In 2020, I served as Acting Chief Medical Officer for U.S. Customs and Border Protection. For the first time, I watched the trauma principles we proved on city streets play out across a national mission. It showed me just how far this work can reach—and how many lives it can touch.
When I stepped into the role, CBP was facing intense pressure on every front: large migrant flows, fragile populations, remote terrain, and a spotlight on how we handled health and safety. It was a different battlefield, but the core problem was familiar: people were getting hurt, or arriving already in bad shape, and the system was too slow or too fragmented to respond the way it needed to.
I approached CBP the same way I approached Dallas SWAT. First, understand the ground truth. I spent time listening to frontline agents, medical staff, and leadership. I asked simple questions: Who is getting sick or injured? Where are we failing them? What do you wish you had on hand when things go bad?
The answers were blunt. Long transport times. Limited medical capability in remote areas. Overcrowded facilities. Kids and adults arriving with dehydration, infections, chronic disease, trauma, and mental health crises. The stakes were high, and the margin for error was small.
So we went back to basics: apply trauma medicine principles to a national border mission.
Push care forward
We worked to push medical capability closer to where people were being encountered and held, not just at the big hospitals downstream. That meant supporting forward-deployed medical staff, better triage tools, and clearer protocols for when and how to escalate care. The goal was the same as it had always been in my work: shorten the time between the moment someone is in trouble and the moment someone with the right skills steps in.Standardize how we look at risk
At CBP’s scale, you can’t rely on instinct alone. You need simple, clear frameworks that anyone can follow under pressure. We leaned on the same mindset that drives tactical medicine and Stop the Bleed: don’t overcomplicate it. Identify the biggest, most preventable causes of harm and build systems around them.That meant focusing on:
- Rapid recognition of life-threatening conditions
- Early intervention for dehydration, respiratory distress, and sepsis
- Clear criteria for hospital transfer
- Tight coordination with local EMS and hospitals along the border
Train for the worst day, not the average one
In Dallas, we drilled for gunshots and blast injuries. At CBP, the threats looked different, but the principle held: you don’t rise to the occasion; you fall to your level of training.We emphasized training and guidance that prepared teams for:
- Sudden surges in population at holding facilities
- Infectious disease spread in crowded environments
- Pediatric emergencies involving very young children
- Medical crises in remote, austere locations far from higher-level care
The goal was not to turn every agent into a medic. It was to make sure the right people, with the right training and equipment, were in the right place before the crisis hit.
Build bridges, not silos
Trauma work has taught me that no single agency saves a life alone. In Dallas, that meant law enforcement, EMS, and hospitals working as a team. At CBP, it meant aligning with public health partners, local health systems, NGOs, and other federal agencies.My job was to help connect those dots, so that when CBP encountered someone in crisis, we weren’t improvising the handoff. We were executing a plan.
Keep the mission clear: protect life
Border security is a charged topic. The politics around it are loud. In the middle of that, it’s easy to lose sight of a simple truth: every person in CBP custody, every agent on the line, every child in a holding facility is a human being whose life has value.In trauma, clarity comes from stripping away noise and asking one question: what do we need to do right now so this person doesn’t die or suffer needlessly? I carried that same question into every conversation at CBP.
Leadership decisions, resource fights, and policy debates all came back to that core idea: protect life. Agents’ lives. Detainees’ lives. Families’ lives. Everyone.
What 2020 taught me
Serving as Acting Chief Medical Officer for CBP in 2020 reinforced a lesson I first learned in trauma bays and on SWAT calls: if you build simple, disciplined systems around the hardest moments, you can change outcomes at scale.The work at CBP was not about headlines or politics. It was about:
- Bringing order to chaos in high-risk environments
- Applying proven trauma principles to new, complex settings
- Refusing to accept preventable harm just because the system is big or the problem is hard
Standing on the border, looking at the scope of the mission, I saw the same truth I saw years earlier in Dallas: when you push care forward, train with purpose, and stay focused on protecting life, the impact reaches far beyond the walls of any single hospital or any single city.
That year confirmed something for me: the principles of tactical and trauma medicine don’t just belong on a battlefield or a city street. They belong anywhere people face high risk, limited resources, and no room for error. And if we’re willing to meet reality where it is, we can build systems that honor every life that passes through them.

