Elbows (Part 3): Lucky
Published July 16th, 2008 in WritingNote: This post is part tree of a three part story called “Elbows.” For more information, see Elbows, An Introduction.
Like at any doctor’s office, I had to wait a while before seeing the doctor who was an Air Force captain. He had me remove the Rambo bandages from my elbows, a task not unlike pulling apart Velcro. He cleaned the wounds, which were freshly bleeding. Then he put large gauze pads on and wrapped that wide, tannish medical tape around my arms several times. It wouldn’t have been surprising if my hands started resembling those of a Smurf just before falling off completely. Of course, that would result in a medical discharge, which sounded nice. Two hands vs. freedom, hmm…
The captain told me to the procedure for taking care of my elbows and gave me the medical supplies I would need to duplicate what he had just done in order to freshly wrap the wounds twice a day. He told me all this specifically so I wouldn’t have to come back. “Don’t come back tomorrow,” he said. Clearly, he wasn’t impressed with the grinding of my elbows that I had accomplished or the Rambo bandages. The proper medical bandages were much more comfortable, though tight.
After the medical visit, I returned to my squadron and signed back in. The rest of that day was pretty typical of an average day in basic–terrible but bearable.
That night, our primary TI (the insane one) was briefing us and filling us in on various things. He addressed me and said, “You’re to visit the medical hall in the morning.”
Red flags went up; that was in direct conflict with what the doctor had said.
“Sir—” but I was cut off. He continued with other news and never gave me a chance to speak. A million thoughts fought for dominance in my head. The captain said don’t come back. The TI said do go back. A captain outranks a tech. sergeant. The TI directly oversees me. Maybe he was accidentally looking at this morning’s appointments instead of tomorrow’s. Was I supposed to go before PT? After? After breakfast? The TI in the morning would direct me when I needed to go.
The TI in the morning did not direct me when I was supposed to go and I didn’t speak up. If there is one thing you learn in basic, it is to blend in.
That night when the insane TI was back for briefings, it was the moment of truth. Near the end of the briefing, he asked me if I had gone to the medical hall. Shit.
“No, si—”
The volcano exploded. If you know those fireworks that create a concussion you feel in your lungs and set off all car alarms for a mile, then you know a fraction of the power of the yelling I had unleashed.
Insults. “I ordered you!” More insults. “Damned trainee can’t follow damn orders!” Even more insults.
I had to follow him to his office. Standing at the door, I watched him sit at the desk and begin searching through phone directories, listening to him tell me how much of a failure I was, how useless I was, how I shouldn’t have been born.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only failure. He couldn’t find the phone number and shot to his feet. His legs smashed into the keyboard tray, further infuriating him. He slammed the phone down, causing a prolonged artificial ring, as he charged out of the room with me right behind.
We left our wing of the building and took the stairs to the sister flight (the group of females with whom we shared TIs, drill practice, etc.) and he pounded on the door. The metal cover on the other side of the small glass window opened and the trainee instantly recognized trouble.
“Sir, may I help you?”
“Just open the damn door!” the reply was shouted, though with a word harsher than “damn.”
“Sir, may I see your authority to enter?”
He slammed his ID up against the window.
“One green military ID card…” Her words were the automated voice of a precise procedure, which we were all told not to memorize but had burned into our minds regardless.
When we entered, the TI immediately yelled at her and demanded a 341. She had not shouted the mandatory warning for males entering, but I felt responsible for her error. I wanted to apologize, but I had to keep up as the TI marched to the office in the female flight.
I stood in the doorway once more as he took a seat at the desk and looked for the phone number. Having success, he dialed and transferred to the doctor.
He described me, useless trainee with torn-up elbows, and asked about the missed appointment. The person on the other end spoke for a bit before they both finished the conversation and hung up.
The TI looked directly at me. I stood perfectly still, at attention.
Through gritted teeth, “You’re lucky, trainee. He said you don’t have to come back.”
It was a small victory.
Ian,
“Don’t come back tomorrow” stuck in my mind. It could be a kind of warning to people who develop a bad habit and want the reassurance of someone else’s accepting their persistent presence in their wrong frame of mind. Does that make any sense?
Of course you are not that kind of person, the physician probably said that to everyone whose situation made it reasonable for him to say it.
Small victories are probably better than large one.
Thanks for writing.
Robert
That is an interesting analysis of “Don’t come back tomorrow.” I think outside of basic training, that would be quite likely. In basic training, I don’t know if anyone ever had a chance of developing such a habit. Then again, one guy in our flight “fell” down the stairs and broke his leg (possibly other parts too, but I don’t remember for sure); everyone said that he threw himself down the stairs because he couldn’t take it.
Ian,
I was re-reading this post and I have a suggestion. In “His legs smashed the keyboard tray” I believe it might be clearer if you inserted “into” so that it would read “His legs smashed into the keyboard tray.” I didn’t really visualize what happened the first time I read through it.
Only once in my life can I think of doing something that might be similar to this training you went through but I didn’t have to do anything afterward and you had to go on training.
I learned to swim when I was in my late forties and I actually learned butterfly although I was never very good at it. One day my teacher said, do you think you can do fifty yards of butterfly. I said, no. She said, well try. So I made a little shallow dive and was on my way. When I got to the forty yard mark, everything in my body said, we don’t want to do anything else any more. But I willed myself to get to the end of the lane and I did. Afterward I said that I had always heard the expression mind over matter but it was only then that I really understand what it meant.
Just thought as I was proofreading this comment. One thing I learn in swimming was to keep my elbows high.
Robert
Nice catch, Robert, that does help clarify it. That’s one problem with writing late at night: It’s easy to miss little things. It’s even harder to catch them after reading one’s own writing and already knowing what it should say/mean.
The swimming does sound like a good example of mind over matter; I suppose we’re fortunate to rarely need to push ourselves so much, though I think it does good to push to the limits now and then.