Chapter 4

Being the good Marine that I am, I called the VA and set up an appointment as soon as I got home. They set an evaluation appointment at the VA medical clinic in Salem. I was disappointed that it was three months down the line, but I had it on my calendar, and so far, that was as good as it was going to get.

When the day rolled around, I borrowed Mom’s car and drove into Salem. I stopped at the counter and told them who I was and that I had an appointment. The clerk handed me a clipboard and a pen. There was a half-inch stack of paperwork on the clipboard. The clerk was rather abrupt with me, “Fill these out, sign where there’s highlighter and bring them back when you’re finished. Then she went back to whatever she was doing on the computer.

It took me 45 minutes to work my way through that stack. It confused me because most of the information was in my Marine medical records. But one thing I knew for sure was to not rock the boat.

Once I had returned the paperwork, she told me to have a seat and wait to be called.

Fifteen minutes later, a younger, harried-looking guy came in. His lab coat was rumpled like his hair. He had the clipboard that I had been filling in earlier. As he was flipping through the pages, he started asking questions. Did I have trouble sleeping? How was my appetite? Was I eating? Did I feel anxious? Suicidal? Was I being abused at home? Did I use street drugs? When he finished, he said that I’d been seen in a minute or two.

For the first time that day, things happened as promised. I was very quickly called back to an exam room. Unfortunately, we repeated the question-and-answer program from before. This time, The Medic? Doctor? Janitor? He never did identify himself. While asking questions, he also took my blood pressure and listened to my heart and chest.

When he finally ran out of questions, he looked at me for the first time. “OK, Mr. Kidman, What I’ll be doing is writing you some prescriptions. Something to help you sleep. Something to help with any anxiousness or PTSD. A couple of other medications to help out. I’ll also set up an appointment with your primary care physician.”

I was stunned, “Wait a minute, You’re not a doctor? You’re not MY doctor?”

He chuckled, “No, I’m just a physician assistant. Almost a doctor. Your doctor works out of the VA hospital in Portland. Like I was saying, I’ll set up an appointment with your PCP, and from there, He can schedule a review of your disabled percentage.”

He shook my hand and disappeared. In all, He had been there 15 minutes, asked a bunch of questions, and listened to my heart and breathing. Needless to say, I was not impressed.

When I returned to the clerk out front, she informed me that the soonest I could be seen was six months away, and did I want a morning or afternoon appointment? She then gave me directions to the pharmacy and told me that my prescriptions would be waiting for me.

Unsurprisingly, the directions I had been given were next to useless. I got lost almost immediately. I finally stopped one of the janitors. He was probably the nicest person I met there. He didn’t just give me direction. He walked me over to where I needed to go.

The pharmacy had about 20 people sitting in the waiting room. A large sign at the entrance informed me that I needed to take a number. Next to the sign was a machine dispensing little tabs of paper with numbers. My number was 5270.

I looked at the displays above the clerks. The highest number was 5180. I groaned as I looked at the service counters.

There were three counters at the end of the room. But only one of the stations was staffed. So I looked around and saw that the people waiting fell into three groups. The first were on their cell phones. The next were asleep. The final group were staring off into space. I wasn’t sure, but I had the feeling they were chemically AWOL.

I sat down and got ready for a long wait. I was almost asleep when a Hispanic fellow plopped down in the seat next to me. I took a chance and supposed that he was also a vet waiting for his meds. The big clue was the missing left arm. He was looking at me when I opened my eyes. He had a big grin on his face. “Yo, Bro. First time here? I don’t recognize you.”

“Yeah, I just had my first appointment. Just waiting on some meds they think I need.”

He leaned forward and looked me up and down. “Well, you can’t be in too bad a shape. Nothing seems missing. Leastways nothing visible. I guess that means you got some scrambled eggs upstairs? You here with the big “P,” bro? A little combat fatigue as they used to call it?”