There are moments in this work that stop me in my tracks.
Recently, during one of our team conversations at Wilderness Medical Staffing, I asked my weekly a “Why?” question, one meant to spark reflection. Why do you do what you do? Why does it matter? What I received in return was what I’d like to share with you.
One of our providers, Michael, shared a deeply personal account of his transformative journey, one that moved me enough that I asked his permission to share it more widely. His message here is more common than we medical providers may care to admit. And because it speaks to something many in medicine are carrying in their hearts, I thought you’d like to read it for yourself.
What you’re about to read is his story.
Michael’s Story
“I have always been a ‘hard’ individual and someone who is tough to love. For 30 years, I have run in EMS, as a paramedic, in some of the busiest systems in our country. From my teenage years on, I have known nothing but death and destruction of humans. Over the years I have been a witness to the death of hundreds of people, from anything that you could possibly imagine.
From that, I am a damaged character.
I have spent 50 days on foot trudging through the Himalayas, almost shot in the chest by a Nepalese army soldier for traveling at night during a Maoist uprising, sailed around Cape Flattery in the dead of winter on a boat with leaks and damage abound, surfed the boat on 30 foot waves at the Columbia River Bar trying to gain access to the only open port on the west coast, partied like a rock star — and with rock stars. My life has been one adventure after another. I am by no means a sheltered individual. The reason I tell you all of this is because what I have to say about my experience with you people could be taken as sappy, cheesy garbage talk that fails to have any meaning in reality. I assure you, there is none of that. Working for and with this team has affected me in ways that I never imagined possible.
Previous administrators:
I have never really been in trouble, and I have never been terminated from a position, but I have had a rough go with administrators. Whether it be ‘turn and burn’ patients to get them discharged or ‘you’re not admitting 8% percent of your patient volume’ or ‘we don’t even want PAs running our emergency department.’ I have felt attacked and belittled and this unfortunately had an enormous impact on my bedside manner. Coincidentally, bedside manner IS the most important part of medicine. I totally lost my faith in humans and medicine. Maybe this was just a blessing in disguise, because my perspective has allowed me a certain clarity when it comes to my experience with the team at Wilderness Medical Staffing. You people are nothing short of amazing and you need to know that.
My current tour with Wilderness Medical Staffing:
These experiences are not just isolated to my current tour, this stuff is happening all the time.
- When I first arrived on Little Diomede in March 2025, as I trudged through the 4 foot deep snow drifts to my cliffside clinic, 3 separate people approached me and said, ‘Welcome home, Michael, we are so happy you are here.’
What? Me? People have been happy to see me before, but this is different, this is a completely unusual vibe. I am moving mountains while making special human connections. It’s such a cool feeling.
- I had not been in the clinic 20 minutes before someone brought me my first bowl of a special indigenous soup. A sacred offering. Usually when people bring me their food, they like to stand around and watch me eat it. Then giggle at me and my expressions as I force it down. They seem to love watching ‘Lii La Mew’ (‘the white guy’) feast on their catch.
As the weeks have rolled on, one kid brought me a bottle of apple juice, a gentleman brought me 2 more containers of soup (one chicken noodle, one a beef stew kind of thing – delicious), someone else brought me 2 blue king crabs, Sistuq brought me corn bread and hickory spam. And I have been gifted these cherished items that I’m providing pictures of. I offered to pay for them, but it was not accepted. A polar bear’s claw on an ivory mount and two whale vertebrae cross sections.
It would seem that this is not really that special, but it’s important to remember that when I was here in December, more than half of the village had not had any food at the ‘store’ for three weeks. People were literally starving in front of me.
- Spike, a hardy old villager, came into the clinic last week with an abscess on his leg. The management of an abscess this large is called an incision and drainage. One would numb up the area, pierce the dome with a scalpel, push a set of hemostats in the incision to break up the pockets of accumulation, and then let it drain. I do a lot of them, they sound worse than they are and they’re really not too bad. But there was no way Spike was having any of that. Spike was having no part of an I&D. He has a lot of trust issues with anything medicine.
Today, he came back in very anxious telling me that he was ready for the I&D.
He laid down on the cot and began to cry. I looked, expecting it to have worsened. But that was not the case. I exclaimed, “That looks great!” And let him know that the antibiotics worked really well. The abscess had spontaneously unroofed, allowing it to almost drain completely. I told Spike that there was no I&D for him today and that we are going to continue the antibiotics for a few more days and he will be good to go. Spike then let me know how much I meant to him and that he trusts me. continuing to relay what a great experience he has had with me when he needed me most.
- Last night was next level. At 9:30pm it was -55 degrees with the wind chill. I was hanging out in shorts and flip flops watching reruns of Top Gear. I heard a knock on the door. I went to go see what’s up. I see a lady walking down the outside walkways. I asked if she needed me. She told me she was alright, but her son and some of the men needed me down on the sea ice in front of the school. About 300 feet from the clinic front door. There had almost been a terrible accident.
Two people were walking out to check their crab lines. As they approached their spot, an 8 foot tall polar bear popped up out of a hole 50 feet away and began his charge at Ernest and Kevin. The bear had been digging up a walrus carcass that was buried in the snow. The hole he was in is the size of a one car garage. He was not visible until he came out. Ernest fired a shot from his single shot rifle and missed! Kevin was carrying a rifle as well and was able to load, shoot, and connect. He fired four shots. The bear collapsed at his feet. Thank goodness for his excellent aim. Without that attention to detail the bear would have killed both of them. There is no rescue here. They processed the bear right on the ice, while honoring it and thanking it for giving its life. They told me that this bear will feed the village for several months. We dodged a multiple fatality incident.
You folks have given me a humble confidence, opened my heart to love, allowed me to recognize God within my being, helped me to align with the energy of the universe, and made me a better human on all fronts. You guys are responsible for showing me this path and I could not be more appreciative. Yes, it’s all true. And, I get all of it while practicing the only craft that I have ever known and loved. It’s deep, and I cannot thank you enough. Please keep these words close to your heart and, if things ever get tough with our fellow co-workers, remember them fondly. You guys rock. Keep up the good work.
Thanks, you guys,
M”
My Closing Thoughts
When I read Michael’s words, I felt both moved and affirmed.
Because this is the work.
Not just placing providers, not just filling gaps in coverage. But it’s about helping people find their way back to something they thought they had lost. Meaningful medicine.
I have seen this happen again and again, clinicians who were on the edge of walking away from medicine entirely, and then rediscovering a sense of purpose in places most of the world overlooks.
Now, don’t get me wrong, rural and remote medicine is not for everyone. It asks for resilience, humility, and a willingness to step into the unknown.
But for those who feel that pull… it can change everything.
If you’ve ever wondered whether there might be another way to practice medicine, one that reconnects you to the reason you started, I invite you to explore it.
Visit WildernessMedicalStaffing.com to learn more about where your skills are needed most.