Read Online Battle Ready: Memoir of a SEAL Warrior Medic by Mark L. Donald, Scott Mactavish - Free Book Online Page B

looked down the line of my classmates and wondered which of the remaining eighty-four would be my swim buddy. Fifteen of them either dropped out or were rolled back into another class by the time we finished the four weeks of pretraining, and that was just the beginning. Just days earlier we had our head-shaving party and, with a little assistance from a few bottles of loudmouth, began convincing ourselves that we could be the second class in the history of BUD/S to have everyone graduate Hell Week. Of course, the instructors who supervised our celebration reminded us that we might just be like the class that had zero graduates. The class that never was was infamous among trainees, and for a period of time a statue sat on the quarterdeck memorializing their lack of fortitude. When I heard about that particular class, I promised myself then and there I would never quit. I might be dropped for failing to complete a task, but I wasn’t quitting. I would rather die in training than ring the bell. It may sound a bit extreme, but not for me. I looked at it more as an extension of the oath I had taken for medicine and the promise I had made to the good Lord.
    The Hippocratic Oath is an ethical promise that all medical providers must take when graduating from student to provider. There are various versions, some based on the educational level—doctor versus medic is a prime example—and some were interpretations of the original text, but one thing that rings clear among all the versions is the notion “to do no harm.” I simply added on a personal pledge that I believe is the essence of a frontline medic: “and allow no harm to be done, even at the sacrifice of my own life.” From the moment I took on the proud and honored title of navy corpsman I knew that despite my status as care provider, I would still be issued a weapon and be expected to use it. Since the dawn of time a small portion of enemy forces has always sought out the medic. Take out the man that can save the life of another soldier and possibly return him to battle and you’ll have a far greater effect on a unit’s effectiveness and morale than if you target a rifleman. It takes a sick mind to think that way, but firsthand stories from corpsmen and marines from Iwo Jima to today have told me there were plenty of them. Through history some countries have honored the Geneva Conventions, which offer protection to medics, while others simply have not, including our current adversaries in the War on Terror. I accepted the fact that I would both fight and heal and adopted “Trained to fight, but called to serve” as my new motto for the battlefield.
    BUD/S has one of the top medical departments in the navy. Yet even with all its expertise and ability a good many of the students were avoiding it at all cost. They were concerned their attendance at sick call would send the wrong message to the instructors and their classmates alike. Dr. Pollard and Dr. Castellano, stationed at the clinic, knew this and had arranged for all the corpsmen waiting on their class to convene to work at the clinic. Despite that this was a relatively short period of time, the docs were able to build a rapport with each of us. They’d use our knowledge of our classmates’ injuries as another means of monitoring the students they were entrusted to protect. If the docs felt a corpsman knew his limitations, they’d issue a small medical kit or aid bag to provide follow-up care back at the barracks. This policy not only extended their reach, but also allowed me to build a rapport with students from other classes.
    As long as I kept them apprised of which trainees I treated, how severe their injuries were, and what I did for them, everything was good. So when the workday was done, I’d restock my aid bag with the necessary items for treating blisters, chafing, and other common aches and pains related to BUD/S. I’d start making my rounds in the barracks trying to patch up friction burns on