They were a rough-looking crew, the boys on the bus. To be fair,
practically no one looks great at 5:45 in the morning, the time you have
to show up at the Veteran's Administration Outpatient Clinic in Redding
to catch the van to Mather Medical Center in Sacramento. I say “boys”
but occasionally a woman or two joined us, all of us veterans who for a
variety of reasons choose the VA for our healthcare needs, even if it
means occasionally riding the short bus 200 miles to see a specialist.
Most
of us kept to ourselves, perhaps because the hour was early and talk
would have inevitably turned to the illness that had earned each of us
our seat. Cancer, lung disease and diabetes don't make for great
breakfast conversation, especially if you happen to be suffering from
one of those maladies and you're on the way to the doctor to find out
how long you've got to live. Hepatitis C was my illness and I've never
been keen to share that information with anyone. Our silence was stoic,
not uncomfortable.
Read more.... Labels: Cure, Personal Stories, VA, Veterans