Seeing soldiers return from deployment

Yesterday I read an article in Outside magazine, one I'd have originally skipped over, thinking another military story, I'm not interested. But these days it interests me. It's a chronicle of wounded veterans tackling a mountain in Nepal- a moving tale of adventure and spirit.

It's been a year since the big push to prep soldiers from the 172nd for deployment to Afghanistan. They've been trickling back for a while, but returning en masse recently, about 300 every other day. It changes the landscape- groups of greensuits are scattered alongside the road as I drive through post. For a long time, it was a ghost town.

Part of their reintegration is a trip to optometry for a vision check, so I see them in my exam chair. What a different feeling, the returning. An overall sense of ease and relief. I've asked what's the best thing about being back, and they answer: "A bed, time alone, food." The basics. But I know it's not that simple.

I'm a little sad that I'll be missing most of the soldiers- I have only nine days left in the clinic. But at least I've seen some- it makes the experience feel a little more full-circle. What I've mostly learned in these nearly two years is compassion. I didn't know much about the military except how to judge it. I now know the stories of the people behind the scenes: where they come from, their hopes and dreams, the difficulties of military life, the risks of service. I do believe that we'd benefit from some sort of mandatory national service.

Our clinic itself is in transition, with several staff members leaving this summer. Our chiropractor died of leukemia on Friday (he'd been sick for a while). The whole place feels a bit dark right now. So many emotions in the air. Life starts and stops when it wants to- what control do we really have over it? But I'm comforted that in difficult times, I've seen everyone pull together and do what should be done, for that is all you can do. One foot in front of the other... never knowing when it will be your last.

News: Christi Himmelfahrt, Dave the Irish lad, SRP wrap up.

Heute (today) ist Vatertag und Christi (Christ) Himmelfahrt (sky-travel). It took some talking with Helga and her daughter to confirm it's Ascension day in the church and Father's day. In ten days comes Pentecost, called Pfingsten. I figured that out because of the ten day difference, being the good little Catholic girl that I am. Pfingsten doesn't translate into anything useful, just "Pentecost." Still, it's another few words.

This morning I got an email from David, the Irish guy who bought my registration. He said he did the marathon in 3:23 and the other two lads who were with him also secured registration and did it in 3:14 and 3:15. All much faster than I would've done. I'm sure the race people appreciated the improvement in time I offered by selling my registration. Thanks, foot! As always, there's good with bad- it was nice to get a note of thanks from him- makes me trust in the goodness of humanity.

Finally, the week is wrapping up and slowing down. The last few days, I've nearly been propped up at work. I've longed for Grandma's long-gone and never-used motorized cart at times! I've been going in at about 7AM every day, missing lunch and staying late to help get more soldiers through their exams, in exchange for an extra day or two off in the future. I've requested June 14th, an important national holiday, and my magnificent entrance onto earth. (Thanks mom!)

I will post the grand total exams after tomorrow. If there was a Guinness book for optometrists, I think I'd have a chance.

Averaging five an hour or more

What, you ask?

Exams. I say. Eye exams.

Isn't that a normal rate? That's about one every 12 minutes. Enough time to speed through a history, refraction, quick health check, order glasses and chuck 'em out the door. Your best efforts from Dr. Sara and Uncle Sam.

The patients are troopers. I go to the waiting room looking girly in my skirt and grey boots (they're the only shoes I can walk normal in since injuring my left foot) and ask, "Who's here for optometry SRP?" Six people sitting. Five raise their hands. The other's wearing glasses and just trying to be funny. They're all waiting for me. That's how it's been for the last two days, and I expect it'll be the same until the final day of our SRP, May 14th. (SRP is "Soldier Readiness Program.")

I was hired to be part of the surge team, those who prepare soldiers to leave and welcome them back upon return. This is where they really get their money's worth. This is where I'm really happy to have nearly ten years experience in my field and a background in HMO optometry. I know how to crank it up when I need to, and still remain personable. (Thanks, Kaiser!)

My patients are good sports. One of the history questions I'm required to ask is, "Are you in any pain today?" (Thanks to the folks at HEDIS.) I must then qualify, quantify and investigate it if they report anything. So far I've heard about back pain, tooth pain, big toe pain, headaches, foot pain, sinus pain, BUT NO EYE PAIN.

Today, I was asking the dumb question again, and my patient said he didn't have any pain. I said, "Thank god, I never hear anything relevant anyway." He said, "Well, my big toe kinda hurts." I laughed and said, "Someone told me about their toe pain!" He said someone told him to tell me about his toe pain. So apparently they talk to each other. I'm going to take that as they're having an good enough time in their twelve minutes with me. Enough to make a slight impression.

Hopefully they all come back safely in a year and see me again.