Surgical Suite Aboard a Small Ship

Around mid-January, there was a flutter of news that the Spanish frigate ESPS Méndez Núñez (F-104) was in Norfolk and will be integrated into the USS Abraham Lincoln (CVN-72) Carrier Strike Group until November of this year. A review of the ship’s history on Wikipedia shows that since her commissioning in 2006, she has been quite active in international anti-terrorism and anti-piratical activities.

What’s medically interesting about the ship (which, according to an article in USNI News, is being showcased by Spanish shipbuider Navantia to the U.S. Navy, presumably as a possible candidate for its FF(X) future frigate program) is that it has what looks to be a basic surgical suite instead of a simple sick bay.

Sickbay / Operating Suite Aboard ESPS Méndez Núñez (F-104). (USNI News photo)

The ship also has a separate space to accommodate four sick or injured sailors. She typically carries a physician and a nurse when deployed, according to the USNI News article.

This kind of medical space is pretty unusual in a small unit like a Frigate. I recall that the sickbay in my Adams Class guided missile destroyer – I was the staff medical officer for Destroyer Squadron 15 – was no larger than a large closet. Sure, one could evaluate sick sailors there (physical diagnosis only; no Xray or lab) and perhaps do minor surgical procedures such as suturing wounds or draining abscesses, but there was no room to do something as basic as an appendectomy (the crew’s mess deck, a much larger space,  could be fitted out for surgery, but this was intended for combat casualty care, and doing even simple appendectomies was officially discouraged). Most U.S. small units don’t rate medical officers unless they are squadron flagships (and I’m not sure even these ships rate a physician these days). Independent duty corpsmen, specially trained to be the sole “Medical Department Representative” serve on these smaller ships, and have proven to be most capable for tending to the minor surgical and medical needs of the crew. Sailors with more serious problems are typically medically evacuated to an amphibious ship, aircraft carrier, hospital ship (all of which carry qualified surgeons, or would in a potential combat situation) or a facility ashore.

So I’m not sure the operating room in Méndez Núñez would be all that useful. Surely, for instance, there is no way laparoscopic work (the clear trend in abdominal and chest surgery not related to trauma) could be performed in that space. It would be interesting to learn what the Spanish experience has been.

©2019 Thomas L Snyder

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A Medical Hero Celebrated

It’s not so often that we see a military medico publicly recognized for life sustaining work in combat. “It’s our job, after all” would be a common rejoinder. It was good, therefore, to read about Royal Navy Surgeon Captain Rick Jolly, who was named OBE for his surgical and leadership exertions in the Falkland War. Jolly recently passed over the bar at age 71. At the time, he was the senior medical officer of 3 Commando Brigade. He and his crew set up a field hospital in an abandoned slaughterhouse at Ajax Bay. There, Jolly and his colleagues treated more than 500 British wounded soldiers and Marines, and about 200 Argentine troops. Only 3 of those wounded died, none while under his care. The Argentine government awarded him the Orden de Mayo for his work.

I remember reading that Argentine surgeons often mismanaged soldiers’ wounds, which, under typically filthy combat situations, were grossly contaminated with dirt, clothing fragments and shrapnel. Already loaded with bacteria, these wounds became terribly infected, so when the Brit surgeons “inherited” the patients, their work was often that of managing these serious infections – truly life-saving work.

Jolly was an outspoken guy. See his interesting comments (and facial expressions) in a two-segment (~4 mins each) interview for Sky News here. I like this quote: “We had only one motto in War – that the wounded MUST survive”. Military medicine at its simple best.

(Hat tip: Cdr Salamander)

(C)2019 Thomas L Snyder

Surgical Specialties Emerging from World War II (Part Two of Two)

Last week I posted the first half – on the development of neurosurgery – of a paper on the surgical specialties that emerged from the Great War I was to give at a symposium at Cal State Channel Islands in late October. The symposium was cancelled as the Woolsey Fire approached. Fortunately, no damage was done to the campus or its wider environs, but the paper “hung fire”, so to speak. So, I post it for a wider audience.

Herewith, the second half. It looks like the footnotes transferred this time (they didn’t last week when I used my iPad), but if you want a copy of the complete paper with footnotes, let me know and I’ll send you a copy.

Trench warfare also saw a huge increase in facial wounds, compared with previous wars. The lore of plastic surgery has Hindu surgeons performing nose reconstructions for men who’ve had their noses cut off as punishment. But the reality is that “[w]hen we entered World War I, there was a total ignorance of plastic surgery in the army, but it must be said, that even in civil hospitals and medical schools of that time, 1917, the appreciation of this branch of surgery as a special subject was also lacking.”[1] Interestingly, the first major influx of facial wounds on the British side came from the Royal Navy after the Battle of Jutland. Up to this point, any reconstructive surgery of the face was in the bailiwick of the otolaryngologists (ear, nose, throat specialists) and dental surgeons, and both Germany and France had put together teams of dentists and surgeons to deal with these problems. As fate would have it, another “great man” of his surgical art, Harold Gillies, a New Zealander trained in ear, nose and throat surgery, serendipitously fell in with August Valadier, a French-American dentist in France in 1915. Valadier had set up a unit to care for soldiers with jaw injuries, and Gillies, intrigued by the challenges of facial reconstructive surgery, went back to England to lobby for a hospital dedicated to these cases.[2] Once granted, Gillies and a team of surgeons, dentists, anesthetists, and technicians he gathered around him, set out – initially “by trial and error”[3] – to work out techniques of reconstruction that gave grievously wounded men – men with noses and jaws blown off – functional and cosmetically satisfactory results. Like Cushing, Gillies acknowledged that when he set out to repair the horribly wounded faces he saw, “…the principles laid down by the fathers of surgery [were] found to be of general application… But our work [was] original in that all of it had to be built up again de novo. …The earlier months, then, were spent in a very thorough trial of the then known methods. It has been illuminating to discover the impracticability of many of these, which would appear to have been put forward on the study of only one case, or even on purely theoretical grounds.”[4] Major accomplishments by Gillies and his team included the successful use of “tube grafts”, by which skin can, in stages, be transferred from, say, the chest to fill large facial defects; and the transplant of cartilage from the ribs into the face to rebuild noses, and more. By the time America came into the war, Gillies and his team had such an extensive experience that our medical officers who spent time with them were prepared to provide knowledgeable care to American doughboys wounded in combat. The U.S. Army set up several centers in France specifically for the care of men with facial wounds. The Army also established Plastic Surgery Centers in 9 hospitals stateside where these men received definitive care, being retained in the Army until they had received “maximal benefit” from the surgeons’ hands.[5] After the war, interest in plastic surgery varied. In England, just four men continued with development and practice of the specialty and these same four were the only experienced plastic surgeons available to British military forces at the outset of World War II. [6] In the U.S. on the other hand, interest was greater, promoted at least in part by increasing numbers of automobile accident victims needing skin grafting and other specialized care. One result was that the U.S. could provide 60 well experienced specialists to the army and the navy prior to our entry into the war. [7] As in the Great War, the Army established a series of short training courses to bring other surgeons up to speed in assessment and technique, and so well did the program work in providing needed talent, that the “short course” system was discontinued before war’s end.[8]

When peace finally came, the value of plastic and reconstructive surgery had been nearly universally appreciated, and training programs found their way into almost all medical schools in the west. Plastic surgery in the Soviet Union languished and was generally performed by general surgeons. Specialty practice existed only in Moscow and Leningrad, and access there limited largely to the political elite, movie stars and the security services.[9] Plastic surgery as a distinct specialty was recognized in Russia only in 2008, and specialty training centers established the same year.[10] China, on the other hand, established training programs in plastic / reconstructive surgery after World War II, and the profession has flourished, especially in the 21^st century as the nation has become more wealthy, and demand for aesthetic surgery has grown. The International Society of Aesthetic Plastic Surgery estimates that more than 23,000,000 cosmetic procedures were performed world-wide in 2016.[11] Nearly 6,000,000 reconstructive surgical operations were performed in the United States in 2017.[12]

Conclusion

Two surgical specialties, for which there had been virtually no antecedent experience, emerged from the unique injuries soldiers in the Great War experienced in high numbers due to their exposure in trench warfare. The experience gained from treating these patients permitted surgeons to lay down principles of practice that inform the practice of neurosurgery and plastic / reconstructive surgery even today. Acceptance of these as separate surgical specialties was not universal until experience in World War II confirmed their value. Every major nation except the Soviet Union saw their advancement in the later 20th century. This progress and acceptance has only expanded in the 21st century.

Copyright 2018 Thomas L Snyder

[1] John Staige Davis, “Plastic Surgery in World War I and in World War II,” Annals of Surgery 123, no. 4 (April 1946): 610-621.

[2] Andrew Bamji, “Sir Harold Gillies: Surgical Pioneer,” Trauma 2006 8, http://www.gilliesarchives.org.uk/traumahdg.pdf (accessed 18October2018).

[3] John Staige Davis, op. cit.

[4] Harold Delf Gillies, Plastic Surgery of the Face Based on Selected Cases of War Injuries of the Face Including Burns, with Original Illustrations (London: Oxford University Press, 1920), reprint by Andesite Press / Creative Media Partners 2015

[5] Davis, op.cit.

[6] Richard Battle, “Plastic Surgery in the Two World Wars and in the Years Between,” Journal of the Royal Medical Society 71 (November 1978), http://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/014107687807101115 (accessed 21 October 2018).

[7] Lihani du Plessis, The Influence of World War I on the Development of Reconstructive Plastic Surgery. 2016. Honors Baccalaureate of Science thesis, Oregon State University.

[8] Davis, op. cit.

[9] “Soviet Plastic Surgery: When the USSR Went Under the Scalpel,” The Calvert Journal (22 March 2017), https://www.calvertjournal.com/articles/show/7971/soviet-plastic-surgery-ussr-under-scalpel (accessed 22 October 2018).

[10] Alexander V Melerzanov, “Plastic Surgery in Russia,” Prime – International Journal of Aesthetic and Anti-Aging Medicine (17 January 2014), https://www.prime-journal.com/plastic-surgery-in-russia/ (accessed 22 October 2018).

[11] International Society of Aesthetic Plastic Surgery, “International Study of Aesthetic / Cosmetic Procedures Performed in 2016 (Summary),”

https://www.isaps.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/10/GlobalStatistics.WorldWide.Summary2016s-1.pdf (accessed 22 October 2018).

[12] American Society of Plastic Surgeons, “2017 Plastic Surgery Statistics Report ‘ 2017 Reconstructive Surgery Statistics,” https://www.plasticsurgery.org/documents/News/Statistics/2017/reconstructive-procedure-trends-2017.pdf (accessed 22 October 2018).

Surgical Specialties Emerging from World War I (Part One of Two)

Around mid-November, I was to give the paper captioned above at a World War I Symposium entitled “Imperial Implosions: World War One and Its Implications” at California State University Channel Islands in Camarillo. About an hour before I was to go on, the campus was evacuated because of the advancing Woolsey Fire. The university was physically safe, but continued smoke forced symposium sponsors to cancel, and the campus didn’t reopen until the Monday after Thanksgiving.

Here is that paper, presented in two parts, the next part next week. I could not get the footnotes to transfer, so if you want to see them, let me know and I’ll send you a copy of the paper.

At the very worst, this should help you fall asleep tonight!

Echoes of World War One in the Surgical World

Thomas L Snyder

The Hippocratic admonition that “a man who would become a surgeon should join an army and follow it” has long been cliché in medical circles. The ancients generally attributed disease to the anger of unappeased gods. But they took a distinctly practical view when it came to the injuries of combat: sword and arrow wounds were visibly the result of human agency, and called for active human intervention instead of appeals to distant deities. The desire to help their comrades eventually saw the emergence of men who “specialized” in handling the wounds of war. The Sumerian / Akkadian (4000-1000 BCE) Asu was an empirical operator who wielded sharp (surgical) instruments, in contradistinction to the more spiritual sorcerer (Baru) and priestly (Ashipu) healers of disease. The Assyrians (900-600 BCE) formalized the Asu’s role as a military official, responsible for wound care, field hygiene (including burial of the dead), and health assessment of prisoners of war (who were prospective slaves). The Egyptian swnw was similarly appointed to serve in the army in war and peace; he was expected to be skilled in the management of war wounds and other injuries. In ancient India, Hindu men who practiced surgery were given the sobriquet shalyahara – remover of arrows. Similarly, the ancient Greek word for “physician”, iatros, translates as “arrow extractor” from Ionian Greek. While physicians may have been contracted by their Generals, Roman legionaries received field treatment from men called capsarii, binders of wounds. Roman military hospitals – an innovation that arose from the need to care for soldiers at the frontiers of the empire and a long, hazardous distance from home – were sophisticated permanent structures that featured an elaborate surgical set-up and protected interior “pulse” space designed for the care of an influx of fresh combat injuries should local battles break out.

Not much in the way of surgical advances occurred in the 5th through the 15th centuries after the Roman era. The Byzantines, military and medical successors to the Romans, who referred to themselves as Romanoi (“Romans”, but in Greek) merely perpetuated the Roman way of combat casualty care. Medieval Arabs produced advances in eye surgery and translated ancient Greek and Roman writings in medicine and surgery. Being a largely nomadic people, they also developed a form of mobile hospital for use in military and civil settings. The teaching of surgery was dropped from the curricula of French universities of the early Renaissance (the notion being that surgeons, who worked with their hands, were “laborers”, and not worthy of the scholarly tradition of medicine), though the Italians maintained a robust academic surgical tradition. Once the Catholic Church’s abhorrence for the shedding of blood in surgery (especially by educated priests), and of dissection of cadavers for the study of anatomy was overcome, and once the rigid conservatism of the Scholastic tradition yielded to the humanism of the Renaissance, surgery began to make advances in both theory and practice. Even so, until the advent of effective anesthesia in the mid-19th Century, major surgery of any type was a fraught affair, undertaken by brave surgeons for desperate patients and done as rapidly as possible so as to finish the operation before the patient went into shock because of the pain and blood loss. European surgeons led the way, and 19th century doctors from America and other nations typically toured the famous hospitals of England, Scotland, France, Germany, Austria and Italy to learn the most up-to-date techniques. Finally, once the bacterial cause of surgical infections was elucidated, techniques to check the infections (“antiseptic surgery”) and, later, to prevent infection (“aseptic surgery”) finally made the major kinds of surgery we think of today, particularly orthopedic and abdominal operations safe. Surgery on chest organs came much later. Meanwhile, advances in medicine, especially in vaccination (especially against smallpox), but also in nutrition (for instance, scurvy was a major cause of death among siege armies in the 13th through the 15th centuries) and hygiene (for instance, the understanding that cholera, an often-fatal infection of the digestive tract, came from water contaminated by excrement provided scientific justification for careful regulation of field latrines in relation to water supplies) meant that by the time of the Franco-Prussian War, for the first time in human history, deaths from combat injuries actually outnumbered those caused by disease and contagion. By the outbreak of World War I, the only apparent significant gaps in our understanding or tools of combat casualty care involved the prevention and treatment of shock, and the treatment of infection in contaminated wounds.

In the Great War, artillery barrages and mass infantry attacks produced the expected extremity, chest and abdominal wounds. But the unique aspect of trench warfare saw men standing in trenches peering out at the enemy with just heads showing. These men suffered brain and facial injuries in unexpected numbers. Wounds of the head and neck accounted for 15 – 20% of all combat wounds during the Great War. Grievous wounds of the brain and of the face resulted in the evolution of two new surgical specialties – neurosurgery and plastic reconstructive surgery. This is necessarily an example of “great man” history, because almost no one had practice (and certainly no one was trained) in these areas of the surgical art prior to the war. Necessarily then, brave pioneering surgeons played an outsized role in wading in where no man had gone before, to establish principles of practice that largely persist until today.

As regards neurosurgery, the great man is the American Harvey Cushing. Up until the advent of good anesthesia and aseptic (infection-preventing) surgical technique, few men had ventured into the cranium, and when they did, the complications of hemorrhage and infection, almost invariably fatal, discouraged further efforts. Cushing undertook to study and practice brain surgery at Harvard starting around 1908. While individual surgeons had written about their pioneering forays into neurosurgery , it was by no means an established specialty, and no formal training programs existed. As Cushing himself put it, “[a]nything classified as neurological is looked upon by many of us as baffling and difficult, and a feeling prevails that the ultimate functional results after recovery from serious cranial injuries are, to say the least, forlorn. Few medical officers had received training in the surgery of the central nervous system before the war, no organized instruction has been given in the subject since; and the tools provided for the work have been inadequate and antiquated.” Thus it was that, when Cushing arrived in Europe as a volunteer in 1915, he had opportunity to observe the work of just a few individuals who were making pioneering efforts to respond to the wounds that modern warfare had wrought. The wounds sustained by soldiers in Europe carried special risks because of the fields in which they fought had for centuries been well fertilized with manure and therefore bore a rich variety of bacteria, many of which were carried by projectiles or shrapnel into the brain, along with fragments of filthy clothing. The combination of the physical damage and contamination demanded a vigorous surgical response. Early in the war, individual French, German, Austrian, Russian and British surgeons took up the gauntlet. They gradually, through experience, established guidelines and techniques that improved outcomes, but much of this work was unpublished. When Cushing returned to Europe with a Harvard team of fourteen surgeons and four nurses in March, 1917, as director of American Base Hospital #5, he soon was detached to a BEF receiving hospital, where he and his team operated full time on neurosurgical cases. By late April, they started the work of consolidating the experiences of their European predecessors by carefully and systematically utilizing, then adjusting their techniques to lay down principles of traumatic brain surgery. As he and his associates gained experience, their results steadily improved so that by war’s end, the survivorship of brain surgery for war wounds had increased from around 45% to 71%. One of his earliest learnings was that sticking a finger into the brain to find a bullet or fragment was a bad idea (he referred to this as “Little Jack Horner” surgery); rather, Cushing adopted the use of soft rubber tubes snaked into the wound track. By applying gentle suction, he could remove damaged brain tissue, bone fragments and other wound debris. He even adopted a technique using a magnetized steel nail to extract metal fragments from deep inside the brain. One other surgical innovation that Cushing adopted was to layer Dichloramine T, referred to as a chlorine antiseptic at the time, but really an early sulfa antibiotic precursor, into the brain wounds. Combined with careful surgical technique and an insistence on operation as soon after wounding as possible, this approach reduced the rate of brain infections to near zero by war’s end.

Cushing’s Illustration of the Use of a Soft Catheter and Gentle Suction to Debride and Irrigate Brain Wounds

Before the U.S. entered the war, and based on Allied experience, Army Surgeon General Gorgas concluded that we would need something like 200 neurosurgeons. In response to a national survey, about 50 men stepped forward, claiming experience. At this point, Gorgas established crash 70-day programs in Philadelphia, Chicago, New York, St. Louis and Camp Greenleaf, GA to train selected surgeons in the art of brain surgery. Ultimately, about 190 neurosurgeons served in Europe. Only a few of them continued in the specialty after the war. Cushing returned to Harvard after the war. He published his learnings and expanded a training program in neurosurgery that he had started before the war. Perhaps in part because of an ongoing debate between non-surgeon neurologists and neurosurgeons over their respective bailiwicks, training of the surgical specialists seemed to languish in the United States, and an official certifying body, the American Board of Neurological Surgeons didn’t even come into existence until 1940. Only a few training programs, in New York, Virginia, San Francisco, St Louis, Cleveland the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, the Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore and at the University of Pennsylvania, and perhaps a few others operated in the interwar period. A similarly desultory effort at neurosurgical training appears to have obtained in France and Britain, while the dictatorial regimes of German and the Soviet Union seem to have done a better job of planning for the contingencies of war. As a result of this dearth of residency programs, the Army could count on a pool of only about 200 trained neurosurgeons at the beginning of World War II. Once again, short training programs were established to teach the rudiments of brain surgery to promising young general surgeons. These programs produced about 250 brain surgeons and went far to meet the demand. By war’s end, there had been nearly 61,000 neurosurgical admissions to U.S. Army hospitals. After the war, training programs proliferated both in the United States (110 in 2018) and abroad so that today, most major medical schools train neurosurgeons, of whom about 3500 practice in the United States. Postwar neurosurgery in a divided Germany presents an interesting story, as robust development in Western Germany produced a growth in neurosurgical centers from 18 in 1950 to 85 by the early 21st century; on the other hand, in Eastern Germany, a struggling economy and regressive regime limited neurosurgical progress to just a few talented individuals who gained worldwide notoriety. By 2006, 1200 fully trained neurosurgeons were serving the entire German population, performing nearly a quarter million neurological surgeries yearly. Many advances in the years since World War I, including antibiotics, CT scanning, electrocautery for control of bleeding, and the use of medications to reduce the brain swelling that accompanies brain injuries have led to ever safer and more successful brain surgery. Today, surgery for traumatic brain injuries represents about 18% of all brain operations in the U.S. (2011 statistics, the most recent year for which statistics are available). 18% of traumatic brain injuries are caused by firearms (the majority being suicides); of those, 90% are fatal, the patients dying usually even before reaching hospital. Cancer surgery, such as that offered to the late Senator McCain, represents another 21% of brain surgery.

Next week, Part II, the story of plastic / reconstructive surgery.

(C)2018 Thomas L Snyder

Navy Medical Diplomacy “a la Salamander”

I’ve written before about the role of Navy medicine as a tool in service of our nation’s larger geostrategic / geopolitical interests. Today I purloin, in its entirety (lightly edited…), a post from “Commander Salamander”, a sometimes ascerbic commentator on our Navy’s leadership and policies. On Monday, he commented on the U.S. hospital ship USNS Comfort, which is now on a medical mission to South America. As is his wont, Salamander notes the geopolitical impact in  the region – and much farther afield.

Then, check his closing line.

Commander Salamander

Monday, November 19, 2018

A Hospital Ship’s Soft Powers Sharp Elbow

As we’ve discussed here through the years, hospital ships are one of the best “soft power” assets we have. The green eye-shade types, warheads-on-forehead silo-dwellers, and the medical OCD narrow-casters will throw spitballs, but in my book look at two things:

1. Are your competitors building them too? Yes, look at the Chinese catch-up efforts.

2. Do they upset the right people? Well …lookie here:

A U.S. Navy hospital ship moored off Colombia has started giving free medical care to Venezuelan refugees, in a move likely to rile officials in Caracas who deny the existence of a humanitarian crisis in their own country. I
…
The USNS Comfort, which is on a three-month mission that has already taken in Ecuador and Peru and will end next month in Honduras, arrived at Colombia’s northwestern port city Turbo on Wednesday.

Patients in Turbo and Riohacha, where the ship will dock next week, will receive medical assistance from the crew of more than 900 doctors, nurses, military technicians and volunteers, with medical facilities on board the hospital ship as well as on shore.
…
But it has stoked tensions in the region, with China — one of Venezuela’s few allies — hastily dispatching its own hospital ship to Venezuela in September ahead of the U.S. mission.

“This is how you undertake diplomacy in the world,” Venezuelan defense minister Vladimir Padrino said at the time. “With concrete actions of co-operation and not stoking the false voices of those who beat the drum of war.”

Even here in the USA, the deployment is making all the right kind of enemies:

“It’s pretty brilliant PR, isn’t it?” Adam Isacson, a security analyst at the Washington Office on Latin America, a think tank, said in response to the deployment. “We could just as easily, at similar cost, send a huge contingent of civilian doctors, working on land where the people are, to help tend to the Venezuelan population. But sending a military ship — even though it’s white with a big red cross on it — sends more of a message about projecting U.S. power.”

…….

Judge something by the enemies they make.

Conclusion: we need 4 new, modern hospital ships. Get cracking.

On “Micro” Medical Diplomacy – A Story

Last January, I posted here a piece on medical diplomacy, in which I reviewed the “levels” of such endeavors and their desired outcomes. I recently had a conversation with my son, a special agent in the State Department’s Bureau of Diplomatic Security, in which he told me this story:

Every year or so, a special medical team made up of Navy special forces and Marine Corps combat hospital corpsmen (all of whom receive special and intensive training as “first responders” in combat casualty care) visit our Embassies (at least in the part of the world where he was then stationed) to train the local Embassy security team how to respond, essentially, to shooting incidents. This week-long training includes some pretty intense life-saving trauma damage control techniques – hemorrhage control with tourniquets, pressure dressings and hemostatic agents, placing chest tubes for tension pneumothorax, treatment of shock with fluids, stabilization of fractures, and more.

Early in this fiscal year, the local security boss (Regional Security Officer) at my son’s Embassy invited representatives of the host nation’s Presidential Guard to observe and participate in the training. To say that these men were blown away by the level of sophistication – and effectiveness – of the training, and its implication in their own work for their nation’s leaders, would be an understatement. Not only were they seen gathering up the wrappings of all the specialized materials used in the training (“where can I get this stuff?”), they made very clear their dream to receive similar training for their entire team.

I don’t know if that special training ever materialized, but the message is clear: this is the kind of medical diplomacy, done at a very “local” but hugely impactful level, that can build good will – and friendship – that will last. The shame is that it happens “under the radar” and might not be seen by those in leadership who could use this kind of training to build good will throughout the world.

©2018 Thomas L Snyder

Society for the History of Navy Medicine Partners with the U.S. Naval Academy McMullen Naval History Symposium in 2019

As many readers know, I founded the Society for the History of Navy Medicine in 2006 to provide a scholarly home for people who are interested in research, scholarship and writing in the history of naval and maritime medicine. I was the Society Executive Director for its first 8 years, and have recently taken that role once again.

Since its founding, the Society has sponsored academic panels in several venues, including annual meetings of the Society for Military History (SMH), the Association of Military Surgeons of the United States (AMSUS), the American Association for the History of Medicine (AAHM), the North American Society for Oceanic History (NASOH) and the U.S. Naval Academy’s biennial McMullen Naval History Symposium.

At its 2017 meeting, the Society’s governing body directed that we ask the McMullen to host our panel or panels at its 2019 Symposium,  and to work with them to establish a more or less permanent affiliation for future Symposia. I am pleased to announce that the first step in this sequence has taken place: we are welcomed to mount our panels at the 2019 McMullen! Commander Benjamin “BJ” Armstrong, USN, Assistant Professor of History at the Academy indicates to us that the Call for Papers will go out in early November, with a submission deadline in early-to-mid February 2019. The Society will constitute a panel of distinguished academics and naval medical persons to review and select papers for our panel(s), and will provide the panel chair and commentator. Graduate and professional students who have their papers accepted for presentation will be eligible for the Society’s Travel Grant of up to $800 to attend the Symposium.

Stay tuned for more information!

©2018 Thomas L Snyder

Advice to a Prospective Medical Student

The other day, Gina and I were invited to a party celebrating a friend’s child’s graduation from undergraduate school. The student provided “Advice to the Grad” cards to be filled out by the guests. Since this graduate aspires to go to medical school, this – a bit more than a cards-worth… – is what I wrote. What can you add?

Ruminations of a Semi-Salty Old Doc

[Ms Graduate],

Here are a few thoughts for you to ponder over the next several years.

–Become familiar with the life and philosophy of William Osler, MD. He is revered in western medicine as the father of modern clinical practice, and as a Model Physician. He was erudite yet very humanistic, and he loved children as patients. He had an abiding interest in the history of our art and profession and he wrote extensively about it. If you are feeling particularly ambitious, you could read his friend (and father of neurosurgery) Harvey Cushing’s two-volume The Life of Sir William Osler. It is available used (it is long out of print) for around $12-15 from ABEbooks.com. Less ambitious but definitely more important would be Osler’s one-volume collection of essays Aequanimitas, several editions of which are also available from ABEBooks.com. The book’s title essay will give you a sense of the man and his philosophy of practice. I have also read and re-read his essay, The Army Surgeon. All of the essays are excellent and mostly relevant today, even though the book was initially published a century ago.

–Cultivate an interest and some knowledge of the history of medicine. It is a story of inspired and inspiring human endeavor. Jacalyn Duffin’s History of Medicine – A Scandalously Short Introduction would be a good place to start, and it is also available from ABEBooks.com for about $8, shipping included.

–Consider applying for a Navy or Air Force (Army’s OK, too, but I was Navy) Health Professions Scholarship. If you qualify for one, it gives you a full-ride scholarship for medical school plus a living stipend. (That means you graduate from med school debt-free!) It does commit you to payback military service after you graduate, but the military is a fine place to gain experience at decent pay and mostly reasonable hours. Military residencies are generally pretty good, and you often are given opportunity for residency or fellowship training in very good civilian institutions. I had the Vietnam-era equivalent of this scholarship, and after I served my required years, I stayed in the Reserves and enjoyed a varied and pleasant career with wonderful associations. I’m more proud of my military service than I am of my work with Kaiser-Permanente, which I also very greatly treasure.

–When you’re in medical school, try especially to get experience / rotations in ENT (Ear, Nose, Throat), Dermatology and General Surgery. The knowledge and experience you gain there will serve you well in whatever specialty you choose – and especially with your family! I also think some time spent in Public Health would be of great value. I believe that the biggest bang for Society’s medical buck is gotten from investments in Public Health / Preventative Medicine.

–It used to be said that, “Medicine is a demanding mistress” (the phrase being a throwback to a men-dominant era). The phrase accurately suggests the impositions the profession makes on the practitioner, and the love-hate relationship that we often have with our beloved art. I used to say that, “Medicine is the only socially acceptable reason to be a wretched parent” as a way of explaining / justifying the missed kids’ soccer games (the emergency surgical cases on a Saturday morning) or delayed dinners (the inevitable last-minute patients who needed to be squeezed into the clinic schedule). All this has changed somewhat in recent years, but I remain firm in my belief that unless a person is willing to make some personal sacrifices to the demands of the art and profession, then he or she is probably not cut out for a (happy) life in medicine.

Finally, if, upon reflection and experience, a life in medicine is not a good fit for you, do not feel bad and do not beat yourself up about it. Medicine is and should be a demanding undertaking, and the world offers immense other opportunities for fulfilment for talented and motivated young people. Taken from my perspective as a really old guy, the world is your oyster, and you have little to no idea just how many opportunities can or will open themselves up to you, whether in medicine or not: all you have to do is keep your eyes open to opportunities and be bold in grabbing for them. You will (and should) fail sometimes. But there is glory in the striving, and contentment can be the outcome.

With best wishes for success and happiness in life—

©2018 Thomas L Snyder, MD

Internalism vs Externalism in the History of Medicine

The other day I was reading a book review in the H-Sci-Med-Tech listserv. In it, Dagomar DeGroot, writing about Black Holes: A Very Short Introduction by Katherine Blundell (Oxford, 2016), introduces a nomenclature that is new to me, viz.:

Blundell delves deeper into the history of science… since black holes straddle the boundaries between Newtonian, relativistic, and quantum physics. In a sense, the history of scientific thinking about black holes—or “dark stars,” as a few precocious scholars imagined them in the eighteenth century—mirrors the history of the related disciplines of physics and cosmology. Blundell occasionally suggests links between broader social developments and the history of science, but she concentrates on an internalist summary of the personal breakthroughs of standout scientists. (Bolding mine – TLS)

Until the 1960s, medical history was pretty much the domain of medical doctors. Often classically educated (with Greek and Latin), they could read such ancients as Aristotle, Hippocrates (“the Hippocratic corpus”) and Galen and could bring the wisdom of these masters to the modern era. Physician-written historiography then was largely a “we stand upon the shoulders of giants” enterprise – stories of brilliant or hard-working doctors who advanced the art and science for the benefit of, but without reference to, mankind in the non-medical world. This is “internalist” history.

My research of the Internalist-Externalist debate (thank you Google) brought me to Mary Lindemann’s Introduction in Medicine and Society in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, 1999). In it, she lays out very nicely the shift in historiography that occurred in the 1960s and 1970s as PhD historians gradually supplanted MDs in the writing of medical history in the west. Among others, she cites what are now referred to as post-modernists (Foucault is mentioned) and their criticism of “whiggish” history and she cites MD / PhD American Association for the History of Medicine President George Rosen’s 1967 call for a redefinition of “the time, matter and manner” of medical history. This redefinition has taken pretty much a “social history of medicine” bent that has emphasized the effect of society on “medicine” – think, for instance of the activist movement that pushed the medical establishment to more quickly find effective AIDS treatments, or the effect of “medicine” on society – think of the change of medical opinion and resulting public policy regarding anti-smoking campaigns.

While I understand the externalist argument as presented, my sympathy still lies with the tight medico-scientific spirit and logic that internalist medical history depends upon and promotes: the search for excellence and progress (with admitted human foibles and flaws included) that motivated and brilliant practitioners create. Internalist history, for this physician, is interesting, compelling and often inspiring. Somehow, the AAHM mantra that “physicians create the history and historians chronicle it” doesn’t quite work: something inevitably gets lost in the translation.

(C)2018 Thomas L Snyder

What I’m Reading Now – Early 19th Century Maritime Medicine and Surgery

I belong to the 1805 Club, a British outfit established to promote and preserve the history of the Royal Navy in Admiral Lord Nelson’s time, or as their website puts it, “Conserving Memorials to Georgian Naval Heroes”. I was pressed into the Club by their North America “secretary” John Rodgaard, Captain, U.S. Navy (Ret.), naval historian and fellow Naval Order Companion.

Here on the west coast, the Club sponsors an annual Glorious First Of June luncheon at a posh private club in San Jose, California. The event is a largely old white guy affair, infused with the bonhomie one would expect when a bunch of (mostly) navy veterans get together. After preprandial libations, we break bread together over truly gourmet preparations, and once fully sated, we are treated to a talk of interest and relevance to the Club’s mission.

After this year’s event the word went out, “We’re looking for speakers”, and ever one to take a challenge, I volunteered to talk about naval medicine and surgery in Nelson’s Navy for the 2019 luncheon. To my minimal surprise, the offer was quickly accepted by Steve Walwyn, our local organizer. So now starts the preparation work.

Quite providentially, it turns out, the luncheon gift handed me at this year’s event was Poxed & Scurvied – The Story Of Sickness and Health at Sea by Kevin Brown (Seaforth Publishing, 2011). I’ve already learned from the book’s early chapters that in some ways the art and science of maritime health care were more advanced than I’d previously thought.

Another treasure from my own library – Amazon reminded me that I bought it in 2008 when I did a search there – is Nelson’s Surgeon – William Beatty, Naval Medicine, and the Battle Of Trafalgar by Laurence Brockliss, M. John Cardwell, and Michael Moss (Oxford University Press 2005, paperback 2008). The book provides a good narrative on the naval life of medical men of the era, and absolutely riveting descriptions of combat surgery in the cockpits of British men of war.

It goes without saying that I will also be consulting volume three (“1714-1815”) of J. J. Keevil’s (volumes 1 & 2), Christopher Lloyd’s and Jack L. S. Coulter’s epic four volume Medicine and the [Royal] Navy – 1200-1900 (Livingstone, 1961 for volume 3).

A trailer for the 2003 movie Master and Commander: The Far Side Of the World (based on the Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey-Maturin series of novels about a dashing Royal Navy Captain Jack Aubrey [Russell Crowe] and his surgeon / spy friend Stephen Maturin [Paul Bethany]) has an excellent depiction of shipboard amputations, and I’ve also found a dramatic video of the effect of cannonballs upon the sides (and insides) of wooden ships. Splinter wounds, often vicious and bloody and carrying a risk of tetanus, were the most common combat injuries of 18th and 19th century naval warfare. Any other source recommendations?

My Glorious First Of June interlocutor said of my proposed presentation, “The bloodier the better!” As a surgeon, I have no problem with this, but I don’t know–how much gore would you want to see right after a sumptuous luncheon?