Welcome to California

I had no plan. But, plans are overrated.

The dorm manager commented on the broken window, “I’ve already noted it. You won’t get blamed. It’s on my list. OK, let’s check the rest of the room.”

He seemed nice enough, bit of a paunch belly, slightly longer than regulation dirty blonde hair. And with four stripes on his sleeve he had God-like stature compared to me, a lowly ‘one-striper.’ I followed him around my new home as he completed a condition report. He marked off any existing deficiencies so I wouldn’t be held responsible when it came time for me to leave.

As I followed my friendly dorm manager, I thought, ‘OK, I signed up for this but hope I’m not here too long. What a big step backwards. I’m twenty-one and living in a military dormitory. I should be back in New Hampshire finishing up my junior year of college. But instead, I’m an entry level air force medic assigned to Mather Air Force Base just south of Rancho Cordova, a small town a few miles east of Sacramento, California.’

I spent six weeks in Wichita Falls, Texas where I learned my craft. Yes, I attended ‘tech school’ at Sheppard Air Force Base where in only six weeks I transformed from a pickle green uniform airman into a white uniform stethoscope carrying air force medic. I sure felt awkward about it, ‘You mean to tell me, after six short weeks of training they’re going to let me near people needing medical attention? God help those patients.’

I arrived on base the evening before. My sponsor, Senior Airman (SRA) Arlene Walgate greeted me at the Sacramento airport, drove me to the base, got me settled into the dorm room and gave me a brief orientation to my new surroundings. Her friendly yet businesslike approach made me feel welcome.

Arlene gave me the facts of my new situation. “You’ve been assigned to the medical ward, all new ‘med techs’ start on one of the wards. The other two wards – surgical and maternity- are full up. But, the medical ward is the best place to start. That’s where I started and that’s where you get the most extensive hands-on experience. If you’re a good troop, you can get promoted to the emergency room or special care unit (SCU) faster than if you’re in the other wards. But, expect to spend at least two years on the ward before even thinking about a transfer. And, I hope you like California, because you’ll be here four years; nobody gets out sooner. The air force doesn’t like to move you until you’ve done four years on station. After four years you can put in for a new assignment or get out. But, you’ve got to do your four years here at Mather one way or another.”

She continued, “It’s a small hospital, only eighty beds. We don’t have an ICU (Intensive Care Unit), don’t have the equipment so we’re downgraded to SCU. If the patient is too bad for us to handle we send them downtown or to Travis. I work in the SCU, but I started on the medical ward just like you.”

By ‘downtown’ she means one of the Sacramento civilian hospitals and Travis is Travis Air Force Base Hospital about halfway between Sacramento and San Francisco.

As Arlene talked, I thought back to basic training at Lackland Air Force Base near San Antonio, Texas when they gave me the news, ‘You’re going to be a medic.’ Upon hearing this, I felt like calling a medic; I felt ill, ‘This is not a good fit. I’m good at breaking things, not fixing them; tearing things apart, not mending them. I haven’t been in a hospital since I was born; got no interest in being a medic. Why medic? Do I look like a medic to you?’ So, Arlene’s pep talk about how great it is to work on the medical ward didn’t motivate me. I didn’t want to hear it, ‘She’s carrying on as if this medical thing is OK, like it’s a good job, like it’s something exciting.’ I couldn’t relate. But, I did my best to put on a brave face as she welcomed me to my new ‘career.’

---

My nice guy dorm manager said, “OK, I logged the broken window and the rest of the room looks good. Sign here saying you agree with the condition report.” I signed and he left me to explore my new home.

My new home consisted of one room. As you open the door from the dormitory hallway you’re greeted with one bed on the left resting lengthwise against the wall. Across the room is another bed positioned lengthwise against the opposite wall underneath a big window where – if the curtains are open- you can see out to a huge lawn area. The large window takes up almost the entire opposite side wall. A wooden desk sits up against the left hand wall between the two beds. On the right side wall opposite the desk are two closets, each has one chrome bar to hang clothes, a top shelf and space on the floor for about five pair of shoes.

Finally, a very important piece of furniture greets you as you enter the room on your left. It sits in the small space between the door frame and the end of the bed. It’s a military grey metal wastepaper basket. I would later learn, it’s a critical room inspection item. I would also learn, you need it, but you’re to never use it. It must remain empty at all times. A wastepaper basket with any trash in it is an automatic room inspection fail. It must remain empty at all times because you never know when the room is going to be inspected.

Now, it turns out, my new home did have another room, the common bathroom. My roommate and I, along with the two guys in the connecting room, used it. Four guys, one bathroom. Not bad for military accommodation. Could be a lot worse; could be fifty guys, one bathroom like we had at basic training. So, I didn’t complain. The common bathroom had two doors, one for us and one for them and included one toilet, one sink, and one shower. And finally, it featured the broken glass window, the one the dorm manager logged in his inspection report. Our common bathroom window had multiple cracks running up and down the glass.

I felt fine about my new home. I had a comfortable bed to sleep in, only one roommate to contend with, and a neat, clean ‘share-with-only-four-guys’ bathroom. The best feature of my new home had to be the rent. It cost me nothing to live there. I got more excited about my new digs when the dorm manager told me they even provide toilet paper! All I had to provide is soap, toothpaste and underarm deodorant, and let’s face it, they’re optional items. This good deal included clothing – air force uniforms and six pair of Government Issue underwear. And here’s the topper … by living in the dormitory, they handed me an official ‘meal card.’ So, the air force good deal included food; all I had to do is show up at any one of the on-base military chow halls during opening hours, flash my meal card, and eat.

‘I’m in hog heaven,’ I thought, ‘what a good gig.’ But, in order to continue with this ‘good gig,’ the air force expected me to be a ‘good troop.’ Which is a general term for, do what you’re told, show up to work on time, do your work, follow the regulations and stay out of trouble. I figured, it’s a great deal for now. The more temporary the better, but, for now, it works. Yes, I liked the setup, but I already began looking for a way out. My thinking went something like this, ‘OK, this is my reality, but it’s a temporary reality. I can do better. I will do better. This is a beginning. One way or another, I’ll find a way out. And somehow, I’ll do it sooner rather than later.’

I had no plan. But, plans are over rated. I’ve discovered, knowing what you want and setting the goal is way more important than having plans. Besides, plans are fluid; many times plans are developed on the fly. Plans change, the goal doesn’t. But, if you don’t have a goal, plans are useless. After all, what good is a plan if you don’t know what you want? You have to know what you want first. I knew what I wanted. I wanted out. And I wanted it bad.

I approached my situation the same way I’d approach being locked up in jail. I want out. I’ve got to find a way out. How? No idea, but my goal is to escape. I will do it. I will find a way.

So now that I knew what I wanted, I began looking for clues, hints, signs – anything that would point to a way out. I turned into a supercharged, motivated and focused escape artist; a regular Houdini looking for ways to ‘gracefully’ exit this temporary ‘good deal’ situation.

The air force, quite by accident, converted me from a lethargic recruit into an energetic Storm-trooper, ‘I’m gonna do whatever it takes to turn this humble beginning into a launching pad rocketing me skyward towards something bigger, something better and something more adventurous.’

Little did I know, my life as a medic had ‘adventure’ written all over it …