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Outside more of the same. Lots of barefoot people walking around. On the sides of the highway. In the streets. In alleys. Whole piles of them riding in the back of pickup trucks. The driver plays a tape of Christian rock and starts the windshield wipers as a light rain begins to fall.
We come over a hill and the ocean is visible. The driver points out our boat anchored in the middle of the bay. We are waived straight through the security checkpoint of the seaside base. The rain is picking up, and it is windy. There is a makeshift tent setup with people seated in plastic chairs and a few people in military uniforms milling around them. One of the soldiers/sailors introduces himself and leads us onto the dock where we are to board the next ferry boat. We climb in with our heavy luggage followed by several PNG-ians. They are mostly middle-aged. There is one elderly woman, and two small children. No one looks sick or in distress. In fact they look excited. The ride out to the boat is a rough one, and when we do finally pull up to the docket it is no small task to get everyone off the boat with life and limbs preserved.
We climb a ramp for several stories and at the top the PNG-ians go to the triage waiting area while we are checked in by a friendly young sailor. Paperwork is filled out, several phone calls are made, and soon we are being shown to our berths by another sailor.
We get a basic tour of the ship at its conclusion we are told that there are some GI endoscopies going on if we want to watch. I forego that opportunity and use the afternoon to find the computer lab, catch up on emails, and hit the gym. I also stumble across the ship’s barber shop, which was alerted to me by the lit barber pole outside its doors. I few minutes later and I am in a chair being given a rather crude civilian haircut by a Navy barber from Maryland. He uses an electric razor for the whole thing. I doubt he ever gets the chance to use scissors. All of this is, of course, free. Imagine that. I free barber shop on a navy boat docked in port in PNG.
Then on to dinner. There are lots of people to meet and I soon learn I have to be on my best behavior because you never know who that person you’re shaking hands with is.
We run into another med student. She is an upcoming second year student, having just completed the first 9 grueling months of UCSD’s archaic curriculum. In a year’s time she has never had an encounter with a patient as part of her formal medical training. But she has spent the last month on the boat seeing things that most practicing physicians never experience. She is elated. No that’s not right. She is literally walking on air. Smile from ear to ear, and she begins what can only be described as a verbal information dump, detailing her many exciting experiences on the mission.
I get a little more insider tour from Sonia. Apparently there is an area on the side deck of the boat where everyone hangs out. People go there to smoke; others—to make-out.
Then it’s back inside for the evening briefing. It’s a very feel-good, go-team atmosphere. The helo [read: helicopter] crew did a Medevac and there is a lengthy presentation about “the mission”. It culminates with the commodore pinning medals on the entire crew. Very military. There are reports about all the activities going on with the mission. Trips to shore for medical, veterinary, dental, education, and engineering projects. How many patients are onboard. What stories the press covered that day. The upcoming schedule for the boat’s band. The weather forecast. It finishes up in one giant orgasmic release of feel-good juice with the admiral reading a letter from a local governor. It describes, in seemingly genuine manner, his gratitude for the professionalism and caring shown by the mission’s satellite team to his hometown.
~Pete
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