I don’t know if it’s a subconscious anxiety that all spouses of physicians have … or maybe just the wives of … maybe just me, but ever since Corey stood up and spoke the Hippocratic Oath, right hand in the air, I’ve often wondered how long it would take for a physician to be needed in a setting not at the hospital.
Two years.
I heard it in my dreams. The man was requesting a physician … on board … please come … physician … physician …
PHYSICIAN?!?!
I awoke. “If there is a physician on board will you please come to the back of the plane.”
“Babe, babe!” His head phones now off. “They’re calling for a physician.” He looked up and around. He later said he wanted to see if there were any other physicians that had already proceeded to the back. There was no sign of one.
My heart raced loud enough for my neighbor to hear. Why were they asking for a physician? Is it a heart attack? A panic attack? A woman in labor? He was on his way. I realized in that moment the incredible responsibility he carries with him simply because of his chosen profession.
I couldn’t help but process the fact that to me he’s my fun-loving, often goofy husband who currently had bed head, a t-shirt and Spain-stained jeans on. Him being a physician in front of my own eyes is a world that rarely collides with mine.
As he proceeded past me, I looked ahead to notice that Beth and John were not in their seats. Almost simultaneously I hear Corey’s voice faintly say, “Is that John?”
I look back and then forward again. John is not in his seat. Confirmed. Beth … where’s Beth? Then I saw her. She was heading my way from the front of the plane, also looking a bit confused and wondering where her husband was.
“Beth, I think Corey just said something about John.”
She quickly walked past me. I gave myself permission to join her.
And, sure enough it was our John. White faced, head dripping with sweat and mouth to mouth with an oxygen mask (yes, those yellow things don’t just exist in the videos). To say he looked pitiful is like calling The Vatican decent.
Corey checked vitals while Beth requested a diabetes kit. A stewardess got him a cup of orange juice, another a giant bottle of water. I just stood thinking about how I could never work in the medical field. It wasn’t about what he needed. I just wanted to hug the poor guy. And, offer him a dry shirt.
None of us know exactly what happened to him, but we all think it’s pretty safe to say that he had a bad mix of lack of sleep, a plane ride and not enough water swimming in his cells. An unfortunate recipe to send a kid to the bathroom only to pass out in the back of the plane. A flight attendant said they would try and find a physician. John tried to explain through the oxygen mask, “my bud..dy … myyyy bud .. dy …. red shirt …”
Out of 500 people on that plane there was one physician who was a psychiatrist. Other than him there was only one other physician and one nurse. They just happened to be the sick one’s best friend and wife. He later told the flight attendants that he travels with his own medical entourage. All John needed was for me to pull out my camera and for us to pretend like he was a celebrity.
Maybe then we would have at least gotten the remainder of our 6 hours in first class.
Dear John, our next European trip is on you, right? I mean Corey did practically save your life.
I’m dreaming of Iceland …
