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So, I stuck my head into the superintendent's office and said, "Hey, Ed, what's up?" Now for anyone familiar with the military, this might seem strange, I mean, me, a three-striper (E-4) sergeant calling a seven-striper (E-8) by his first name, as did Reggie Washington, our two-striper, Airman First Class admin troop; but this was the hospital and rules were, well, a little lax. Ed looked up, he was always reading some file or report or at least acting like he was---"hey, Jack, I need for you to take yours and Jenkins' intakes today-he says he has out-processing appointments." I opened my mouth, but Ed held up his hand, "I know it's b.s., you and I both know he's short and even more worthless now and it's not worth the effort, the patients are the only ones who will suffer." (Don Jenkins was a sergeant who was close to getting out but he had always been well known for ducking work and being a lousy pysch tech in general.) Ed pointed at his watch, "Jack you are a noncommissioned officer now, you need to set an example for some of the doctors." He just shook his head and smiled, "Seriously, I know you have some of your regular patients scheduled, can you do it? ---- Get out of here-I know you can, if I could only get that wife of yours to push you out of bed a half an hour or so earlier, you might even comb your hair-which by the way needs a haircut- before you stumble in here. Visit the barber at lunch, all right, as soon as you can." So I gave him a quick salute which was returned by a pencil thrown at me and I was on my way back to my office, stopping along the way to talk to some of the psychologists and social workers, who were captains and majors, but were only a few years older than me. We had several basketball games a week so we were also on first name basis unless a "non-hospital officer" was around. There were a couple of psychiatrists also but they either wanted to be known by first name (even though they were colonels) or by Doctor-they usually seemed to flinch if one of us called them by rank-that is, except for Colonel Campbell, the head of the hospital psychiatric department, which included our clinic and the psych ward. He seemed to relish being known by Colonel more than doctor---an unwritten rule was to be careful of any doctor that preferred rank instead of Doctor. On the long walk to my office, I stopped to catch up on the latest news. The main talk was still the case where I had done an intake on a mother and daughter who both swore they regularly were visited by the father who had just died. Folie et deux- yeah, we all thought so, but it ended up in an exorcism that apparently worked according to the daughter, but she had been sworn to secrecy by the priest that conducted it. When she came back to see us, she had just lowered her head and said, "Something was there, but it was not my father---but it's gone now." Well, please, nothing like that today. I had time to open my desk drawer and take out a pen before my first patient came in. He was a regular, a student at one of the tech schools on base who just needed a little support to stay out of trouble and on task-he was a good kid and I thought he would do all right. Then an intake interview on a kid who just wanted out of service so he could go home. My job with him was just to take a social history and to get a handle on where he was-whether he was a bona fide emergency or could wait for a regular appointment a week or so off with one of the psychologists or social workers. Occasionally, I might steer the patient to a chaplain or just spend more time than I was supposed to and try to help him or her with whatever difficulty they might be going through. That was usually how I ended up with my own patients. The patient might be an active duty Air Force, Navy, Coastie, or even a few Army folks or a dependent husband, wife, daughter or son (even more rarely, a dependent parent). I can't ever remember seeing a Marine in our clinic, however short of recruiters, there were none of them stationed close to us and when they had problems, they were shipped off quickly to a Navy hospital. So, the morning wore on and finally lunch time came just as Reggie stepped between me and the door. "Hey Jack, there's a young wife here that says she needs to talk to somebody. She's pretty upset, I know it's lunchtime and there's other folks available after lunch, but could you see her?" Soft-hearted Reggie. "Sure, send her back---no, wait, I'll come out and get her." When I got to the lobby, I knew why he wanted me to see her. Tears in her eyes, she was still gorgeous. A little blonde, modestly dressed but still the kind of patient that some of the other techs would have fought over. Big blue eyes, I told her to follow me, when I asked her to take a chair in my office, I introduced myself as Sgt Lambert and she said she was "Ruthie, I mean Ruth, Simpson." As I shook her trembling hand, I could tell lunch hour was gone and probably most of my next appointment time. Ah well, it was my last day this week. Ok, the first decision was easy. She was seated---where would I sit?" I could sit behind the big gray metal desk---good for taking notes and establishing power. No, that wasn't even a consideration---the chair a couple of feet from her and actually less comfortable than hers but close to the Kleenex box. Her eyes nervously looked for mine as I picked up my clip-board with the social history form. I smiled at her, a quick explanation of the form and its use. "Sergeant Lambert?."--- I stopped her, knowing I was violating a cardinal rule----"No Ma'am, you can call me Jack"---setting the form down, "What can I do for you today?" For the next two hours I heard how she felt trapped in a marriage to a man that was almost ten years older than her nineteen years. The only thing they had in common was their two year old son and she didn't even feel free to raise him the way she knew she should. A lot of tears and all I did was to occasionally ask her to go on or how she felt about whatever she had stalled on. I think I at best halfway filled out the social history form. More talk and she became animated, telling of things she had done when she was in school, plans that she had made, how she had always wanted to go to college, how she wanted her son's life to be. Finally, she almost literally jumped up out of the chair, started to hug me but reconsidered and grabbed my hand. "Thank you, Jack---Sgt Lambert---you have helped me decide what I need to do." "And what is that, Ruthie? Mostly all I did was listen." She smiled. "That's the first time I have talked that much in such a long time and you did listen. Don't worry, I have everything planned out." Now, I was the uneasy one. "Are you sure, Ruth, I can get you in to see a doctor maybe today or tomorrow if you want, I will even sit in with you" (as I could see my off days disappearing). A bigger smile. She had her hand on her mouth and raised it to wave good-bye, almost like she was blowing a kiss. "No, Jack, I am fine; you take care of yourself. Promise." She took my hand and held it and my eyes just a little too long. Then, as she lightly walked out the door, it sank in just how beautiful she was. Also that I would get no lunch today as Reggie was escorting in my next patient that had been waiting over an hour, I watched Ruthie all the way down the hall thinking to myself that her husband needed "tractor therapy"---to pull his head out of his ass. As I sat in the big chair behind the desk, I realized it wouldn't take long to settle this patient down and maybe, maybe I could catch up in the afternoon. Crap, no, it was gonna be a late day. The clinic closes at 4:00 and now it is 5:30 and I am sitting at Reggie's desk eating my some kind of luncheon meat sandwich and trying to catch up on my charts so I won't feel guilty about being off tomorrow and Monday. My last patient left five minutes ago and I look up and realize that there is a very large Staff Sergeant (four stripes) with a name tag that says Simpson standing in front of me. He looks upset; ok here it come---wait---wait---but no, as he says that he needs to make an appointment. Ok, judgment call here, I explain to him that the clinic closed over an hour ago but that if it is an emergency, we have a doctor on call in the emergency room that I can have him see. No, no emergency, he will come back tomorrow. Ok, I've done what I am supposed to do and avoided a confrontation with a potentially irate husband, but something just doesn't seem right. I ask him as he turns to leave if he would like to talk to me and maybe we can figure out what is going on. I laugh and tell him that my office is just around the corner and my rates are cheap. He smiles but says that it can wait til tomorrow---shakes my hand, tells me to take care and leaves. Forty five minutes later and I am explaining to my wife who has just called that, yes, I have been working late---that she could check with, well, no, I am the only one here; but we do have a four day week-end ahead. The week-end is a great Gulf Coast one, which means fishing, seafood, beach time and all over too fast. Tuesday, later than usual but with a fresh haircut and clean/pressed uniform, I walk into the waiting room, smile as I see that it is completely empty. Reggie smiles, but then says, "Hey, Jack, didn't you see that Simpson woman Thursday?" I am glad that I didn't eat breakfast, cause I know what's coming. But then Reggie says, "I heard her husband hung himself Friday night." Tunnel vision, I hear friendly voices probably directed at me but all I can think of is getting back to my desk and to close my door. Sanctuary. I get there and in the middle of my desk is a post-card-a picture of a seashore on the front, but postmarked Hattiesburg. Yes, it's addressed to me---the message: Sgt Lambert, Jack, thank you so much for
listening and for I keep looking at the card, waiting to wake up, my clock tells me a half hour has passed. Ed is standing in the door; when I look up, he closes the door and sits down. He asks me if I want to talk about it and I tell him about the meeting with Sgt Simpson, that I should have done something more. I show him the card, he waves it off. Ed just holds his stare and I know he is checking me out, "I know you and I know there is nothing else you or any of us could have done; the other guys wouldn't have done that much. It comes with the job. He might have been the first, but if you stay in the field, he won't be the last. I got your back, but you won't need it." Ed is wrong. I am not really thinking that
much about him. Maybe I should be, but all I can see is a beautiful,
now-broken young woman who blew me a kiss and made me promise
to take care of myself. Did I really even tell either of them
to take care of themselves? Will Dixon is a tenth generation Tennessean, but has since his college days lived in Mississippi, Germany, Texas, Florida, Australia, Tennessee again, and then back to Florida where he now lives in Rockledge, a small city a few miles inland from the Space Coast. Each place was the same and different as were its people - an education in itself if one were not foolish enough to ignore it, and he has tried his best not to ignore the people or the places. Now the voices come back either as characters or inspirations. The voice of an opal miner in the Outback might come back as the voice of an old sailor. Will is left-handed, dyslexic, an Aquarian, and has been told by numerous doctors that he has neurological issues; so he claims he is probably wired differently and looks at things from different angles than most folks. All well for writing, sometimes good for life issues, but can play hell when he is trying to understand the symbols used for international road signs! Send Will a message directly
or check out his past works in the archive.
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Finally
Thursday and then a four day week-end coming up, since I had
worked last week-end. As I walked past the front desk a few minutes
late (as usual), Reggie said, "Hey, Jack, Ed wants to see
you-said as soon as you get in." Great, Senior Master Sergeant
Ed Hamilton, I knew what was coming and that I wouldn't be disappointed.
After three years in the Air Force, I never seemed to comprehend
why it was such a big deal to come in a few minutes late even
though I always worked an hour or so later than most of the other
people in the clinic.
Higher Ground
Cheshire Cat
Truly Calhoun
Songs of