Into the Wild: PA Edition

Not surprisingly for an island, the surrounding seas brought many of my patients. Workers on commercial fishing vessels frequently sustained injuries that the conditions at sea would exacerbate. Hand injuries were common, as were slip-and-fall injuries such as dislocations and broken bones. It could take hours to get them into port. The most memorable was a fisherman who had lost the end of his thumb when it was crushed between the gunwale and a swinging, loaded crab pot being hoisted aboard. The electricity (surprise) was out, so I was forced to treat him by flashlight. He was a young man (early 30s) but especially nice. What I remember most is that he declined a digital block. I debrided the devitalized tissue via sharp dissection, but he never once cursed. So much for all those jokes about cussing like a sailor.

On a seemingly calm Saturday in my third week, one of the supervisors from the fish processing plant came in with two of his workers. One had bilateral ocular exposure to a cleaning solvent, while the other was stumbling and disoriented. My triage skills were put to the test as I anesthetized Worker 1’s eyes with proparacaine, then inserted Morgan lenses (which, thankfully, came with instructions in the packaging!). The supervisor, who was keeping Worker 2 calm simultaneously, held a basin below the patient’s eyes to catch runoff as I quickly attached a liter of saline to each lens and opened the valve full bore. With that situation under control for the moment, I switched gears to assess Worker 2, who was markedly incoherent and unable to give a history. What I did know was that he was ataxic and nauseous, with a temperature of 104°F. I flashed my penlight into his eyes, and he reacted like Dracula faced with a crucifix. In addition to his exquisite photophobia, he had marked neck stiffness. The diagnosis was my first case of human meningitis. I inserted an IV providing ceftriaxone, acyclovir, and ondansetron. He required 2.5 L of IV fluid, but he gradually recovered over the next two days.

Why, with all these challenges, did I go to Alaska? Because I felt that there I could be of most service; if ever there was an underserved community, Adak was it. Ironically, the other job offer I considered was on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. As idyllic as that might have been, it wasn’t quite the adventure that Adak turned out to be—and it wasn’t as desperately in need of a provider.

When I took the Adak post, I didn’t realize how much I would learn. Above all, I realized that a complete and meticulous physical exam is king. If I missed any life-threatening conditions, the ramifications would be extreme. There were no referrals or second opinions, just me with the patient, and I had to make the right decisions.

The bonds I formed with the people on this remote island, and the paths I trod through this unusual land, made for a unique experience. It was a thrill to look out toward the horizon and know that everything I could see had remained unchanged since the birth of these volcanic islands. In time, I came to recognize that I was not in charge. The planes carrying supplies in or patients out would come if the weather allowed. What was on the island was what I had to work with, and if I didn’t have what I wanted, it was only because I didn’t want what I had. The waves would come as they will. I could either surf them or be tossed by them. I chose to dive in.