With my knees finally at the point that I just could not walk anymore without extreme pain, I left my job at the US Naval Base in Andros, Bahamas, retired from Computer Sciences Corporation in 2007, and settled down in Orlando. The VA hospital in Orlando referred me to a local hospital for a total knee replacement. The plan was to have both knees replaced in the same motion, but I needed my right knee intact since I planned to drive myself back home to Texas upon being discharged from the Florida Hospital System. Once my stitches were removed some three weeks later, I drove myself back home to Texas and filed for yet another divorce after finding and settling down in my new home in the Austin area. I planned to have my other knee replaced after settling down in my new home .
As I was walking in at the front door of the Orlando VA hospital for physical therapy, I noticed three veterans of varying ages in wheelchairs at the curb apparently waiting for transportation home or to their nursing facility. I was clearly focused on my own pain and did not think much of their situation. I completed my hour of physical therapy intent on going home and treating my pain.
I exited the VA hospital and while walking on the sidewalk by the front entrance to the VA clinic, I passed by one of the three old veterans I had seen earlier on the sidewalk. The other two were no longer waiting. This lone veteran was most likely in his late eighties and slouched over while strapped to his wheelchair at the chest. He was proudly sporting my 101st Airborne Division patch on his World War II cap with several miniature decorations including the air medal, bronze star and a number of unit awards which I, too, had. He was alone. No family, no caretaker, no friends, and it was a brutally hot and humid day. The VA provided no sidewalk cover for those waiting for transportation.
I felt pity for my fellow veteran but felt I had my own situation to deal with and walked past him intent on getting to my parking lot. Something in me turned me around. In much pain, I struggled back to the old veteran. I approached the old veteran and asked if he needed help. In a halting, weakened voice, he answered, "No, sonny. I'm just tired. Waiting for my taxi to get here." I asked if I could take him somewhere. He continued with, "I'll be fine, but thank you, sonny." I tried to engage him in conversation telling him that I, too, served with 101st Airborne.
"Sonny," he said weakly, "I'm sure you were in Vietnam. You kids had it rough. I was too old for Vietnam, thank the Lord." With those words, he closed his eyes as if sleeping.
I left him and began the long trek to my parking spot in that smallish, overcrowded parking lot which had outgrown its ability to handle the burgeoning number of veterans. As I got into my truck, I could not get his sad, lonely image out of my mind. I circled back and drove towards the entrance intent on giving my fellow 101st Airborne veteran a ride to wherever it was he was going.
I mentally began to work out the logistics of picking him up and placing him in my passenger seat then hoisting his wheelchair into my back seat. Since I was incapable of putting him in my front seat myself, I knew I could get some healthy veterans nearby to assist. And when I got him to his nursing facility, I just knew there would be someone there to assist me.
But I had needlessly over-planned. When I drove back to the curb, he was already gone. Apparently, his taxi had come. I was nearing the end of another of my divorces at the time, and I saw myself in him at his age years into the future. He was obviously alone, whether because his wife of many years passed on or, like me, he may have been unable to maintain relationships. Having no one at that age is such a sad thing. Fortunately, the VA takes care of us much unlike twenty or more years ago when VA care services operated on a much smaller scale and catered to only a select few of those in need of care.
I moved on, but the sad lonely image of him alone and stooped over in his wheelchair lives on in my mind. I was him years into my future.
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