I spend a lot of time in VA waiting rooms. Different types of appointments. Follow ups. Labs. The stuff that comes with a body that doesn't work like it used to. You check in, find a seat, and wait. That's the deal usually.
What I See
A mix of generations sitting in the same chairs. Old timers from Korea, Vietnam. Gulf War guys. Younger ones from Iraq and Afghanistan. Occasional we are blessed with the presence of a WWII vet. All waiting for the same thing.
Some wear the veteran hats and shirts. Others you'd never know served unless you looked close. Some in wheelchairs. Some with canes like me. Some who look fine on the outside but you know something's going on inside.
The thousand yard stare on some faces. Others just scrolling their phones to kill time. There's always a TV on in the corner that nobody's really watching.
What I Think About
I wonder what their story is. What branch of military service. What they saw. What broke them or didn't. I think about how we're all in the same boat now. Doesn't matter what rank you were. Doesn't matter what you did or where you went. Everyone's just a number in the queue. Some days there's frustration at the wait. The VA isn't known for being quick. Other days there's gratitude that it exists at all. Even when it's a pain in the ass.
I recognize myself in some of them. The ones who are worse off than me. The ones who seem better. I measure where I fall on the scale without meaning to.
The Guilt
Here's the thing I don't talk about much. Other than my cane and the occasional cough, not much on the outside shows I'm disabled or need medical care from the VA. I look okay. I can walk in under my own power. I can sit there and scroll my phone like everyone else.
But some of these guys and gals are really fucked up.
Missing limbs. Burn scars. Wheelchairs they'll never get out of. The ones who shake and can't stop. The ones whose eyes are somewhere else entirely. And I feel guilt sometimes. Sitting there. Taking up a chair. Taking up an appointment slot. When they're dealing with so much worse.
I know that's not how it works. I know my problems are real. I know I earned the right to be there same as them. But the guilt creeps in anyway.
The Silent Brotherhood
Nobody talks much in the waiting room. But there's a nod. An acknowledgment. You know. I know. We don't have to say it. We didn't serve together. But we served. That's enough. We sit. We wait. We get called back one at a time.
Then we do it all again next appointment.
Thanks for reading,
Joe
Notes:
-All content is mine unless otherwise annotated.
-Images are my own unless otherwise noted.
-Photos edited using Linux photo editor and drawing and/or iPhone SE.
-Page Dividers from The Terminal Discord.
