Is there a doctor in the house?

My Friday night went a little something like this... I was minding my own business, sitting on a plane headed to Tucson, where I would spend the weekend shopping for wedding dresses with my sister. Then with a crackle and hiss of the overhead speaker, a quavering voice cries, "Are there any medical personnel on board the aircraft?"
Oh no. My heart starts tachin' away (medical slang for beating uber fast); I am medical personnel. What could it be? Fatal exsanguination? A woman in labor? Sudden cardiac death? An older gentleman leaps up and bounds toward the back of the plane. Maybe I can just stay where I am; that other guy got up. But what if he's just an enthusiastic radiology tech or retired pathologist? About 10 seconds have elapsed at this point as I stand up and head for the guy laying down in the back row. The flight attendant says, "Oh, do you need to use the bathroom?" After offering my assistance, she explains that a man felt queasy in his seat and then felt as if he were going to pass out on his way to the bathroom. Really? That's it? Mind you, he hadn't actually puked or actually passed out. I head back to my seat; the other guy is obviously more impressed than I am.
A few minutes later the flight attendant approaches my seat and asks 1) if I am a nurse (really?!) and 2) if I will examine his heart as the other guy (neurologist it turns out) can't hear anything. Neither do I, but as his blood pressure and heart rate are fine and he feels better, I don't entirely care.
Feeling very much like I'm dealing with the ER, I sit the guy up and take off the oxygen (running through one of those little plastic yellow emergency masks). He is not in the mood to go the ER upon landing. I inform him that we can't make him do anything. The other MD and me keep checking on him, and there is no further adieu.
Do you think the CEO of Southwest will send me a handwritten letter of his personal gratitude for my heroic services?