn to administer the IV came around, I felt fairly comfortable, despite my victim's, I mean patient's, hard to find veins, but after the first unsuccessful attempt and what I thought were his very unmanly grimaces, I was a little nervous about the second attempt.

Hands shaking, I tried twice more, both times successfully entering the vein but not making a solid connection with the IV tube. Although it wasn't required to actually give the IV, I wanted to do the whole process from start to finish ... unfortunately, my partner had had enough. I had to find another willing patient. Luckily, our fearless co-worker, Petty Officer 3rd Class Putnam stepped in, and on the first try, I placed the catheter, attached the IV and hydrated my patient. Hopefully, as they say, practice makes perfect, and if the time ever comes when I'll need to help someone in the field, I'll be ready.