Clinic in the SKY

We were somewhere over the Atlantic, on the long haul back from Johannesburg after a field visit in Southern Africa. Next to me sat our nutritionist, a wonderfully spontaneous colleague whose energy had kept us alive through long, hot days in the field. I was hoping for a quiet flight — maybe even some sleep.

Then the inevitable announcement rang out:
“Is there a doctor on board? Could he or she please make themselves known?”

Before I could react, my colleague shot her hand into the air with all her usual enthusiasm. My usual excuse — “Let’s wait, there are surely better doctors, you’re only a pediatrician” — didn’t fly anymore.

A flustered flight attendant led us to the galley, where a man in a tracksuit was slumped against a cupboard, dripping with sweat. I recognized him instantly — he had been pacing nervously in Johannesburg airport.

After a quick check of my credentials, I got to work. Chest pain, he said. Not the first time, and — strangely enough — always on planes. His job? Selling heart catheters. His destination? Washington. His mood? Miserable — “like my career,” he muttered.

There wasn’t much I could do in the cramped galley, but luckily he had recently consulted a cardiologist. Through the cockpit we managed to get that very doctor on the phone, and we were invited forward.

The cockpit looked like something from a film set: two young, impossibly handsome pilots, calm and professional, with just enough charm to make you suspicious. They listened closely as the cardiologist’s advice came crackling over the line:
“Give him a Valium. See what happens.”

One of the pilots turned to me, his face perfectly serious.
“Does it have a crack in it?” he asked.

I blinked. “Uh… yes?”

His face split into a grin.
“Perfect. Then give the other half to our steward. Every time we fly with him, we end up with emergencies like this.”

The patient settled down, and the flight carried on without further drama. Back in my seat, the nutritionist shook her head in disbelief. “Only you,” she said, “could end up running a clinic in the sky.”

I laughed, but the truth is it spoiled the rest of my flight. I kept glancing back, checking if he was really quiet, if he was truly okay. The scene was absurdly funny, yes — but also unsettling. Days earlier, we had been treating children with almost nothing at hand. Here, above the Atlantic, a man had a doctor, a cardiologist on the line, and two charming pilots nearby. That contrast — and my restless watch over him — is what I’ll always remember.