If I Couldn't Be

Sometimes I think about what I might do if I couldn’t be a doctor.  You know, were I to become incapacitated for medical work, or lose my license due to a lawsuit or clerical error by the Medical Board (not inconceivable), or were the apocalypse to be nigh, for example on Dec. 21, 2012.

Here are some ideas I’ve thought of.

·      Physics instructor

·      Actor

·      At-home parent (GB laughs at this idea, but maybe I could do it, right?)

·      Faxer of Things (see The Other Shoe Dropping 12/15/11)

·      Forest ranger

This morning as I pulled in to the hospital parking lot I realized ALL OF THESE THINGS ARE INSANELY BORING.

Obviously I would be a helicopter pilot for Life Flight (or similar.)

Probably I have never thought of this before because I have never parked directly next to a helicopter before.  It is a lovely beast.

It would be fantastic.  Not only would I be rescuing folks from remote hospitals with mediocre specialty access and possibly SAVING LIVES but more importantly I would be FLYING A HELICOPTER.

Probably I’ve never been in a helicopter before but I don’t think that matters too much.  How hard could it be?  Ask me a troubleshooting question.

What happens when there is a storm approaching?

·      Fly away from the storm.

What happens when the helicopter turns upside down?

·      Obviously you reverse the direction of the blades.

See?  Easy.

What if all the power goes out on the helicopter?

·      You should have brought your battery.  I would always bring a back-up battery.

What if there was a mutiny on board the helicopter mid-flight?

·      Obviously I would start singing Kum-Bay-Ah or a made-up song about helicopters.  Works for my kids.

What if a velociraptor appears from the sky and tackles you?

·      Consult Up-To-Date for Helicopter Pilots.  (They have that, right?)

I am so excited about my alternate career I might even see if they will allow me to ride in a helicopter one day so I can subtly talk them into letting me fly it, such that they will not even realize my pretext until it is too late.

I will grasp the steering wheel (Console? Handlebars?) with my pasty-white, overly-dry hands and conjure up reflexes and dexterity long-held dormant to guide the lovely beast safely through the air.  I will push buttons (lights?) and talk on the radio with a headset (is it called CB or CV?)  “Roger, 40, what’s your 20?  I’ll have a number 17 with Ranch Vinaigrette.  Will be landing shortly if that’s ok.  Do I land on the X or next to it?”

After we land I’ll take a moment to relax and drink some lemonade while reading a little bit about Helicopter Piloting Terminology.  Probably I’ll be considered a prodigy and earn a medal.

But first I guess I will round on a few patients.