On the last weekend of my family medicine clerkship in Vivian, LA I was invited by a local retired physician to

partake in a wild boar roast and cookout to celebrate the start of the squirrel hunting season. I drove my Prius
with California plates 15 minutes out of town to a homestead that doesn't have an address, and found myself in
the company of a few dozen men dressed head to toe in camouflage. I cracked a beer and was soon invited to hop
on the back of a 4x4 to tour the property in search of additional wild boar to hunt. As we drove through the brush
a few minutes later a hog raced out in front of us at full sprint, dropping with a grunt as the boom of a rifle echoed
through the nearby woods, followed by whoops of joy from my guides over their kill. We loaded the hog into the
back of the jeep under my feet and proceeded back to camp. Upon our return we regaled the others with the
heroic story of quick reflexes and deadly marksmanship.

I ate some of the best bbq of my life that night, but the food took a back seat to the beer and stories that passed
among my new friends. They welcomed me with open arms, inquiring about my story and taking immense
pleasure in telling me their own. As the night drew to a close they invited me back the next morning to join them
in the squirrel hunt, and I set off home to get a few hours of sleep before the early morning start.

My alarm woke me at 5:30 and I trudged into the bathroom to try to shake the sleep from my eyes. My phone
began to ring with an unfamiliar, local number and I answered it not knowing what to expect.

"Is this Geoff the medical student?" the caller asked.

Yes.
"I'm calling because we have a woman here in the hospital in labor, and Dr. Taylor said you might like to come help
her deliver."
"OF COURSE! I'll be right over!" I replied. The hunt would have to wait.

I threw on a pair of scrubs and jogged the 40 yards from my room at the EMS house to the hospital. As I got to
labor and delivery I found a large family gathered outside the door, eagerly waiting. I'd met a few of them before
and they smiled and greeted me as I hurried through the door into the delivery room.

"You'd better hurry - she's crowning!" Dr. Taylor called out.

I had not yet delivered a baby, and I'd been hoping for this opportunity my whole rotation. As quickly as I could I
donned my booties, cap, mask, gown, and gloves, adrenaline clouding my senses just enough that I put my gloves
on the wrong hands. Too late to get a new pair, these would have to do. I turned and looked at the resident, who
smiled and stepped back to let me get in position to catch my first baby.

"Push! PUSH! PUSH!"

As the tiny head slid into my hands Dr. Taylor whispered reminders in my ear - apply pressure to the perineum,
now move your hands around the head, downward pressure, don't drop it! I grasped the neck and within a few
seconds the baby was born, warm and slippery and starting to cry.

"Congratulations!!!!" I lifted the baby so mom and dad could see as the resident clamped the cord. I grinned from
ear to ear under my mask as I handed the baby to the nurses to be cleaned and wrapped. What a feeling.

After we finished extracting the placenta and cleaning up, I thanked mom and dad for letting me be a part of their
special day and ducked out to the nurses station. Dr. Taylor congratulated me on a job well done and I glanced at
the clock, noticing that somehow only 30 minutes had passed since I'd arrived. I could still make it to the hunt! I
checked to be sure there was nothing more I could do at the hospital and raced home, changing my scrubs for
jeans and my stethoscope for a camouflage jacket. I made it to the homestead just in time to meet my hosts, go
over gun safety, and set out into the woods. It took me a whole box of shells, 25 shots to be exact, but I managed
to get three squirrels for the stew later that night.

On a Saturday morning in early October, before I normally would have been awake, I had already caught a baby
and gone on a squirrel hunt. It was a great end to a great rotation.

-- Geoff Holman