Short Writings from Pain

We weren't expecting much action, we had been moved to a rear area for real beds and hot meals. They called our job recon, we had been out, but we were back; so, we certainly had not anticipated a body bag count. But, there it was, at least for seven of us. I was one of the lucky ones, in the can for midnight dysentery; I didn’t hear the explosion, didn’t feel my body being lifted off of the wooden seat; indeed what I have said so far had to be told to me later.

It was December 1967, the nights were freezing and the days were rainy. We were on flat ground with only concertina wire for protection – we simply called it “the wire,” two strands of razor wire interwoven – virtually impossible to penetrate by hand after sloshing though knee deep mud. I was an interrogator; putting it in polite terms a part time interviewer. A dubious honor bestowed because I spoke both French and Spanish. Neither language did my interviewees know. We spoke English, they spoke something else. I had a keen ear to their inflections, and with that we determined their fate.

A nurse waved her hand in front of my face and tried to mouth some words. I had a card from my girlfriend, so I picked up the envelope and wrote: “what do you want?”

She took my pencil and wrote beneath my scribble. “Your dad is here.” She tossed the envelope on my chest and walked out of ward. I was accustomed to the surly attitude in our ward. Thank God for Demerol.

My buddy, in the bunk next to me, poked me and pointed at the note. He got no mail and seemed to delight in reading the letters I was receiving from my family. I felt sorry for him, and wanted to ask him for an address so we could write, but I never did. He looked at my note, then slapped my arm, and seemed to be quite delighted. I hoped it was for me. I think he was yelling something down the ward. Because, when I lifted my head there were men applauding and seemed to be shouting with glee.

Our hospital ward was akin to a skin rash with bursting blisters; a cesspool of blood and bandages; a virtual example of, well lets just say, for the wounded and dying. Our government closed its eyes to returning men and women. I think politicians were more interested in killing college kids.

Two large black men in white tee shirts suddenly appeared at my bedside. One picked me up while the other slid pants over my legs including the cast. Then they handed me a class “A” shirt, said something, and left. A wheel chair soon appeared. A cute nurse, I had never seen before, pushed it to my bunk. She patted the seat and indicated for me to sit. I hopped on one leg out of my bunk and waved to my buddy. The note said I was going to see my father, I guessed it was visitation day, and I was going out for awhile.

The nurse rolled me down to a sterile lobby. There, seated on a couch, was my father and another man, I assumed the man was our family physician. Both stood when I rolled in. The nurse said something to my father then handed him a large brown envelop.

The other man rubbed my shoulder and bent down to look at my ears. I looked up and saw kind eyes of the gentleman. Minutes later I was sitting in the front seat of my father’s huge sedan. The other man sat in the back and examined my ears and head; otherwise investigating me as best he could from the rear seat of a car.

Again, thank God for Demerol. I think I slept from New Jersey to home, so I obviously missed a couple of stops. When we arrived at my parent’s house my mother and sister met me at the car. The physician wasn’t with us then, but I began to hear the sound of the neighbor’s barking dog – the first sound I had heard since December.

There were no parades, although our pastor and a number of men from the VFW stopped by and talked to my dad. Each day my hearing improved until I began to understand words. Eventually, I fully recovered. Now, nearly 40 years later, my hearing is again leaving, I still walk with a limp, and a check arrives on the first of the month. I never knew the physician’s name, I didn’t ask. My parents are gone now; I suppose the physician is tending to them.