bobdina
09-30-2009, 01:27 PM
KANDAHAR, Afghanistan - The young Afghan soldier lay quietly on a stretcher inside a Blackhawk medevac helicopter, his heavily bandaged left arm having sustained a gunshot wound and multiple fractures - evidence of a run-in with the Taliban.
The smell of fuel and the din of the rotor fills the air as Canadian Master Cpl. Pierre Desrosiers, 39, and U.S. medic Matthew Salak tend to their patient as the chopper, stripped of any lethal armament, makes its way to the ANA hospital at Camp Hero, outside Kandahar Airfield.
It's just another day at the office for the medevac crews, who provide 24-hour emergency service to Canadian and coalition forces in Afghanistan.
The medics work 48-hour shifts, waiting for calls at their home-away-from-home near the runway at Kandahar Airfield, much the way firefighters spend several days at a stretch at the fire hall, waiting for an emergency call.
The principal difference here, of course, is that even a routine call can be deadly.
"You have to be a bit of an (adrenalin) junkie, because when you get the call, when the 9-liner comes in, it's the rush, the adrenaline rush," says Desrosiers, who - as a former paramedic in Montreal - is no stranger to answering calls for help.
"I think you need to have the desire to be able to help and have that rush at the same time."
The medevac chopper is often called upon to land in the thick of the fighting to pick up wounded soldiers.
"You don't really think about the fear, you think about the patient," says Desrosiers, who seems perplexed at the prospect of the alternative. "Seriously, that's a good question. I had never really thought about that before.
"You want to comfort them as much as possible and you want to get them safely here to KAF. They say if we bring them alive to KAF, they will leave alive. Our main goal is maintain their vital signs and bring them home."
Despite the multinational nature of NATO's mission in Afghanistan, Desrosiers admits it's hard not to sneak a peek, once the urgency of the situation has passed, to see if he's dealing with a Canadian casualty.
"When it's Canadian, even though I'm not going to change anything, I want to do a little bit more," he admits quietly.
"I want them to know that I am Canadian too so they can relate, and they know someone from home is taking care of them now, so they're with a piece of home all the time."
He has yet to lose a Canadian patient while on the flight back to KAF's Canadian-run Role 3 Hospital, but did recently feel the sting of losing a recent passenger: Master Cpl. Charles-Philippe Michaud, of Edmundston, N.B., who died in a Quebec City hospital nearly two weeks after he stepped on a landmine in the Panjwaii district.
"At one point I was kind of mad and disappointed that had happened," Desrosiers recalls. "But my girlfriend said, 'You brought him home so his family was able to see him while he was still alive.' So I guess I did do something decent and good."
Fitting in with the Americans has not been a problem for Desrosiers, although he is constantly getting a friendly ribbing about his francophone accent. He and fellow Canadian Master Cpl. Eric Mantha, along with a Dutch medic, give the U.S. crews their international flavour.
The only injury Desrosiers has so far sustained on the job came when took a tumble after doffing his seatbelt before the helicopter had completely set down.
"I lost my helmet and laid 10 or 15 seconds on the floor unconscious," he grimaces. "I couldn't feel my legs for about a half an hour."
"He's our own Canadian crash test dummy," adds helicopter pilot CW2 John Cornelius with a chuckle."We gave him a T-shirt to prove it."
Desrosiers also proudly wears another item from his American colleagues, a patch on his left shoulder that reads, simply: Regular Guy.
"They told me it stands for a regular guy who happens to save lives."
The smell of fuel and the din of the rotor fills the air as Canadian Master Cpl. Pierre Desrosiers, 39, and U.S. medic Matthew Salak tend to their patient as the chopper, stripped of any lethal armament, makes its way to the ANA hospital at Camp Hero, outside Kandahar Airfield.
It's just another day at the office for the medevac crews, who provide 24-hour emergency service to Canadian and coalition forces in Afghanistan.
The medics work 48-hour shifts, waiting for calls at their home-away-from-home near the runway at Kandahar Airfield, much the way firefighters spend several days at a stretch at the fire hall, waiting for an emergency call.
The principal difference here, of course, is that even a routine call can be deadly.
"You have to be a bit of an (adrenalin) junkie, because when you get the call, when the 9-liner comes in, it's the rush, the adrenaline rush," says Desrosiers, who - as a former paramedic in Montreal - is no stranger to answering calls for help.
"I think you need to have the desire to be able to help and have that rush at the same time."
The medevac chopper is often called upon to land in the thick of the fighting to pick up wounded soldiers.
"You don't really think about the fear, you think about the patient," says Desrosiers, who seems perplexed at the prospect of the alternative. "Seriously, that's a good question. I had never really thought about that before.
"You want to comfort them as much as possible and you want to get them safely here to KAF. They say if we bring them alive to KAF, they will leave alive. Our main goal is maintain their vital signs and bring them home."
Despite the multinational nature of NATO's mission in Afghanistan, Desrosiers admits it's hard not to sneak a peek, once the urgency of the situation has passed, to see if he's dealing with a Canadian casualty.
"When it's Canadian, even though I'm not going to change anything, I want to do a little bit more," he admits quietly.
"I want them to know that I am Canadian too so they can relate, and they know someone from home is taking care of them now, so they're with a piece of home all the time."
He has yet to lose a Canadian patient while on the flight back to KAF's Canadian-run Role 3 Hospital, but did recently feel the sting of losing a recent passenger: Master Cpl. Charles-Philippe Michaud, of Edmundston, N.B., who died in a Quebec City hospital nearly two weeks after he stepped on a landmine in the Panjwaii district.
"At one point I was kind of mad and disappointed that had happened," Desrosiers recalls. "But my girlfriend said, 'You brought him home so his family was able to see him while he was still alive.' So I guess I did do something decent and good."
Fitting in with the Americans has not been a problem for Desrosiers, although he is constantly getting a friendly ribbing about his francophone accent. He and fellow Canadian Master Cpl. Eric Mantha, along with a Dutch medic, give the U.S. crews their international flavour.
The only injury Desrosiers has so far sustained on the job came when took a tumble after doffing his seatbelt before the helicopter had completely set down.
"I lost my helmet and laid 10 or 15 seconds on the floor unconscious," he grimaces. "I couldn't feel my legs for about a half an hour."
"He's our own Canadian crash test dummy," adds helicopter pilot CW2 John Cornelius with a chuckle."We gave him a T-shirt to prove it."
Desrosiers also proudly wears another item from his American colleagues, a patch on his left shoulder that reads, simply: Regular Guy.
"They told me it stands for a regular guy who happens to save lives."