So
I visited the VA medical center the other day, it was early morning; I was in
the basement blood draw waiting room. Even at this early hour the room was
full, most of the vets there that day were older, but there was quite a few
younger vets present as well. This seems to be a growing change in this scene,
the vets are getting younger and this can cause some distress among those
waiting in the same room, I have to mention that it is my belief that most vets
are pretty careful; they are respectful of each other’s service whether they are
a retired Marine or an Army reservist.
That being said, there still seems
to be an underlying belief by some that anyone who’d served in a conflict other
than theirs, didn’t have it as bad. “When
you walk for a week through swamps in bug infested jungle in the same grundies while
dysentery creeps through your ranks, then come talk to me about having it rough”
the older vet in the corner would grumble to the two younger vets talking next
to him about their tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. The corners of the older vet’s mouth were
turned down, his face shaded in a week’s growth, he wore gray sweat pants
tucked into his snow boots and had on an old Carhart jacket. His arms were crossed,
he was guarded, waiting like everyone else; he had the stare, and looked like
many older vets in the room. The two he spoke to chuckled a bit without looking
at him, then continued their conversation albeit a little quieter. The older of
these two looked to be in his fifties, the other was late in his twenties. The
older one talked about being stuck in the desert in Iraq without bottled water,
half of their equipment; water buffalos and transport trucks having gone
missing on the docks before their company arrived to claim it and having to use
old Fargo school buses to transport POWs back to camps in Saudi Arabia. He
spoke about how they’d have to drive for hours on end and share the task with only
one other soldier to guard the bus packed with Iraqi soldiers that didn’t really
like the idea of going anywhere with these guys, constantly trying to rock the
bus in order to turn it over in hopes of escaping. He talked about them always being undermanned
and undersupplied.
The younger of the two wore jeans
with elaborate patterns on the back pockets, his pants hung low on his hips as
he sauntered in and found a seat. He talked about being caught in cross fire
between two tribes in the mountains of Afghanistan. He spoke about daily
bombardments at sundown around his small encampment far from any civilized
area. He talked about the batteries in his MP3 player dying soon after being in
country and not having his cel phone “in like
forever”. These two soldiers traded jabs back and forth for a while, they’d
laugh and then one would mention there not being cel phones back in 1990 and
91, and the other would say well at least in Iraq back then not everybody was
shooting at them like they were in Afghanistan. They both had good points and they both were adamant
about conveying their individual hardship. Then suddenly another soldier
sitting across the room stated “well at least we are all safe now sitting here
today” as a nurse called out his name to have his blood drawn and the room
filled with laughter.
One of the things I have always liked
about the VA is that when I am standing there inside that building I know that
the vast majority of people around me understand to a degree what I have been
through, that when it all comes down to the end result, we all share some of
the same experiences, even if they are in different parts of the world, or in
the snow, or the mountains or somewhere in the desert far from our friends and
family. We all know what it’s like to spend Christmas in a fox hole or a
personnel carrier with eight other soldiers that haven’t showered in weeks. We
all know what it’s like to listen to gunfire at night and wish we could hold our
loved ones hands; feel their soft skin in the desperate grip of ours. We all
know the pain, and the anguish, the long sleepless nights staring off into the
darkness watching shadows for any sign of movement. I know that when I leave
the VA, when I go back out there into the world again, that I can look into the
eyes of those around me and know they don’t get it, they don’t understand the
sacrifices I have made, why I stand there in front of the cereal aisle looking
lost because I can’t figure out how to decide between Captain fucking Crunch
and Count Chocolate, that such a simple task is difficult for me to make, when
I have spent every waking hour on deployment making decisions’ that determine
whether or not I will come home on my feet or in a bag.
I sat there in that waiting room
looking around at the faces of men and women, who’ve all lived those
experiences, some seem to be getting by, others appear to be having a more
difficult time with it. We can’t do it alone; we couldn’t do it alone when we
were in the thick of it so why should we think we have to do it alone now. We
need to learn to reach out and lean on each other a bit, find comfort in knowing
that we aren’t alone, that there are others out there that need our help that
need someone to lean on.
When the nurse came back out and
called the name of the soldier with the fancy pants, he got up slowly, and as
he stumbled to the blood draw room I noticed one of his pant legs had gotten
caught on and was exposing his prosthetic. The older vet in the corner looked
at him and his face relaxed just a little. Our experiences are our own and they
are relative in their severity. Often times those experiences find their way
back home with us, they hitch rides on our perspectives and poke at us when we
try and re-acclimate into society. Whether it’s a loss of a battle buddy, or a
leg, or a loved one long after returning home, because the relationship just isn’t
the same as it was before you left; we all share those hurts, those emotional
distresses. We can compare scars all day long, but it’s the ones we can’t see
that we need to address, that we need to know we share with our brothers and sisters,
reach out and say thank you next time, shake hands with the vet next to you and
look into his or her eyes and know, know that you are not alone.