My War - Installment 43

Rick Sullivan, the youngest looking of the doctors, came by to talk to me for a few minutes after supper and suggested that I wait until morning to test out the boundaries of my maneuverability. He explained that the thicker cast would take longer to dry and if I put any excess stress on it that evening it would likely develop some cracks, which would ruin the cast and perhaps cause me to further damage to my leg. I figured it best to heed his advisory warning. Thank him I bid him a good evening. He told me that I would soon be able to visit the officers club with my new cast on. I was concerned about getting a measurement on the waist of the cast, so I could get some pants to fit as soon as possible. The baggy old hospital pajamas wouldn't do for prowling around the club.

As I laid there in the dark that night there were no limits to the things that went through my mind; and believing that I was going to try with the cast on. There was not only the mess hall to look forward to visiting, but there was a library, a recreation hall, a swimming pool, of no use to me, a gymnasium, a golf course, the officers club, cars to drive, cards to play, friends to make, people to visit, the list seemed to go on and on. I beginning to fall asleep but continued listing things to do instead of counting sheep.

I was awake bright and early the next morning ready to start out on new adventures of freedom from the bed. I was going to make the most out of it.

I reached up and grabbed hold of my trapeze, lifting my upper body above the mattress slightly. Using my free right leg I pushed my left leg, including the cast, over at an angle and off the edge of the bed. I kept my right foot in position on the bed and lifted my upper body higher, while lowering my plaster covered left leg to the floor, in a coordinated combination of raising one section and lowering the other like a child's see-saw. The process took perhaps a minute or so. I did move slower that first time, because I wanted to be sure of what I was doing.

With my body tilted at a steep angle I brought my bare foot down to the floor. My cane was hung near the head of the bed on the upper part of the traction framework. Just like when I had been in flight training and had dreamed about procedures and flight maneuvers, going over them again and again in my mind, I had repeated this maneuver, a thousand times, in my head since getting the new cast. I reached for the cane and then placed it into my right hand; then pushing off of the bed and pushing on the cane I was up on my foot, or was it feet.

My head was spinning, I did not know if it was from lying down for so long, or from the excitement and jubilation of just standing up and what was ahead. I tried a first step. It was strange doing all the real moving using only one leg that hurt like hell and one cane in a hand that also hurt. I would reach out with my right leg for the step and then sort of bend to the right, pivoting on the hip, and then I would lift the left leg, swinging it out and round, either slightly ahead of or in line with where the right leg was. I was almost completely oblivious to what anyone else was doing around me, almost to the point of absolute exclusion.

The cast on the left leg with its pad for walking made the leg about two inches longer than the right, which further added to the difficulty of walking. I felt as if I must surely look like Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein," taking his first steps in the laboratory.

I began to become cognizant of my surroundings in the ward; I had moved halfway through the ward, and was just then realizing or beginning to grasp the overwhelming enjoyment of my new found abilities.

I read the names on the doors to the officers’ rooms as I moved by and saw that there were not as many private rooms as I had previously believed. Some of the rooms were for storage, others for examination. The private rooms, totaling four, had two majors, a captain, and a first lieutenant. I ventured on past the nurses' station, and out into the hall, then I moved across into the next ward. "I'm sailing now," I said to myself. I glanced about to see what kinds of patients were in that side of the ward...

The scene was much the same as on my ward with the exception of a very large circular affair in the place of one of the beds. I asked a nurse what it was. There were two large circles made of chrome or stainless steel tubing, between which was a double sided canvas stretcher-like bed, which surrounded a patient. The large circles were in another frame, which held them, and on which the large circles could be rotated. The nurse told explained that these frames were for patients with broken backs, or necks, or patients who had undergone back surgery. With this apparatus the patient could be held in place, but could also be turned over so that the he could spend some time on back or belly, depending on the wants and needs of the patient. By using this bed structure the probability of bed sores was greatly reduced.

I was becoming more confident with each passing moment, more sure with each strained step. I turned and began the journey back to my bed, my first adventure having worn me down a bit. I'd have to try a few more walks and start to get to know some of the men I was living with later that day.

After lunch I planned to take another walk. I had learned that I would not be expected to go to the mess hall until I was free from the Spica cast; this was due to not being able to bend and sit in a chair. I would postpone any decision about going to mess hall until after I had a chance to experiment with sitting.

I launched myself from the bed and started out again, this time, having planned a little better, I even had a slipper on my right foot. I moved toward one of the tables and grabbed onto the back of a chair. I lowered myself down and stopped propped at an angle, touching just the front edge of the seat and the top edge of the back of the chair. I had to place my right foot along side for stability. I could sit up in a chair, whether or not I could sit up and eat, might prove to be a difficult matter, unless I could grow longer arms.

BUDDING FRIENDSHIP

I struggled up from the chair and strolled through the ward again, this time paying more attention to the men that were there. While awkwardly walking along I noticed that the doors to the officers’ rooms were open. In passing I nosily tried to look into each one to see who the occupant was. The majors looked altogether and normal. The captain looked really down in the mouth and was apparently missing part of his right arm,. Looking more closely I could distinguish only one bump where his feet should be. He must be missing, at least, a bare minimum of, a right foot and perhaps more.

I went in uninvited after knocking, thinking that he might want some company. He didn't act very thrilled.

"Hi, my name is Sam, Sam Rollason, I've just been here a short time and I'm trying to meet a few people."

"Yea big deal."

"What's your name?"

"Mullens - Captain BT Mullens."

He just lay there grinding his teeth in a closed mouth, not seeming to be especially interested in my being there. He did not move or even take more than a quick look in my direction. I knew that I was going to like this guy.

His night stand was clear of everything, except some Camel cigarettes, matches, an empty crumpled Camel's packet, and an ash tray full of butts.

"Mind if I bum a smoke, Captain?"

"Naaw, go ahead. Just call me BT. Light one for me, would ya?"
"Sure." It seemed that the ice was breaking.

I roughly tapped the packet of Camels on the bottom and pulled out two of the unfiltered smokes, sticking them both between my lips. I carelessly flipped the pack back on the night table, awkwardly reaching forward I picked up the matches. I was teetering somewhat as I tore off a paper match and dragged it across the phosphorus strip, bringing it to life. I guided the match to the tips of the two fags, while eying BT. I inhaled, drawing on both to make sure they were lit and then put one to BT’s lips. He drew in, taking the smoke deep into his lungs and then put the cigarette between the first and second fingers of his left and only hand, before exhaling a cloud of blue-gray smoke.

"Thanks!"

"Sure anytime. You into playing cards or anything like that BT?"

"Not really. You see I lost my fucking right arm and right leg. So, I'm not too...a...into that shit any more."

He was definitely bitter. I couldn't blame him. Here I was some jack-leg clown covered in plaster barging in on his privacy. But then for some reason I believed he needed to have some one force their way through his wall of discontented frustration.

We remained in silence, BT just laying there and me just standing there, uncomfortably swaying back and forth, while he ground his teeth and smoked. BT looked like he was somewhere between twenty-six and twenty-nine, it was hard to make a good guess with only his head and one arm really visible above the covers. His hair was red and his face was freckled over a ruddy complexion, the blue of his eyes appeared to reflect the steely blue anger that he must have felt inside. He had told me that his arm and leg had been blown off by his own grenade, which had a short fuse.

"I think you ought to play some cards with me. Don't give me that crap about you can't play because you lost an arm and a leg. It takes head power, I can supply the hands, the foot is no excuse for not playing cards anyway. Cripes, between the two of us we can muster two and one half good hands any how."

I left BT to think over my offer and continued on by the next few doors and across the central hallway and into the next ward again.

I was beginning to move more easily now that I was getting use to the cast, as well as the knack of manipulating it. I moved on into the ward and again became fascinated with the circular bed. I approached the bed and peeked at the name plate. There was a major hidden in that bed somewhere. I stumbled up and introduced myself. He told me that he was getting his back fused, four or five vertebrae were being joined together, due to the amount of damage; the doctors had decided that a fusion was the safest and best means of treatment. He hoped to be out of the contraption within a few weeks and looked forward to joining us. His name was Ben Johnson and he seemed a very personable man, easy to get along with and easy to talk to. He was in his mid to late forties, maybe older, and was just a real nice fellow to chat with.

After talking for a few minutes I said goodbye to Major Johnson and walked along a little further in the ward. I had not noticed it before, I don't know why, but the great majority of these patients were very young. I considered myself to be young, I was only twenty and within a few months would be twenty one, but these guys looked like they had been shipped in from some high school somewhere. There was one kid with both arms missing below the elbows. I talked with him, he was eager to tell me his story. He seemed to be pleased that an officer or anybody for that matter would take the time to listen. He had been sitting on a "shitter" in Vietnam, reading a comic book when some dodo, that had been cleaning his M-16, carelessly shot both of his arms off. His lower arms and hands had fallen to the ground, still holding the comic book. The stumps were far too torn up to even attempt to graft them back on.

His story of a careless act by someone else reminded me of some of the incidents that had happened in my own unit. There had been a private, from New York City, playing quick draw with his side arm one afternoon and shot one of our crew chiefs in the back.

I was beginning to theorize, from seeing all the young men there in the hospital, and from observations of the young GI's in Vietnam and their careless ways, that many of the young were not prepared mentally for the war they were sent to fight. Perhaps they actually believed that it could not really happen to them. Many had that youthful belief that it just could not happen to them. I know there were few times when I had thought that way.

There were other young fellows missing legs, arms, feet, and other having wounds of varying severity. I turned around and started back to my side of the ward. I figured I had spread enough joy or discontent in my wake for one morning. Ben gave me a wave as I shuffled by and I nodded while smiling my acknowledgement.

My aim was to see if I could join one of the double-deck pinochle games down at my end of my ward. I had learned to play pinochle years before. My big sister Judy had taught me and I had played partners with her and her husband numerous times. I was considered to be a fair player.

The policy in military hospitals or rather with the military in general was to place patients in hospitals within their home state, or at least within their home geographic region. So the patients were almost all from Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey, Maryland, and surrounding states, at least I had a regional association in common with everyone.

I moved on in and lowered myself into a vacant chair at the card table. There were three others there talking when I arrived. They all stopped as I went through my seating procedure and applauded when I had finished. I can not say that it felt good to sit down, because it didn't, but it did take a load off of my free leg.

One of the men was Dave, the drop foot fellow whom I had met briefly. He was a tall thin man…no he was downright skinny, he looked like he was in his mid twenties with dark brown, almost black, hair, cut in a typical military crew cut style. Dave was a lieutenant. He had been wounded in both legs. His story was not too glamorous compared to what was to come. The next fellow was in his early twenties and was a dead ringer for Steve Allen. His hair was black, wavy and combed just like his name sake look-a-like. He wore glasses, black horn-rimmed, just like you know who. He even talked and joked like Steve Allen. He was from Pittsburgh and his name was Jim.