As I began to write this, Bill de Blasio, the mayor of New York City, asked for a nationwide draft of doctors and other health care workers.
Ah, the draft. I was number 56 in 1969; one brother was number 139; the other was a staff sergeant in the Marines at Da Nang. I ended up going to medical school, joining the reserves there, then spending two years’ active duty aboard the ‘Lou, the USS St. Louis (LKA-116), with two deployments to the western Pacific and having seen just about every country that bordered the Pacific north of the equator. Just about.
The draft ended in 1973, so if I had not joined, I never would have had the experience of being a medical officer in an organization where medicine was not the top priority. It had to be that way in the military, but ultimately that was the reason I left. But I never regretted my service. Not once.
In the interim, I have often wanted a draft, and we likely would have been a lot more cautious about entering conflicts if we had one. A lot of young men—now women—need a time in their lives when they have to follow orders. A big reason we got out of Vietnam was that everyday America was taking part in the war. People in the military weren’t heroes then, other than the real ones who got “The Medal” or one of the Stars. When I returned home, nobody spat on me, but nobody treated me any differently, either. I was just a young man in the military. Just about everybody had to do it, unless they had bone spurs or some other often minor condition.
It was a couple of decades later before Veterans Day actually had meaning for me. I realized I was a veteran, not something that had often occurred to me for at least 15 years after my service. Really.
Now we are in a pandemic, with doubling times of deaths recently in the 3 day range, starting to lengthen now to 4-5 days, having doubled 14 times total as I write this, with only four more doublings before we hit 100,000. You can see why 200,000 (one more doubling after that) is on the table. And NYC needs help, badly.
From what I see and hear, there are times I am tempted to pull out my old bag and go to volunteer, since I doubt there will be a doctor draft any time soon. Even as out of date as I am, I could certainly screen, talk to families, answer calls (with my upstate New York accent), help with intubations, and probably a few other things.
But that’s more romantic—and a lot crazier—than reality. I would likely get in the way, probably get sick, not unlikely become a ventilator candidate, which I would refuse, and die alone, my last days becoming part of the problem I wanted to help, 3000 miles from home. I’d rather do it here, but as of this writing, we have had our 10th doubling for cases (1024) and our doubling time is about six days. That doesn’t mean we can’t have a huge outbreak by June, but the doubling time is gradually lengthening. Our growth factor (new/prior day) is often under 1, which is good.
I’ve never been a hero, and I am not about to be a martyr, either. We need to have a solid volunteer corps where people can immediately go to where they are needed, starting close to home. I might be good talking to families who want information. When I practiced, I did not shy away from talking to families of dying patients. I didn’t like it a good share of the time, I certainly didn’t get paid extra for it, but that was my job, and I made sure I did it. I’ve been on both sides of the white coat, and I know how important it is to actually speak to a doctor about an ill family member. But I doubt anybody will be interested. I am good at knowing when care is futile and when there is no ethical reason to continue, but many others know that just as well and are current.
That leaves me one other spot on the left coast: the USNS Mercy. After all, I once served on a ship. I know how to enter and leave one (if not in uniform one faces aft, where the flag is, then one faces the officer of the deck and requests permission to come aboard.) I know the numbering system on board, so if something is deck 2, frame 46, I know it is two decks below the main deck, port side and up forward to frame 46. This is not rocket science.
I would have a place to stay, no worries about commuting, would be available for all sorts of duties. After all, that stuff is not easily forgotten. My hair is short, I line up my buttons with my zipper, I can say “Sir” easily, and most of all, I have this skill.
The Navy wants no COVID aboard the ship. That is impossible. It will happen. And I recognize that. But with hundreds of thousands of retired military in southern California, my ending up on the Mercy is not going to happen.
So, the days run together. I have lengthened my morning walk from 3 miles to 5, much along the Willamette River, which is flowing well if a bit low from another dry winter. I wear a mask now—just a balaclava, so long as the mornings are cold—and count the number of wildflower species I have seen. I hit 23 today, which is good for this time of year in a limited habitat. The towhees are zzzzttting, the scrub jays calling, with an occasional Steller being seen, cormorants are on one of the river islands, herons are close by, and there aren’t a lot of people out there.
It’s a good time for those few of us who dislike crowds. I feel sorry for those who can’t be in large groups, especially because life may change after Covid. I don’t know whether I will ever tutor again in person; I won’t be carpooling to the high country for hikes or for work parties on the trails. But I spent my first year here not carpooling, and lately, I have been hiking alone, rather than with the Club. Those are my best hikes, my best snowshoes.
Up in the high country, it will be quieter this year. The new requirements for trail reservations at some of the busier trailheads are not going to be rolled out as soon as planned. The trails may get a rest from the crowds this summer. I worry about fire season, but if few are in the high country, that removes a large risk.
Coming home after my walk, I spend time checking the numbers of the epidemic, seeing if I detect any changes. I also do some algebra problems on line and go to zooniverse and pick a couple of projects to help out, My lap is open for a couple of the lap cats.
I would love to help, and maybe I will get a chance to, but unless things hit the fan big time here, I am best suited to take care of myself and be one less problem, one less case.
Milton’s Sonnet 19:
“…“God doth not need
” Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
“Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
” Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
“And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
“They also serve who only stand and wait.”
Trilliums 
Larkspur (cow poison) 
Willamette River 
Great Blue Heron
Boreal B[l]og 
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