My War - Installment 44

The next fellow, Wade, was in his early twenties, blonde haired, husky build, from what I could see, leaning at my sitting angle. He was from nearby Philadelphia. We all exchanged some small talk for a few minutes and then the conversation turned to a common introductory topic, how each of us had come to be there at Valley Forge General Hospital. Since I was the new comer I had to go first.

I finished a short description about how I got there and gave the floor over to Jim. He began his narrative with nary a hesitation. He had been on leave during Christmas holidays and was at home in Pittsburgh. He had gone to his fiancée’s home to take her out to dinner. They had spent a short time inside her house, having a drink, before exiting to go to his car, which was parked in an alley beside the house.

Jim, with his fiancée on his arm, went out. He began to open the passenger door to help her into the car, when a hoodlum jumped from behind the vehicle with a pistol drawn and pointed it at Jim. The assailant must have been watching the house for some time and knew that no one else was there. He stated that he was going to make Jim's fiancée strip and was going to "have her" while Jim would be made to watch at gun point.

The situation was not a tenable one for Jim. He bided his time and when the, would be, rapist turned to check out a noise in the alley, Jim made his move. He leaped at the man. Jim's ultimate goal was one of diverting the aim of the hand gun, and then to try to overpower the felon, hopefully with the help of his fiancée.

Jim succeeded in diverting the barrel, but during the struggle that ensued, the pistol discharged hitting Jim in the right knee, and putting a real job on him. That was how he had come to Valley Forge.

Wade was next and started right off as if with some practice, I thought that he had probably lived though his personal horror story a number of times. Wade had been at home on Christmas leave, as had Jim. He had been standing outside of a store waiting for his girl friend, she later became his fiancée. The parking in that area, in that Philadelphia suburb, was diagonal to the curb. Wade had been standing and waiting against a brick store front, an old couple drove up into the parking place directly in front of him. The old man had parked too close to the car on his right so his wife could not get out of her door. Therefore the oldster left his motor running, because of the cold weather of December, but had forgotten to place the gear shift lever into the park position. The front tires against the curb were all that held the car from moving. The old geezer got out. His wife slid across the seat, toward his door, to exit. Wade was not watching them closely; because he had been keeping an eye out for his girl. As the old woman slid across the front seat her foot must have hit, and floored, the accelerator pedal. The car leaped over the curb and in a split second had pinned Wade against the wall, crushing his left knee.

Wade continued his story. He was taken to a local hospital, where they were prepared, to immediately, amputate his leg, above the knee. He told them he was in the military and asked to be sent to a military hospital. At that time his decision had been based on financial considerations. The expense would have been tremendous. Since his injuries were not life threatening the civilian doctors agreed to transfer him to Valley Forge, but only after his condition had stabilized.

The military doctors checked him over, and not being concerned about expense concluded that they could save the knee, but not the lower leg. His leg was amputated below the knee, which is far better than an AK (above the knee) amputation. He was thankful that he was in the military.

I found it interesting that fifty percent of the men, the four of us at the table, had been screwed up not even on active duty, let alone not being in combat. They had and would have all of the same privileges and benefits, if any existed, as those men that had been injured in combat. Not that I cared. It was just crazy that so many of the first men I talked with were not combat veterans. I was glad to find out later that most of hospital's patients were combat
veterans.

Another fellow had joined us at the table just as Wade was finishing his story. His name was Greg. He was sort of a weasel looking guy, with longish sandy colored hair, skinny, and thin faced, with a roman nose. His right arm was in a sling and I could see wires protruding from the tips of each finger of that hand. Wade had introduced him and told him to tell us his story.

Greg had been hit, just a fraction of an inch below the elbow of his right arm, with a fifty-plus caliber round. That single round had literally torn his arm off, all that is, but a tiny sliver of skin and flesh, no larger than a pencil in diameter. He had maintained control of himself, and after realizing his condition, he had picked up his forearm and stuffed it inside his fatigue shirt. He called for a medic who put a tourniquet on his upper arm. He was evacuated and they sewed his arm back on. It would take a number of operations and loads of therapy for him to regain any use at all.

I looked more closely at his arm and hand. The fingers were withered looking and very lean. The skin was drawn and looked thin like the skin on a very old person, or perhaps a corpse.

Greg made a comment that we all could have said in a similar way. "It could be worse. I heard of one guy in the hospital in Vietnam, the only wound on his body was that the "head of his dick had been shot off."

We all chuckled, but felt happier not having the just mentioned problem.

We decided to break off our conversation and go to lunch. We would play some cards when everybody got back. All these guys could go to the mess hall, at that time I still had to eat on the ward. I could not complain though, I could use a little time to rest after my jaunt.

I climbed back in bed and laid there quietly thinking about my new found friends. Jim was hilarious; I just knew that he and I would hit it off. That lucky joker was in a wheel chair with a cast just on one leg. Wade was in a wheel chair, like Dave and Greg was walking.

They were all interesting. This hospital life was not going to be so bad after all, especially since I had been healing so quickly and would not be there for very long. It would only be a short time until I'd be joining all these guys in the mess hall. Maybe we could go to the recreation hall and shoot some pool, or snooker, I had heard that there were some tables there.

Later that afternoon, after the card game, Jim and I decided to go to the recreation hall together. Jim was in his wheel chair, I got him to hold my cane and I pushed him using the handles of the wheel chair like a walker. It was definitely an easier way to get around, especially for the guy riding the chair.

We played a couple of games of eight ball. It was amusing to the onlookers, I was sure of that. We figured the game was even because Jim was stuck in a sitting position and I was stuck in a standing position, so the game was evenly matched. There were not very many others in the recreation hall in the late afternoon. We must have come earlier, or maybe everybody else came in later in the afternoon or had come during the day. There were not even any Red Cross workers there just then, but they must have been around, it wasn't even supper time.

We would catch them some other time perhaps. It had been rather tiring trying to reach the table, but we both had a good time doing it anyway. Jim went from the rec hall directly to the hospital mess. We had made plans to get together, after supper, back on the ward.

I bid him goodbye, grabbed my cane and started back. I had noticed that there were a number of old fashioned looking wooden wheelchairs on our ward, the kind with the large wheels in the front and the caster wheels in the back. That type of chair has a back that can recline. So, I thought that if I could get one, I could recline in my cast and roll around in comfort. While moving toward my bed I kept looking for one of the old chairs. I took notice of one back in a corner, seemingly abandon, so I requisitioned it and pushed it over to my cubicle of abode.

On the way onto the ward I had given BT a yell and told him that I would be by later. He did not appear to be too thrilled, but then that was his problem. As usual he was lying covered up and puffing away on a Camel cigarette.

I was glad to get in bed and rest for a few minutes before supper was placed on my table. Walking in that big cast had become a fairly easy exercise. I just wished that eating in it would be getting easier.

Jim came by when he returned from mess and we made some plans to go hassle BT in the morning. I was a relative new comer on the ward and Jim told me that no one fooled around with BT, he was just too bitter.

"Hog wash. I visited him once since I've been up walking and he wasn't bad, just a little down. Don't you think that you would be down and pissed off and everything else, if your own grenade had blown away your right arm and leg?"

"Yea. I guess so; really I think that you've got a point. So we'll go visit him."

"Hey, by the way did you notice my new wheels over there by the wall?"

"What, that old wooden piece of shit?"

"Yes that old wooden piece of shit."

"Those things are hell on wheels. Their almost impossible to steer with the wheels set up the way they are. I had one for a while."

"Come on. They can't be all that bad."

"Their OK if someone else is pushing you or for sitting in to play cards, but that's where their usefulness ends."

"Alright, so I'll use it for playing cards until I can find a better one. When are you getting a walking cast on that worthless leg of yours?"

"Friday I was told. Why?"

"I think that I am ready to hit the golf course and begin learning how to play. Want to give it a try?"

"Sure, why not. I think you’re crazier than I am."

"Fine, so I'm crazy. Tell me something I don't know. Tomorrow we'll go visit BT before we go to check out the golf course and get the details on using it."

"Yes Sir."

OUTINGS


The weather had become very warm that spring and the old radiators were still clunking away, pumping out BTU upon BTU. The windows were opened, but not even the hint of a breeze could force its way over the barrier of heat that emanated from the ancient cast iron clunker radiators. The trouble was that the military seemed to run its heating plant on a calendar, regardless of the outside weather, or temperature. It could be two hundred degrees outside, but if it was the time of the year for the heat to be on, then the heat would be on. We were all miserable, sweating our buns off without any relief in sight. Groans echoed around the ward in the gloom of night, along with muffled cursing about the heat. It felt almost as bad as the heat in Saigon, just a bit less humid.

It was a restless night for all of us. We hoped the early heat wave would stop, or that the hospital could at least turn the heat off.

We were not able to visit BT that morning, because we had to stick around for x-rays and some other small chores to get ready for grand rounds. Not being able to do very much, I joined a group at one of the game tables that was near my bed and played a few hands of gin rummy while waiting.

Again the doctors expressed amazement at how rapidly my femur seemed to be healing, I was very pleased about too.

It was apparently a little known fact that I was an officer, I suppose that it was because of my openness and friendly manner toward all the men. I didn't flaunt it in any way. We were all in the same boat and needed each other.

I had called home and given my Mom the waist measurement of my cast and an approximate inseam length. Mom was going to come down on Friday afternoon and take me home for a brief visit. That was one of the real advantages of being an officer; I had the freedom to come and go on weekends and evenings, if I had a mind to, and if I had transportation.

After grand rounds Jim came by and the two of us went up to BT's room to pay him a short visit. I introduced Jim to BT, who again showed no real interest in our being there. The only time I was able to get a reaction out of him was when I would bum a Camel from him and light one up for him. BT and I remained quietly smoking while Jim rattled off a few quick one liners. I had brought some cards along with me, but it would have been far too crowded in that tiny room for the three of us to play, with one in a body cast, one in a wheelchair, and one in bed. We ended up just talking for quite some time. The longer we stayed and talked the more BT began to loosen up and join in.

We had not been treating him any differently than we would anybody else; no better, no worse than we would have treated anybody or even someone with nothing wrong or with more wrong with them than BT. I was hoping that this might make BT realize that he was not any different. He was still a person, an interesting person, probably a more interesting person because of what he had been through. We were all more interesting because of our experiences, at least I thought so and a lot of the other men did too.

I had just begun to take notice of what was beginning to happen in the world outside the military, with the protests against the United States involvement in Vietnam, and all the anti-war demonstrations hype that was going on. I found it all unbelievable. At first I didn't pay much attention, we were living in a semi-insulated atmosphere there in the hospital, or perhaps, deep inside, we just down right really did not want to believe what we were reading and hearing.