Hi Julieann,

Thanks for the very lovely compliments. Unfortunately, you have incurred a bill for the new hat I'm going to have to buy, since you've caused my head to swell right out of the one I've been wearing! And here's a big Grateful hug to you, from another of your "C" friends!

As you might guess, part of my attitude comes from my experience getting shot and recovering. I went back to the states via the military MedEvac system, and spent 22 days in that system. Believe me, surrounded by young kids still in their late teens who have been shot, blown up by high explosives or fallen into a pit full of sharpened stakes, smeared with human feces, and impaled on those stakes makes it pretty hard to feel sorry for one's self.

But I'm really grateful for the experience, and believe me, those 22 days were very rich in that commodity.

Some of those were pretty funny, if you keep your sense of humor, and some were unspeakably horrible. Here's a example of each.

After 9 days on the critical list in the ICU in Pleiku, my fever had dropped to 105, and I was deemed well enough to proceed on the evac route. The next day, several of us were loaded (on litters) into the back of an army 3/4 ton field ambulance, taken to the air field and flown to Quinhon, on the coast, to await the arrival of the bird to take us on to the Clark AFB in Phillipines.

We had to RON in the field hospital in Quinhon that night, and as they unloaded us and brought us into a holding ward (Quonset hut ward) and put me into bed; I noticed that there was a window directly across from my bed and I could see the perimenter chain-link fence just outside, with jungle beyond.

I didn't think much about that, until a guy in hospital PJs and Robe came in on crutches, with what looked like a (large) fresh bandage wrapping around his calf. There was a corpsman nearby, and I asked him what the story on this guy was.

The corpsman responded, "Oh, that's LT smith, the Nurse assigned to this ward." We have a sniper in the area, and he shot the LT shot in the leg a hour ago as he was leaving for breakfast." Well, that was not as comforting to hear as you might imagine, and I promptly requested to be moved to a "No Sniping" bed.

The other side of that coin is not so deliciously humorous. Not at all.

The first night (of 10) I was in the hospital in the Phillipines, I was put in a room with just one other occupant, a young soldier who'd been evacuated directly there from the battle field. He's lost his right arm just above the elbow and his left just below the elbow. He'd also lost his right leg just below the knee and his left one, just above. He had third degree burns over 20% of his body; and he'd been shot through the larynx, so was unable to even call (or whisper) for help.

The pure, unadulterated suffering that poured from that young man's eyes was the hardest thing to bear one could imagine, and thank god they moved me into another, much larger room the next morning because I would surely have lost it completely if I stayed there, helpless to aid him in any way.

But when they put me in another room the next day, there were 9 soldiers there already, and all had colostomies (as I did, and for the same reason) and the atmosphere was more like a squad-bay (mil equivalent to a college dorm); lots of laughing, joking and just general grab-ass, with each of them trying hard to project the most "it ain't no big thang" attitude about their wounds.

You see, they had seen the alternative to being where we were, and they were damn glad to be where we were, and not in a body-bag somewhere. That realization has a remarkable way of improving one's attitude about one's condition, what ever it is. It was truly an honor to be amongst those brave young men; and the fact that we all knew was that not all of them were going to be around another year.

Perspective. It helps to keep it. Likewise, you sense of humor, which is indispensable for anyone who doesn't like suffering. Laughter is remarkably healing.

And I'm remarkably long winded. Sorry 'bout that .