Call me a victim

I am happy never to have been a victim in my life. Except for the two times when I chose to be. And those I thoroughly enjoyed.

As a non-medical volunteer for the Medical Reserve Corps, my greatest contribution has been playing a victim in emergency training exercises. So far, I’ve been in an airplane explosion and a train wreck—at least those have been the scenarios. I’ve also had some nasty-looking but not life-threatening injuries, thanks to the moulage makeup added for high-fidelity realism.

My first experience had me laying on the tarmac at Philadelphia International Airport, in 2014, waiting for medical attention. The critical patients were carried away first, by stretcher. Then it was my turn. With my dislocated shoulder, abrasions, and crushed hand (with third-degree burns), I was strapped onto a stretcher and loaded in an ambulance. Inside, I was miraculously cured and scampered away. 

Most recently, I spent a beautiful Sunday morning at the SEPTA Media station in a scenario where a train and a car met on the tracks. There were bad outcomes for the dummy in the car (an actual training dummy) and several passengers. I was lucky, just suffering burns and abrasions on my arms. With a mix of silicone, pigmented creams, and fake trauma blood, my arms soon looked like they’d been through the wringer. My only discomfort was minor, and that came when it was time to pull off the silicone-backed wounds.

The hardest part of playing the victim is all the moaning and groaning. I can do it for a few minutes, but after a while it gets tiresome. So I wait until I have someone’s attention before I turn up the misery volume.

For me, being a volunteer victim involves a lot of hurry-up-and-wait to be rescued. For emergency responders, they get to train in somewhat realistic conditions. The point, I’ve been told, is not just to get it right; the point is to practice until they can never get it wrong.

These exercises take on a greater sense of urgency the more the world tilts off its axis. Emergency responders have a hard road ahead, and I appreciate their service more than ever, having seen what they do from the center of these training events. I am happy to play my small part—and to see everyone walk away safely afterward.

Being a victim

Blue sky. Bright sun. The weather couldn't have been more perfect for being a victim.

On a day when I normally would have been running or gardening or otherwise keeping busy, I spent hours laying on the tarmac at Philadelphia International Airport.

It was EPEX -- PHL's Emergency Preparedness Exercise -- and it was epic.

I had volunteered to be one of more than 100 mass casualty victims. The hardest part was getting to the staging area at 5:30 a.m. to be transformed. Or, as they call it, moulaged.

My assigned injuries placed me in the yellow triage category, meaning I didn't need immediate care but I wasn't walking away. My dislocated shoulder, abrasions and crushed hand (with third-degree burns) could wait for medical attention until after the red-tagged critical patients.

And while I waited, I saw emergency vehicles race to the scene. Firefighters, paramedics and other first responders rushed to assess the situation and take action. From my vantage point on the ground, I saw chaos transformed into order.

For me, it was a day of firsts. First moulage. First emergency drill as a volunteer for the Delaware County Medical Reserve Corps. First time laying down on airport tarmac. First stretcher. First ambulance ride. And, thankfully, first miracle cure: as soon as the ambulance pulled into the parking lot, I immediately returned to full health.

If only all mass casualty victims could be so lucky. At least with drills like this, first responders will be that much more practiced in what to do when things go bad in a big way.

What I found was that being a victim isn't so bad as long as you can leave the role behind when the exercise is over.