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So.... we are sitting in business class, enjoying our canapés over the Atlantic on a 10 hour international flight. Some overhead announcement is made but barely registers in my brain, given the hum of the engines as I focus my taste buds on the interesting and delicious salmon tartare. It was a busy day at the hospital and I am pleasantly anticipating a nice dinner before having the mattress pad applied to my flat bed for some well deserved rest. However, my spouse elbows me, perhaps a bit too forcefully, asking, “It’s happening again, did you hear that, they need you again!” I regain my focus, so much for vacation mode. “Is there a medical doctor on board?”
The flight attendant says thank you for offering to help, and politely asks for an ID to verify the MD credentials. He apologizes, “Company policy, thank you for understanding.”
There are a few moments of confusion as things get lost in translation. The state ID in my wallet only certifies me as a “PHYSICIAN”, however they are looking for a medical doctor. “Why doesn’t your ID say MD?” After a quick phone call to medical control on the ground, with an explanation to the flight attendant regarding the definition of a physician, we are on our way to the back of the plane.
As I pondered the situation, I figured it couldn’t be too much of an emergency as the crew spent several minutes verifying my credentials before taking me to my mile high patient.
My intuition was correct. It turns out I am faced with a febrile infant with a very concerned mom. The medical kit on board was much more extensive than I expected, with perhaps 30 different IV and oral meds. There were both an oral and tympanic thermometer, a stethoscope, and IV supplies, but no liquid meds for kids. My head to toe exam in front of 75 of my new friends revealed a well appearing febrile infant with normal findings other than yellow nasal discharge. He was feeding well and easily consolable.
Diagnosis: likely viral infection. We got some ibuprofen suspension from some other better prepared parents on board, and I carefully dosed the child while recalling to the best of my ability the skills of my favorite pediatric nurses. I managed to dose the ibuprofen with all of it ending up where it belonged and none of it on the baby’s or my clothing. And best of all, we continued our progress across the Atlantic without interruption. The flight attendant asked me to complete a medical evaluation report, which I happily did as I appreciated the forgotten simplicity of documenting with a pen. And finally, I politely declined the offer of frequent flier miles added to my account.
As this minor event wound down, I reflected on my surprise that I was the only physician volunteer on a flight with over 300 passengers. We were on Turkish airlines, and I also started to wonder about variability in volunteerism in various cultures. Does it seem unusual that I was the only doc to reply to a call for help among so many international flyers?
The flight attendant says thank you for offering to help, and politely asks for an ID to verify the MD credentials. He apologizes, “Company policy, thank you for understanding.”
There are a few moments of confusion as things get lost in translation. The state ID in my wallet only certifies me as a “PHYSICIAN”, however they are looking for a medical doctor. “Why doesn’t your ID say MD?” After a quick phone call to medical control on the ground, with an explanation to the flight attendant regarding the definition of a physician, we are on our way to the back of the plane.
As I pondered the situation, I figured it couldn’t be too much of an emergency as the crew spent several minutes verifying my credentials before taking me to my mile high patient.
My intuition was correct. It turns out I am faced with a febrile infant with a very concerned mom. The medical kit on board was much more extensive than I expected, with perhaps 30 different IV and oral meds. There were both an oral and tympanic thermometer, a stethoscope, and IV supplies, but no liquid meds for kids. My head to toe exam in front of 75 of my new friends revealed a well appearing febrile infant with normal findings other than yellow nasal discharge. He was feeding well and easily consolable.
Diagnosis: likely viral infection. We got some ibuprofen suspension from some other better prepared parents on board, and I carefully dosed the child while recalling to the best of my ability the skills of my favorite pediatric nurses. I managed to dose the ibuprofen with all of it ending up where it belonged and none of it on the baby’s or my clothing. And best of all, we continued our progress across the Atlantic without interruption. The flight attendant asked me to complete a medical evaluation report, which I happily did as I appreciated the forgotten simplicity of documenting with a pen. And finally, I politely declined the offer of frequent flier miles added to my account.
As this minor event wound down, I reflected on my surprise that I was the only physician volunteer on a flight with over 300 passengers. We were on Turkish airlines, and I also started to wonder about variability in volunteerism in various cultures. Does it seem unusual that I was the only doc to reply to a call for help among so many international flyers?
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