Non-Fiction
Over thirty years ago as a young RN I would pick up extra shifts at the VA hospital to supplement my income from my regular job. I remember that Vets who were admitted for non-emergency surgeries would wait at least three weeks in-house before getting their surgeries. Particularly if you were on the ward which was a 40 bed unit assigned to one nurse. The four bed semi-private rooms were not much better but care was more immediate and palliative care was usually prescribed fairly early by interns, med students and if the Vets were real lucky, by the tough hardworking ex-vet full time RNs. There were two to four private rooms on each unit but they were for VIPs or for those who required quarantine. What drove the quality and timeliness of the care were the med students, interns and the residents who were the instructors – and they were slow. Average in house stay for a hernia was four to six weeks because these Vets made excellent guinea pigs. They had every test and procedure imaginable and they waited long periods between each one due to a lack of organization. The general consensus was that those “test subjects” were chosen because they lived alone or had no living spouse or were homeless but in general good health. The Vets on the ward were also mostly WW II vets and a few Korean war vets – Viet Nam war vets were usually on other floors or in the psych units – most VN vets had an initial psych eval as part of their admission. The Ward quickly became home to those admitted as they waited for their “surgeries”- most of which were unnecessary – they turned their beds and side tables into neat little living quarters, keeping them neat and clean, most changing and making their own beds as long as they were able. They organized card games, played chess and sat about telling stories and broke bread together. And they sang.
Over thirty years ago as a young RN I would pick up extra shifts at the VA hospital to supplement my income from my regular job. I remember that Vets who were admitted for non-emergency surgeries would wait at least three weeks in-house before getting their surgeries. Particularly if you were on the ward which was a 40 bed unit assigned to one nurse. The four bed semi-private rooms were not much better but care was more immediate and palliative care was usually prescribed fairly early by interns, med students and if the Vets were real lucky, by the tough hardworking ex-vet full time RNs. There were two to four private rooms on each unit but they were for VIPs or for those who required quarantine. What drove the quality and timeliness of the care were the med students, interns and the residents who were the instructors – and they were slow. Average in house stay for a hernia was four to six weeks because these Vets made excellent guinea pigs. They had every test and procedure imaginable and they waited long periods between each one due to a lack of organization. The general consensus was that those “test subjects” were chosen because they lived alone or had no living spouse or were homeless but in general good health. The Vets on the ward were also mostly WW II vets and a few Korean war vets – Viet Nam war vets were usually on other floors or in the psych units – most VN vets had an initial psych eval as part of their admission. The Ward quickly became home to those admitted as they waited for their “surgeries”- most of which were unnecessary – they turned their beds and side tables into neat little living quarters, keeping them neat and clean, most changing and making their own beds as long as they were able. They organized card games, played chess and sat about telling stories and broke bread together. And they sang.
One morning after breakfast on a particularly gloomy and rainy day an announcement that surgeries scheduled for the next day were cancelled. The Vets coped as usual with jokes, a few curses under their breath and than sat on their beds waiting for procedures, meds and anything else that was the morning routine (which usually lasted to lunchtime). The men were more quiet as usual probably because of the rain – the ward looked darker in the rain, the sound of the rain soothing.
One Vet had his radio on, a breadbox size off-white electric 1970′s clock radio that was tuned to a local Country Music station. In a second nearly every man was singing along with faraway pained wet gazes, their postures resigned, the usual jocularity absent:
” Lord, I hope this day is good
I’m feelin’ empty and misunderstood
I should be thankful Lord, I know I should
But Lord, I hope this day is good
Lord, have you forgotten me
I’ve been prayin’ to you faithfully
I’m not sayin’ I’m a righteous man
But Lord, I hope you understand”
As I recall this, there are tears in my eyes; I will always remember these men, these Soldiers, that rainy day and the song they sang which so epitomized their experience not only as patients at the VA hospital but also as United States Veterans.
Aquila
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