Why I’m Speaking About WWII in the Pacific at STACS

 In a few weeks, I will present at the Swiss Trauma and Acute Care Surgery Days, delivering a talk and participating on an expert panel. The deliberately direct title is: World War II in the Pacific and what it tells us about future conflicts.

This presentation is not intended as a history lecture. I am not traveling to Switzerland to review campaigns in detail. Rather, I aim to highlight how the Pacific war reveals persistent failures that continue to shape modern planning.

In major conflicts, it is not clinical skill that fails first, but rather the supporting systems.

The Question I Keep Coming Back To

Each generation assures itself of progress: improved tools, faster aircraft, more efficient evacuations, clearer communication, and more sophisticated plans.

However, operational realities often undermine these expectations.

Large-scale conflicts do not fail due to a lack of surgical expertise. Instead, failure occurs when casualties cannot access care, supplies are delayed, evacuation routes are blocked, blood supplies are depleted, and distance significantly increases transport times.

The Pacific campaign in World War II exemplifies these challenges. Oceanic distances, isolated islands, severe weather, and the limitations of available ships and aircraft determined the scope of medical care. Failures in care resulted not from inadequate medical skill, but from systemic inability to manage the operational burden.

This perspective will inform my approach at STACS.

What the Pacific Teaches Us About the Next Fight

The Pacific theater revealed fundamental and difficult truths.

Distance creates delay. Delay creates deaths. Deaths accumulate faster than teams can recover.

Although succinct, these statements accurately reflect the progression of warfare.

The initial lesson concerns time and geography. When combat occurs far from stable, well-resourced hospitals, the safety net that civilian trauma teams rely upon is lost. In civilian settings, patient transfers are rapid, power is reliable, operating rooms are well-stocked, blood supplies are predictable, and teams can request reinforcements.

Such assurances are absent in wartime conditions.

During major conflicts, wounded personnel may wait hours before seeing a surgeon. Weather can ground aircraft. A cratered runway can stop flights for days. A contested road or sea lane can shut down resupply. A storage failure can destroy critical medications or blood.

These issues are not peripheral; in wartime, they become central determinants of outcomes.

Why Logistics Beats Heroics

The hero narrative is appealing: a single individual confronts danger, achieves a remarkable rescue, and the narrative concludes.

However, this is not representative of large-scale warfare.

High intensity conflict can generate tens or hundreds of thousands of casualties. No amount of individual brilliance can compensate for a system that cannot move patients, equipment, and blood to where they are needed. Therefore, my presentation will address operational details that may seem unremarkable, focusing on planning, transportation routes, storage, supply chains, forward care, evacuation layers, and contingency measures.

While these topics may not attract widespread acclaim, they are essential for preserving life.

Blood Is Not a Detail. Blood Is a Plan.

Blood supply will be a central part of what I cover. In civilian practice, we often treat blood as a given. We may argue about inventory, wastage, or shortages during a busy week, but we still assume units will appear when we order them.

Major conflicts invalidate this assumption.

Blood expires. Blood requires temperature control. Blood needs transport. Blood demands disciplined storage and clear rules for how we use it. In a prolonged conflict, blood also needs an enforced plan for who receives it when supply cannot meet demand.

In the absence of a deliberate blood management strategy, medical support systems can rapidly fail. Hemorrhagic emergencies cannot be postponed until resupply arrives.

My objective is for STACS participants to leave with a clear message: blood management strategies must be established prior to the onset of casualties, not developed reactively.

Evacuation Does Not Always Happen

Another hard lesson from the Pacific is about evacuation. Many modern concepts quietly assume fast movement from point of injury to higher care. That assumption makes everyone feel better. It also sets them up to fail.

Future conflicts may result in closed airspace, disrupted communication networks, and the targeting of roads, sea lanes, and landing zones. These conditions may necessitate providing definitive care in locations not originally designed for such purposes.

In this context, evacuation cannot be guaranteed; it remains a vulnerable capability.

When evacuation slows or stops, forward care becomes decisive. Forward surgery matters more. Field level triage and resuscitation matter more. Teams need realistic concepts for days when no aircraft are available, when no convoy is safe, and when the next level of care means a facility farther away rather than a hospital within reach.

Civilian Care and War Care Are Not the Same World

Civilian trauma is difficult work, but it has one major advantage. It has stThere is familiarity with infrastructure, hospital locations, and blood supply chains, and an expectation that the system will function consistently from day to day.id today.

Combat medicine offers no such comfort. Patients can be physically unreachable. Weather can shut down movement. Operational tempo can exhaust teams. Shortages can force brutal choices. Storage and transport problems can decide whether someone lives or dies.

The disparity between expectations formed in civilian systems and the realities of warfare poses significant risks.

Therefore, I intend to state this explicitly: training and planning for combat care as if it mirrors civilian care will result in fragile systems. By anticipating disruption, distance, and degradation, it is possible to design resilient systems that adapt under stress.

Why This Matters Beyond War

Some may believe these considerations are irrelevant to non-military contexts. However, the lessons are broadly applicable.

Similar systemic failures are evident in large-scale disasters.

Events such as hurricanes, earthquakes, and mass casualty incidents can overwhelm local capacity as effectively as armed conflict. Infrastructure may be disrupted, power grids may fail, supply chains may be interrupted, communication may be lost, and evacuation may be impeded.

The questions are the same.

How do we move patients?
How do we keep blood available?
How do we prevent teams from burning out?
How do we keep care functioning when the environment turns hostile?

While history does not provide definitive solutions, it eliminates unrealistic expectations.

What I Want to Accomplish at STACS

I am not going to STACS to shock people. I am going to remove illusiFrequently, medical support is addressed only briefly at the conclusion of planning sessions. Considerable time is devoted to maneuver, intelligence, and communications, while medical readiness receives minimal attention.

Reality does not work that way.

Medical failure can occur early. It can occur before a single casualty reaches a fully equipped hospital. Once the system starts to fracture at blood distribution points, at evacuation nodes, and along supply routes, recovery becomes extremely difficult.

I hope that leaders and clinicians will leave with a transformed perspective.

Instead of planning for a short spike in casualties, we need to plan for prolonged strain. History shows that attrition is not just about weapons. It builds through wounds, infection, exposure, stress, and delayed care. That slow grind wears down teams and infrastructure. Weak points fail in familiar places, including. I also seek to challenge another assumption: seamless communication may not be available in future conflicts. Medical teams must be prepared to function with limited or absent connectivity. Clear doctrine, straightforward protocols, and decentralized decision-making are essential, as personnel may need to act without complete information. act without waiting for perfect information.

The Simplest Message I Can Offer

If I were to summarize my presentation in a few statements, I would offer the following.

Skill matters.
Planning matters more.
Reality punishes wishful thinking.

World War II in the Pacific is more than a historical episode; it serves as a case study demonstrating how distance and logistical challenges can undermine medical efforts more rapidly than a lack of expertise. These conditions may recur in future conflicts or major disasters.

At STACS, I will use historical examples, but I will keep pulling the discussion back to today and tomorrow. The best time to build a resilient medical system is before the crisis begins. The worst time is after it has already started.

This is the motivation for my presentation, the continued relevance of the Pacific campaign, and the imperative that medical readiness be operationalized rather than remain theoretical.

Dr. Martin Schreiber and the Quiet Power of Being Ready

Many people imagine trauma surgery as fast-paced and intense. They see a surgeon rushing in, giving orders, and saving lives at the last moment. That makes for good TV, but real trauma care is different. It depends on preparation, teamwork, and habits built long before emergencies.

This is where Dr. Martin Schreiber makes a difference.

He has built his career around the idea that being ready matters more than being dramatic. He has spent years treating seriously injured patients, training other doctors, and helping build stronger systems that keep people alive. His work shows a simple truth. You do not rise to the occasion. You fall back on what you practice.

Trauma Care Is Not a Solo Sport

A trauma surgeon can have steady hands and a sharp mind. That still will not be enough if the system around them fails. Trauma care involves many people moving at the same time. Paramedics. Emergency room staff. Nurses. Surgeons. Anesthesia teams. Intensive care teams. Blood bank staff. Imaging teams. All of them have to work in sync.

When the system works well, it feels almost calm. Everyone knows their role, communicates clearly, and moves quickly without rushing.

When the system does not work, everyone feels it. Confusion shows up. Time gets wasted. Mistakes Dr. Schreiber has focused on creating that calm environment, built on preparation, training, and clear routines outlines.

The Real Skill Is Making Good Choices Fast

Trauma surgery is not just about performing procedures well. It is also about knowing what matters most in each moment.

A patient might arrive with severe bleeding, trouble breathing, and signs of shock. The team must decide what to treat first, what can wait, and what to skip to avoid wasting time.

Making these decisions is not just about confidence. It comes from experience and practicing the same priorities until they become second nature.

Dr. Schreiber has spent years doing this work and teaching others. He has trained doctors to think clearly under pressure, not just act quickly. He believes that good trauma care starts with good thinking.

A Mindset Shaped by Military Service

Dr. Schreiber also served for many years in the U.S. Army Reserve and worked in combat situations. That experience changes how someone handles emergencies.

In a combat hospital, conditions are rarely ideal. Staffing is not perfect, and you may not have every tool you want. Still, you must make the best choices quickly with what you have.

That environment demands discipline, teamwork, and clear communication. People cannot count on luck; they depend on preparation.

Those lessons carry over into civilian trauma care. Emergencies never arrive neatly. Patients come in at all hours. Things can go wrong quickly. A team that trains well handles chaos better.

Dr. Schreiber’s career shows the value of Dr. Schreiber’s career shows why this mindset matters. He treats trauma care as a team effort that needs practice, not as a solo performance.

Here is a different, positive idea that matches his work.

People often say trauma doctors are tough. They imagine toughness means feeling nothing. They assume the best doctors can shut off emotion completely.

That is not the best version of toughness.

The better version is steadiness. The ability to stay clear headed when things get loud. The ability to keep the team grounded. The ability to stay focused on what matters most.

This steadiness comes from training, preparation, and respect for the team. No one can stay steady alone.

Dr. Schreiber’s work supports this idea: readiness leads to steadiness, and steadiness saves lives.

Teaching Others to Lead Under Pressure

One of the biggest ways a doctor makes an impact is by training other doctors. A surgeon can treat many patients over a career. A surgeon who teaches can influence thousands more through the people they mentor.

Dr. Schreiber has spent years teaching and guiding younger doctors. He has helped shape how they handle emergencies, teaching them to communicate, stay calm, and make smart choices under pressure.

His training goes beyond technical skills. It covers attitude, humility, listening to others—like the nurse who spots something first and the discipline to follow a plan instead of improvising in a crisis.

In trauma care, ego causes problems. Teamwork solves them.

Why Preparation Beats Hero Moments

Many people love stories about heroes one person saving the day, getting applause, and ending the crisis.

Real trauma care works best when nobody needs to be a hero.

The best outcome is when the team runs so smoothly that the patient gets what they need without delay. The best outcome is when everyone knows the plan and follows it. The best outcome is when the system keeps working even if one person is tired or unavailable.

This is a different kind of excellence less flashy, but much more reliable.

Dr. Schreiber’s career shows this approach in action. He believes you should not depend on last-minute brilliance, but on habits and teamwork.

Leadership That Feels Quiet but Lasts

Some leaders want attention. They want to be seen as the smartest person in the room. They want their name attached to everything.

The best leaders often do the opposite.

They build a culture where others can do great work, set clear routines, make it safe for team members to speak up, keep standards high, treat people with respect, and stay consistent.

This kind of leadership may not look exciting, but it lasts.

Dr. Schreiber’s career is an example of this style. He has made a difference through steady leadership, long-term commitment, and a focus on readiness.

What His Story Shows Us

Dr. Martin Schreiber’s work shows something simple and important.

Preparation is not boring. Preparation is life saving.

Training is not optional. Training is the foundation.

Teamwork is not a nice extra. Teamwork is the difference between chaos and control.

His career also shows a hopeful truth: you can be strong without becoming hard, face emergencies without losing your humanity, and stay steady while staying human.

Ultimately, that is what the best trauma doctors do. They arrive prepared, trust their team, make clear decisions, keep learning, and keep teaching.

This is not a dramatic TV moment. It is a lifetime of small choices that make a real difference.

Lessons from Rome and the Neurotrauma Front Lines

When you spend your life in trauma, you learn one thing very quickly: if you try to be a lone hero, your patients will pay the price. The hardest problems in surgery and critical care are team sports. That is as true in a combat hospital in Afghanistan as it is in a university trauma center in Oregon.

That reality was front and center for me at two recent meetings: the 181st Meeting of the Society of Clinical Surgery in Rome and the 3rd Annual Neurotrauma Symposium, where we wrestled with the stubborn problems that keep traumatic brain injury trials from succeeding. In both settings, it was clear that the biggest breakthroughs are not coming from the loudest individual in the room, but from groups who are willing to share data, share credit, and occasionally share jet lag.

Rome is a good place to be reminded of the power of collaboration. You cannot walk five feet without tripping over something built by a lot of people over a very long period of time. The Society of Clinical Surgery meeting had the same feel, just with fewer marble statues. The conversations ranged from surgical innovation to system-level performance. What struck me was how often we landed on the same idea: no single center can generate the kind of evidence we need for modern trauma care. We need multicenter studies, shared protocols, and a little humility about our own anecdotal experience.

The 3rd Annual Neurotrauma Symposium took that theme and made it very specific. Traumatic brain injury is notoriously difficult to study. Two patients can arrive with similar scans and walk out with completely different futures. The timing of intervention is critical. Measuring meaningful recovery is complicated. On top of that, the very patients who are most in need of better treatments usually arrive unable to consent to a trial. If it sounds messy, that is because it is.

Sitting in a room full of neurosurgeons, trauma surgeons, intensivists, emergency physicians, statisticians, and military colleagues, I found myself having flashbacks to deployment. In a combat support hospital, you learn quickly that you cannot fix a severely injured brain with a great operation alone. You need the pre-hospital medics who stopped the bleeding, the anesthesiologists who kept the patient alive through the rough parts, the nurses who will catch the first subtle change, and the rehab teams who will carry the baton after the ICU. Clinical trials are no different. If the neurologists, surgeons, pre-hospital teams, and trialists are not aligned from the start, the study is in trouble before the first patient is enrolled.

One of the most productive parts of the Neurotrauma Symposium was not a flashy new drug or device. It was the discussion about how we design smarter trials. We talked about using more adaptive designs, harmonizing data elements across centers, and combining biomarkers, imaging, and functional outcomes so that we are not pretending a single score tells the whole story. It may sound less glamorous than a miracle therapy, but without good trial design, even the best idea will quietly fail.

These meetings also reminded me how important it is to bridge military and civilian worlds. Many of the concepts that now feel routine in civilian trauma care were stress-tested in war: tourniquets, whole blood, damage-control resuscitation. At the same time, the military learns a tremendous amount from civilian centers about imaging, long-term outcomes, and rehabilitation. If we keep those domains in separate silos, we waste hard-earned lessons on both sides. If we connect them, a young soldier in a faraway place and an older driver on a highway at home can benefit from the same shared knowledge.

After a few decades of this work, I have come to appreciate that collaboration is not a buzzword. It is often the difference between a promising idea and a practice-changing standard of care. It is the difference between a beautiful single-center publication that no one can reproduce and a body of evidence that actually changes guidelines.

So when I sit in a lecture hall in Rome or at a neurotrauma meeting closer to home, I am not just listening for the latest therapy. I am watching for the networks that form in the hallway, the investigators who decide to pool their data instead of guarding it, and the younger surgeons who realize that the most powerful phrase in academic medicine might be, “Let’s do this together.”

In the end, my job has always had a simple goal: give trauma patients, whether they are warfighters or civilians, the best possible chance to live and recover. I have learned that the shortest path to that goal is rarely a straight line, and it is almost never a solo run. It is a crowded, occasionally chaotic, always rewarding journey that we make as a team. And if we get the collaboration right, our patients will never know how many people it took. They will just know they made it out of the trauma bay alive.

Dr. Martin Schreiber's Google Scholar profile

His publications overview

OHSU Foundation feature on his trauma research

Profile at Doximity with key works

Rome, Robotics, and the Basics That Still Matter

 I’ve been thinking about Rome more than I expected.

Not the postcard version. Not the monuments or the light or the curated history. What keeps coming back to me are the halls of Fondazione Policlinico Universitario Agostino Gemelli IRCCS, the cadence of the operating rooms, and the simple, humbling fact that a room full of accomplished surgeons can still become learners when the doors close and the case starts.

The 181st meeting of the Society of Clinical Surgery was one of those rare professional experiences that doesn’t hit you all at once. It settles in. I didn’t walk out thinking, “That was impressive.” I walked out thinking, “That mattered.” Those are not the same thing.

Part of that was the setting. The Society doesn’t often meet outside North America, and convening in Italy carried a weight that was hard to ignore. I found myself thinking about the Society’s origins as a travel club for young surgeons, with charter members like Harvey Cushing, George Crile, and Charles Frazier. The premise was disarmingly simple: you go, you watch, you learn, and you bring something home that makes your hands and your judgment better.

Modern surgery has a way of complicating that simple idea. We have more data than we can easily sort through. We have more devices than we can reasonably master. And we have more noise than ever. That’s why the Society’s traditional format still works. Real-time observation strips away the noise. You’re not watching an edited highlight reel. You’re watching decisions being made under time pressure, with uncertainty, on patients who don’t yet have the benefit of hindsight.

What lingers for me is not a single case, but how the best teams moved. The program leaned heavily into robotics and advanced minimally invasive approaches, and I did pay attention to the technology. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. Robotic platforms are not novel anymore, and the depth of integration there was obvious.

But the real lesson wasn’t the robot. The real lesson was the people.

The most effective rooms were quiet, steady rooms. Communication was crisp. You could see the planning expressed in small details. Instruments were where they needed to be. The sequence of steps felt deliberate. When something unexpected appeared, nobody panicked and nobody grandstanded. They adjusted, recalibrated, and moved on.

Most of my career has been in trauma, where conditions are rarely ideal. Trauma forces you to respect time, physiology, and the limits of what a patient can tolerate. So I naturally gravitated toward cases and techniques that spoke to that world, even when the schedule didn’t label them as “trauma” cases.

I keep coming back to endoscopic ultrasound–guided cholecystostomy as a stabilization tool for patients who are too sick for a bigger operation in that moment. That concept translates directly. In trauma and critical care, we’re constantly looking for the safest bridge to tomorrow. Any approach that can meaningfully reduce physiologic stress while still addressing the problem is worth our attention.

The neuromonitoring discussions stayed with me for a different reason. Trauma surgeons live in a cycle of rapid assessment, rapid intervention, and rapid reassessment. The goal has always been real-time monitoring that actually informs decisions, not just numbers on a screen. Watching how other specialties integrate neuromonitoring into their intraoperative judgment made me think carefully about what we might adopt—and what we should leave alone.

This trip also landed at a transition point for me personally.

After more than a decade leading trauma, critical care, and acute care surgery at Oregon Health & Science University, stepping out of that role has changed my daily life in ways I’m still sorting out. I don’t miss the pager. I do miss the immediacy. I miss the sense that every process improvement you fight for might matter to a patient you haven’t met yet.

At the same time, my work with Uniformed Services University and my ongoing involvement in military medicine have pulled me toward a different kind of urgency. It’s less about what happens in one room at 2 a.m. and more about what becomes standard practice in many rooms, across many systems, over years.

I’ve spent years pushing trauma care forward in hemorrhage control and resuscitation, including the return of whole blood in civilian systems. That work has reinforced a lesson I keep relearning: progress isn’t always about new. Sometimes progress means recovering something that works, proving it rigorously, and then making it scalable.

In that sense, the Rome meeting felt like a mirror.

There was plenty of new technology some of it very impressive but that wasn’t the real value. The value was watching thoughtful surgeons adopt tools without losing sight of core principles. The value was seeing how systems either support or undermine good decisions. The value was being reminded that “better” usually comes from a thousand small choices, executed consistently.

When I think back on that meeting now, I don’t think about being photographed in an operating room. I think about standing in the back, quietly watching a team at work, and feeling that familiar pull to refine my own craft. That impulse doesn’t seem to fade, even after decades in this field.

If anything, it gets sharper.

I didn’t come home from Rome with grand declarations. What I brought back was more practical. I brought back questions. I brought back ideas that deserve to be tested. I brought back a renewed respect for fundamentals, and a clearer view of where some parts of surgery appear to be heading.

Most of all, I brought back a reminder I didn’t realize I needed:

The best surgeons never outgrow the willingness to learn in someone else’s operating room.

TXA for Traumatic Brain Injury (JAMA, 2020)

 This multi-center prospective, randomized controlled trial (RCT), which included nearly 1000 participants from the United States and Canada enrolled by paramedics, evaluated the use of tranexamic acid (TXA) administered in the field within two hours of traumatic brain injury (TBI), as well as its impact on long-term neurologic function in moderate or severe TBI patients.

The bottom line: there was no significant improvement in long-term neurologic recovery in those who received TXA compared with the control group.

Patients received either TXA or a placebo prior to hospital arrival. At six months post-injury, both groups had similar rates of favorable neurologic recovery; the difference between the groups was small and not statistically significant. In addition, mortality, disability ratings, and intracranial hemorrhage development were not significantly different between the groups.

In addition to demonstrating that higher doses of TXA may result in an increased rate of seizures, the researchers identified a number of key dosing and safety issues related to the administration of TXA. Overall, while TXA was safe in this study population, the results indicate that administering TXA to patients with suspected moderate or severe TBI without radiographic confirmation will not improve their outcome.

This trial provides additional evidence that administering TXA to TBI patients in the pre-hospital setting, based solely on clinical diagnosis, is not supported by the available data. The potential benefit of TXA may be more pronounced in specific patient subpopulations; therefore, further research should focus on identifying these subpopulations to develop better criteria for patient selection.

To access all of the trial’s methodology, subgroup analysis, dosing information, and how this trial relates to previous studies evaluating the use of TXA, including the CRASH-3 trial, please see the full article published in JAMA.

To read more publications from Dr. Martin Schreiber, visit his official website.

The Hard Question We Still Haven’t Answered: Are We Ready?

I shared a keynote at the North Pacific Surgical Association meeting about an issue I’ve spent my entire career thinking about: readiness. Trauma systems have benefited enormously from lessons learned in military medicine, but the next challenge may not look like the last one. Prolonged care, limited evacuation, and supply shortages are real possibilities, and our civilian hospitals especially in rural areas need plans in place long before a crisis hits.

The progress we’ve made in hemorrhage control, whole blood, TXA, and damage control resuscitation has saved countless lives, both on the battlefield and at home. But the question of whether we’re truly prepared still remains. Readiness isn’t something we can build in the moment. It has to exist before the first patient arrives.

I’m grateful for the thoughtful discussion in Banff and encouraged to see so many leaders committed to strengthening the systems our communities rely on every day.

30th Anniversary of the Oregon Trauma System

 When we celebrated the 30th Anniversary of the Oregon Trauma System, it was more than just a milestone. It was a reflection of how much we've grown and how much farther we have to go to provide high-quality trauma care to all of the communities throughout Oregon.

I have spent my whole career working with trauma and critical care, so I have witnessed firsthand how quickly and effectively an appropriate and skilled intervention can lead to a successful outcome, and ultimately save a person's life. Where a patient's injury occurs directly impacts his or her ability to survive; in many rural communities, the delay in receiving medical attention can be devastating. That is the reason that enhancing trauma responses outside of our urban areas is a top priority for me.

Building a Stronger Rural Network

As part of the 30th Anniversary Celebration, Oregon Health & Science University (OHSU) and Legacy Emanuel Medical Center gave away four separate grants to first responders in rural areas. The purpose of these grants was to allow the first responders to obtain the equipment they need to perform their duties, as well as to receive additional training on their response systems.

While the monetary value of each grant may have been relatively small compared to other awards, the potential impact of the grants was significant. The funds were awarded to paramedics, volunteer rescue groups, and small hospitals that serve some of the most remote and isolated areas within the state of Oregon. These individuals are typically the ones who respond to the scene of an accident when the police arrive, and as such, the support received through these grants had the potential to positively affect the initial treatment of the patient.

Baker City Fire Rescue used its grant to upgrade its existing ambulance to a mass casualty vehicle that includes trauma related supplies and equipment. The Blue Mountain Hospital in John Day used its grant to purchase Stop the Bleed Kits and to conduct training sessions with volunteers and community members. As previously mentioned, both of these improvements are critical in areas that are geographically isolated and far removed from major population centers, as they can limit the access to hospitals during emergency situations.

Collaboration Saves Lives

Working with Legacy Emanuel on this project has been very gratifying. As partners, we have conducted numerous free Stop the Bleed classes throughout Oregon, and have trained hundreds of community members on how to stop bleeding prior to professional assistance arriving at the scene. Additionally, we have collaborated on the Rural Trauma Team Development Course, which is designed to enhance the coordination efforts of smaller hospitals during emergencies.

Trauma care begins long before the patient arrives at the hospital. It begins with the first person to respond to the scene of an accident. By empowering first responders, law enforcement personnel, and volunteers at the local level, we expand the scope of the trauma system and enhance the chances of survival for the patient.

Challenges Remain in Providing Rural Trauma Care

Despite the advances made in providing trauma care, rural trauma remains one of the most challenging problems facing the medical field today. Patients injured in rural areas are approximately two times more likely to die than patients injured in urban areas. While this disparity is reflective of the geographic isolation and limited access to medical facilities, it is not indicative of the skill and dedication of the healthcare professionals involved.

In order to successfully address the issue of rural trauma, healthcare organizations and government entities must collaborate and utilize creative solutions. The use of telemedicine is now allowing medical specialists to provide guidance to rural healthcare providers in real-time. Additional training opportunities are becoming available to enhance the skills of first responders. Additionally, partnerships between organizations such as OHSU and Legacy Emanuel Medical Center will continue to implement cutting-edge trauma care methods in rural communities.

A Sustainable Path Forward

We have learned at OHSU that sustainability is dependent upon the connections that exist between hospitals, agencies, and communities. When knowledge is shared among all parties involved, the overall performance of the system is enhanced. Each component of the system, whether it be the volunteer fireman responding to a call for service or the Level 1 trauma surgeon performing surgery, is essential to the process of saving lives.

A New Horizon

Thirty years ago, the Oregon Trauma System was established as a network of hospitals and emergency services. Its mission was simple yet ambitious – to provide quality trauma care to every Oregon resident. The anniversary celebration of the Oregon Trauma System reminded us that progress is often achieved by taking small steps. A grant, a training course, or a new partnership can have long-lasting consequences. Today, our focus is on continuing to build stronger ties between our rural and urban provider networks.

Every first responder should be given the necessary tools and training to respond with confidence in emergency situations. Every patient should have access to medical care regardless of their geographic location.

Personal Reflection

For me, this milestone represented more than just a celebration. It marked a point in time to reflect on what we have accomplished and what lies ahead. I have worked with countless people who are willing to put themselves in harm's way to assist others. Their dedication and passion inspire me every day.

Each time I travel to rural communities and witness volunteers preparing for emergencies, I am reminded of why this type of work is important. These individuals are the backbone of our trauma system. They remind us that every second counts and that every attempt to improve care has positive results.

My commitment to Oregon's evolving trauma network remains unchanged. We will continue to promote education, innovation, and collaboration. Working together, we will ensure that every patient, regardless of where he or she suffers an injury, receives the best opportunity to survive and recover.

That is the true measurement of a strong and effective trauma system. A system based on expertise, as well as compassion and cooperation that extends to every corner of our state.