When the Smoke Clears

Conversations recently with Michele of NYC brought something to mind of the past weekend as well as other thoughts currently in my head about potential lost and where I should be.

I notice I am happiest when I am working as medical support for the military. I need to do something about that, but the way life twisted and turned it brought me where I get to be the geek, assisting with the technology, making the big decisions about what will be implemented where and how. I still get to play medic at different times of the week and on weekends, purely voluntary, though.

Last weekend during the time with the mountaineering unit, we were getting ready. The hike up the goat trail was about to begin. Fresh faces, young faces, but I’ll never say “too young” because these were men, though it would be easy to characterize the soft skin not yet filled out as boyish. The difference lay in their eyes. It wasn’t a hardened lack of feeling, rather a serious dedication and acceptance of their direction in life at this time.

One set of eyes kept watching me from behind those awful military issue glasses with large plastic frames. I think they were specifically designed to discourage people without perfect vision from joining the military as anyone forced to wear them will immediately be followed by a giant balloon with the word “dork” floating behind him that no one will see, but everyone can sense. I didn’t really recognize him, but he didn’t seem to be completely unfamiliar, with large lips and a large nose on a thin face, alert brown eyes. Maybe it was the glasses.

I started my first inspection of all of them, a quick assessment of their hydration by eyeing their mucous membranes and lips, their overall wellness from the color of their skin, eyes, mouth, looking for any signs of problems in their posture, observing their gait as they moved to get on line, checking for any visible rashes on their necks and hands, watching their breathing for signs of a panic attack. Sometimes I break their nervous but stoic silence by asking questions, listening for the timbre of their voices. Their answers were short, respectful and complete. It also helps take a part of their mind away from the tasks they are about to endure. Let them expend their energy working rather than worrying.

As I met the different eyes, the kid man in the crazy glasses rubbed his lips together in nervous preparation and finally broke, “Sir?”

“Yes?” (I hate it when they call me “sir” and a lot of the older ones know it.)

“Are you going to be up there all the rest of the way tonight?”

“Sure am. Headed up with the first group but I can quickly drop back to your group if something comes up. The instructors have radios.”

“Just… I wanted to say something and I was wondering if maybe tonight after we get up there…”

I smiled, “You might as well tell me now, we probably won’t have much time for discussion. You got some condition I need to know about?”

He smiled back, but only with his eyes. CJ, I remembered. He liked to be called CJ. Around military folks people most often call each other by last name or rank or a combination of the two since they are displayed prominently. I make an effort to learn first names and nicknames.

“Well, I was away at training all summer with my home unit.”

“That’s cool,” I said, making polite conversation and trying to take note of something about him so I could remember it.

“Well, sir, I decided to apply to change my MOS [job] to 91-Whisky [combat medic]. Got it, too.”

“Very cool,” and I tried to move on without showing too much favoritism and pride at having another medic in the midst.

“Sir,” his words rushed to stop me, “I wanted to tell you you were the reason I did it.”

My brain slowed to a halt as the words rattled around inside. I turned back. “What?” I asked.

“I saw last winter how you handled things. You really helped people but were calm about it. You knew what you were doing. I decided I wanted to be like that, like you, and this was the first step.”

Thank Gott their instructors started calling out orders right then and the sun was harsh enough that I had to squint. The first unit was already headed out and I trotted behind.

Soon after my group neared the first climbing rockface, I was called to a problem with the second group. Another one whom I had thought looked a little ill but didn’t mention anything to me, had fallen out for a moment from the strain. His instructors were removing clothing, trying to cool him off. I gently asked them to stop as the night temperatures were dropping quickly. He said he felt like throwing up but figured he could go on as soon as he did that. I told him to hold on, looked in his mouth, eyes, ears. Definite problem in one ear and along the back of his throat. I listened to his lungs and heard the slight gurgle in the lower part of one side.

While the others in the unit were off to the side of the trail, clearly thankful for the momentary rest, I saw CJ watching me as he sweated under the heavy load on his back. A couple of probing questions later and the soldier on the ground revealed he had been feeling sick, his one ear did hurt, but he did not want to miss out on the weekend. No fever, so since we were close to the top I asked if he thought he could continue. He said yes. I would allow it, but watch him closely, ready to take part of his load if he were about to be a danger to himself.

Finally at the camp-spot, the men were sorting through gear, getting equipment ready. I was doing my silent inspection again. “Sir?” CJ said again. I saw the eyes of his instructors shift over.

“Don’t worry. We’ll talk. I expect you to ask around and find my office some time in the next few weeks. Don’t make me come find you.”

He finally smiled with his whole face. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

You have no idea, I thought. Thank YOU, sir.

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