MILITARY EXPERIENCE AIDS IN BATTLE AGAINST COVID-19
Instead of the Taliban, this time the deadly enemy is a virus, William Wilson writes.
In 2002, I was part of the first contingent of Canadians to fly halfway around the world to Afghanistan to eradicate the Taliban and al Qaeda for their part in
9-11 attacks in New York and the Pentagon.
The personal protection equipment (PPE) I used to keep me safe in the event of a firefight with the enemy included: a helmet, flack vest with ballistic plates, my two personal weapons and lots of ammunition.
As a senior medic for an infantry company, I shared an understanding with my army comrades that the enemy would not discriminate when it came to who they would kill.
Today, I have traded in my military PPE for a mask, gown and gloves with a face shield to prevent this new enemy from making me one of its victims.
For the past four-and-a-half years, I have been part of an amazing team on 4 North at Metropolitan Campus of Windsor Regional Hospital. As a former Canadian Armed Forces medic and physician assistant, I work alongside physicians, nurses (extended class, registered and practical), clerks and a myriad other hospital staff trying to bring the best care possible to our patients.
I feel privileged to have returned from service to my country to serve the community where I was raised. Our floor is one of four so-called “hot zones” at both Met and Ouellette campuses which refer to areas assessing and treating patients with positive or suspected COVID-19.
I left the regular forces of the Canadian Armed Forces just over 10 years ago. My 21 years of service to my country included postings from Western Canada to the Maritimes and a short stint in the United States as a liaison officer assisting with casualty evacuations out of Afghanistan and Iraq.
My deployments with the land forces included Somalia, Rwanda,
Bosnia and Afghanistan. In 2005, I was posted to the HMCS Toronto, a navy frigate in Halifax, N.S.; in 2007, it was deployed overseas, as part of a larger fleet with ships from all over the world.
Our mission was to form a NATO presence in parts of the world where hostility is an everyday event. One such place was off the coast of Somalia where piracy has been problematic for commercial ships for several years.
In contrast, today the only perceived threat I face with my Windsor job is the 45-minute commute from Leamington to Windsor on the days when I work my 12-hour shifts.
Nevertheless, I can honestly say that having a military/operational mindset helps me treat such things as a virus the same way I did a landmine or an improvised explosive device (IED).
Like those devices, a virus does not discriminate. Age, race, gender don’t matter. Instead of stepping on something to set its destructive mechanisms into action, victims simply have to touch something that an infected person before them has touched, coughed on or sneezed on.
Touching one’s face (nose, mouth) after the fact brings this bug to a new host to create havoc here and, as we have seen, throughout the world. Unlike an IED’S instantaneous effects of blast injuries, COVID-19 cripples its victims with an inability to breathe, with fever and severe body pain.
I am reminded of a saying that came down from higher places, during one of my military deployments: “It’s easier to order a grown man to wear his PPE than to tell a five-year-old that his dad is dead.”
That phrase was sobering to me as I had two sons at home aged seven and eight to return to after my tour in Southwest Asia. When I heard that some medical personnel in other jurisdictions earlier in the fight against this virus had succumbed due to lack of equipment, it brought that phrase back to me, and is just as sobering now as it was 18 years ago.
In the late summer of 1992, I was told in the coming months I would deploy to Somalia to augment the Canadian Airborne Regiment. We were dealing with the ever-changing rules of engagement when it came to the perceived threat in our area of operations.
Today, we are dealing with a virus that has captivated the attention of scientists the world over as it continues to humble medical practitioners on the front lines with its endless unknowns.
How do we make it through this? Routine and more routine. Get in the habit of starting our day the same every day and set goals. We need to remember to try to stay healthy and eat right. Exercise is important, too, both for our mental and physical well-being.
In 2007, I deployed on a navy frigate on a six-month deployment around Africa. As the senior medical authority, this also meant that I was considered essential personnel and could not leave the ship to meet my family — even for a brief period — as we were allowed on previous deployments.
This meant many days stuck in the middle of the sea with 230 other sailors with nowhere else to go and no ability to get there, obviously. It was like being quarantined.
In that six months, however, I learned a great deal about the spread of disease. The poor ventilation system on board a ship meant that if one person caught a cold, it could spread to many more sailors, so it kept me really busy as a physician assistant even at times when I, too, fell victim to the virus.
These days, I have set a routine that works for me. On the days I work, I am up at 4:30 a.m. for shower and breakfast and out the door by 5 a.m. I usually pull into the parking lot around 20 minutes to 6 a.m. I fill in the appropriate form at the main entrance indicating I have no symptoms.
I go upstairs to my office for a half an hour and read about COVID-19 to get my head into the game. Then I go start my shift.
We have morning rounds with the staff on the floor, while a manager conducts team-building exercises to maintain the cohesion of the unit. I think this is brilliant. At the end of our rounds we have a chant we all do together: “Go 4 North!”
We are a team as good as any — military or civilian — I have ever served with, and we will see this through together.
It’s easier to order a grown man to wear his PPE than to tell a five-year-old his dad is dead.