Riding in ambulances with paramedics
In my last post in this series, I received my first permanent profile. I had also successfully passed my first Army Physical Fitness Test (APFT) since my injury. Right around that time (summer 01), I was told that I'd be leaving the platoon and moving to the company headquarters. At first I was really pissed. The headquarters section is often where units send their dirtbags. I felt that the platoon was trying to get rid of me. I found out quickly that the company commander had actually picked me to move to the company headquarters. He called me in and told me that he wanted me to be in charge of the headquarters and blah, blah, blah... It was truly a comliment coming from this man. I respected him like I've respected very few officers and I know he wasn't blowing smoke up my a$$, but I still didn't want the job.
He asked what would I say if he offered me the job. I told him I'd say no, thanks. He asked what I'd say if he ordered me to do the job. I said, I'd start when and where he wanted and he could expect my best work.
He ordered me to show up Monday morning. I have much more to say about moving to the headquarters, but I'll save it for a later time. Let me just say this, though - I'm glad he ordered me to take the job. We got in a new 1SG (and a few months later a new commander) and it was truly a great experience to work this job.
For the rest of 2001, I moved along the path of recover fairly well. By my birthday, I was running fairly well. I set two goals that looked pretty attainable before my PCS date in Mar 02.
First, I wanted to be able to participate in and successfully complete a battalion run. Battalion runs are another arbitrary barometer of dirtbag-ness in the Army. It was division policy that regardless of your PT standards (based on age and gender) for the run on the APFT, if you wanted to be a good Lightfighter, you had to do 4 miles in 36 minutes. It was actually our battalion's policy that if you did not complete the runs in formation with the rest of the battalion, you got chewed out at the end of the run by the CSM and then, your names were passed down to the company commander, who had to make sure the Soldiers in question got an addition in their monthly performance counseling citing this as a deficiency. They wanted to go as far as put a bullet (comment) in the NCOERs of any NCO that didn't finish the run in formation. Profiles like me were exempt from all of this, but usually had to do 'battalion profile PT' which was often led by some spiteful jerk that had tweaked a knee and couldn't run, so they'd be saddled with the profiles. We had one guy actually run PT similar basic training. He had us doing all kinds of exercises while he walked up and down the ranks of the formation, spitting chew tobacco between us. My goal of running in the battalion run was two fold. First, I wanted to get out of this group PT thing. Second, to me, it would be a tangible landmark in my recovery.
My second goal was to do a long ruckmarch. I was really hoping that I'd be able to participate in a 12-mile ruck before I left. I knew we had one coming up in Feb. I was doing very short marches with a light ruck (maybe 25 pounds) will little ill effect, so I was hopeful. The 12-mile ruck is another thing that Lightfighters do regularly to show how Hooah! they are. The standards are different, though for different Soldiers. The time limits were set a 3 hours, 4 hours, and 5 hours. I don't remember exactly how it broke down. I do remember that very few people had 3 hours (that's also the Air Assault school standard - on grad day, you get up extra early and do a 12-miler as the last requirement of the course). Most of the Soldiers in my battalion had the full 5 hours, but our company offered incentives to do it faster. For me, just carrying the gear 12-miles in 5 hours successfully was incentive enough for me.
Well, I didn't attain either goal. During the last couple weeks of 01 and the first week of 02, I made two basic mistakes. I did two things that they taught me not to do in the how to live with a bad back class. The first was during Christmas week, my wife slipped in some water in the house. I immediately moved to her, bent over at the waist, and picked her up to a standing position. I felt something tug in my lower back and realized that I'd done something wrong. I took it easy for a few day. During the first week of the new year, I was at PT one morning and we were doing a lot of jog in place then get down to do one exercise and get back up for more jogging in place. Well, one time I didn't stand up the way they taught me in the class. I felt something move again in my back and realized, again, that I'd done something to it. For the rest of the session, I stayed down on the ground and skipped the jogging in place. It was too late.
The rest of the day, I moved slowly and was very cautious. My back felt weird and I didn't like it. I just wanted to get through the day and go home and relax. During lunch I took some paper work out to one of the platoon offices and I stopped by the mensroom (it was truly a good thing I did that). When I came back into the headquarters office, I suddenly lost all feeling in and control of my legs. I went down in a heap. Immediately I got feeling back, but it wasn't good. I had so much pain starting in my lower back and radiating all the way down into my toes. It hurt so bad that I could barely breath. I could see my 1SG through his doorway, but his back was turned. I couldn't call out for help because the pain was so intense. I tried slapping the tile floor with my hand but it failed to get his attention.
After what seemed to be 3 years, someone came through the front door and saw me. As luck would have it, it was a brand new 98C straight out of basic training and AIT. The guy still jumped at NCO stripes. He had no idea what to do. It truly is funny to look back on now, but at the time, it was exasperating. He stood over me somewhere between parade rest and kneeling at my side, asking 'SSG Reynolds, are you OK? SGT?' My 1SG heard this and finally came out. Immediately, I was surrounded by a bunch of people. I was doing the mullet on the floor, still, but the pain was starting to subside a little. My 1SG wanted to call the ambulance right away, but I managed to tell him that I didn't think that was necessary. The commander (actually a 1st LT standing in for the CO for a couple weeks) offered to pull her car around and drive me to the urgent care clinic. But, there was no way I was getting off the floor. I couldn't stand or even crawl. The pain returned when they tried to lift me. So, the 1SG ended up calling the ambulance anyway.
Lunchtime was nearly over, so I became the center of attention for the entire company as they returned to work. This was magnified when the ambulance pulled up. People from across the battalion came over to our company to see what was going on.
When the paramedics came in, they started by asking me all the standard questions. I explained to them my history and what happened that day. I was still unable to move out of a prone position, so they brought in the back board and gurney. I'd been strapped to a back board once before and it is no joy. They wheeled me out and loaded me up. This was truly the most embarrassing part of all this. By this time, there were a bunch of people outside, waiting to see what was going on. Some, apparently, didn't know what had happened and were kneeling in a circle in prayer. In hindsight, I do appreciate the sentiment, but at the time, I felt like the old man in Monty Python's Holy Grail. "I'm not quite dead yet." I mean, don't you save that sort of thing for heart attacks and truly bad accidents (and sporting events)? I just felt embarrassed because this was a result of my own idiocy.
The ride to the clinic was short and I was quickly taken inside. The ride didn't do anything for my back, so by the time I got inside, I was having another bad attack. They hooked my up to a bunch of machines and the PA came over to check on me. When I could talk again, he asked me what happened. I explained everything to him and he checked my records (brought to him while I was talking from the main clinic). He gave me a shot of anti-inflammotary and told me he'd monitor me for a bit. By this time, EVERYONE from my company was there. Well, maybe not everyone, but so many people that the staff had to clear most of them out. My battalion CSM stopped by, too. He had a bad back, too, and made me laugh (more pain) when he told me about throwing his back out with a sneeze. The 1SG called my wife and she showed up, too.
I spent about an hour on the bed before I started to feel OK. The PA asked if I'd like to try standing up. I told him I was ready. When I got to a sitting position, he wanted to look at my back before I stood up. He lifted up my shirt and I pointed to exactly where the pain had started and was most intense. He gently massaged the area with his thumbs and remarked that it was quite swollen. He told me to try standing up slowly. As soon as he stopped the massage,though, I had another, more vicious pain attack. It racked my entire body and I started flipping like a fish out of water again. I remember that there was a tiny part of my brain that remained rational the entire time. It kept telling me that if I continued to move around, I'd eventually find a position where the pain would stop. It was also calling the PA every bad word I knew in every language I could summon up.
The worst part was that I still hadn't been given anything for the pain! The PA immediately ordered up an injection, but they hadn't checked a baseline of my vitals, so they couldn't administer it until they did. So, I'm doing the flippy-flop on the bed and they are trying to check my blood pressure and heart rate! Someone actually had the nerve to mention that my blood pressure was a little high! After another 7 years, they were able to give me the valium. It took another 9 years to take effect, but once it did... well, let's just say valium makes the bad man stop. Mostly.
I spent another couple hours laying there, waiting for the PA to release me. I don't remember exactly what time it was, but I didn't care. Valium does that to you. Eventually I was released with a bottle of anti-inflammatories and a bottle of valium. They wheelchaired me out to the car and my supervisor followed us home. I was able to walk from the car to the front door before my back gave out again. I felt the same cramping in my back, but the valium made it bearable. I low crawled to the couch and went to sleep.
I had an appointment already set up with a doc the next day. My wife took the day off from work to take me in. I had to crawl to the car and lay down in the back seat for the ride. They brought me in in a wheel chair. Had I only known who it was going to be with, I would have just skipped. It was the flight doc I'd seen over a year earlier that had thought I was faking. He wheeled me back to the hall outside his office. He didn't really say much to me. When he asked if I could walk without the chair, I told him no. He didn't seem pleased by that. He studied my file for 10 minutes without saying a word to me. My wife started talking about him in Korean and it wasn't nice stuff. He went into another docs office and closed the door. We could hear muffled talk, but nothing specific. He came out five minutes later and told me to go home and come back when I could walk. There was nothing he could do for me now. He finished up by giving me an official quarters slip and called to have a medic wheel me out. I really wasn't too mad, though, at the time. I'd taken a valium when I woke up.
After this incident, I had to get back on the path of recovery at a spot I'd left behind long ago. I went back in after the long weekend and was able to see a doc that wasn't an a$$hat. I restarted physical therapy and continued that until I left in March. To this day, I have not done a 12-mile ruck or a battalion run. It has become less important to me. Sure, I'd like to be able to do them, but I've learned an important lesson in back health.