Starting Over

Chapter 14

Chapter 14Andy pushed the elevator button for the second floor of the VA clinic and took a sip of coffee from his travel mug. It was barely warm, but he didn't care. Coffee was coffee, hot or cold and he had an appointment to get to. He looked at his watch. It was 9:15AM. He was late and he wondered if he'd have to reschedule with the neurologist. It had taken him a month to get this appointment. Then again, if he hadn't kept putting it off to begin with, he could have gotten in weeks ago. If his appointment were canceled, would he feel better? He wasn't sure, only that he was afraid of what he might learn. Brain injuries were tricky at best. Avoiding treatment was foolish and damned right dangerous. But that sage advice had always applied to others – not him!

The bell dinged and the elevator door slid back. He stepped out and followed a short brightly lit corridor to Dr. Lattener's office suite. Pushing back a tall solid glass door, he went in and checked with the receptionist. A few minutes later, he was shown to a tiny exam room where he waited until the doctor showed up.

Dr. Lattener was a small, sharp-featured man with a receding hairline. A pair of dark-rimmed glasses was pushed up on top of his head. He greeted Andy with a cursory 'hello'. Taking a seat on the stool across from him, he pulled his glasses down on his nose and took up Andy's chart. “So, tell me about your headaches.”

As the doctor scanned the notes in the folder, Andy thought about how to begin. “They started about a month after the accident. They weren't bad in the beginning. Just

an annoyance. We figured it had something to do with my vision, which was affected by my concussion. Eventually we thought they'd go away.”

The doctor looked up. “We, being you and Dr. Steffens?”

“Yeah. Anyway, she put me on Imitrex. For a while it seemed to be working and the headaches happened less and less.”

Dr. Lattener sat back and crossed his legs. “But they came back?” He eyed Andy with a steady gaze.

“Yes, sometimes so bad I can't think straight.”

Dr. Lattener pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled something in the chart. “You were probably getting rebound headaches.

Andy sat back. “What are those?”

Dr. Lattener leaned forward. “They're headaches that may occur after long term use of certain medications specific to your condition. Tell you what, why don't we try alternating Relpax with Imitrex. These two medication used in conjunction with each other often solve the problem.”

Andy smiled, liking that solution.

Dr. Lattener wasn't through yet. “Okay, a couple last questions. Tell me about the headaches. Are they worse in the morning or the afternoon?”

Andy blinked. He'd never thought about that before. He pinned his hands on the exam table he was sitting on and leaned forward. “Now that I think of it, usually, worse in the morning.”

Dr. Lattener jotted down another note. “If you bend over too fast or strain when you go to the toilet, what happens?”

Andy chuckled, but it was no laughing matter. “My head explodes. Thought I was gonna pass out once. I figured it was high blood pressure. I've been teetering on the edge of it for a while now. My GP now has me on Lisinopril.”

“And is that helping?”

“Well, I just started it.”

Dr. Lattener nodded. “What's the dosage?”

“20 mg.”

“Any nausea?”

“No.”

The doctor nodded. “Who's your GP, Andy?”

“Dr. Palmer.”

“Good man.” Dr. Lattener set the chart on the exam room countertop, rolled his stool forward and did a routine check of Andy's vitals followed by a good, long look into his eyes. When he finished, he said, “I assume, no seizures, loss of muscle control?”

“No, none that I can think of.”

Dr. Lattener reached up and snapped his fingers near Andy's ears. When Andy jerked back, he said, “Well, your hearing seems fine. Any ringing?”

Andy shook his head as the doctor backed away. The man pushed his glasses up onto his head. “I'm pretty sure we're dealing with rebound headaches, but just to be sure, I'm going to schedule a brain scan for you just to rule out anything more serious.” He handed Andy a referral to a local diagnostic clinic and closed the folder. “I'll see you next month, okay?”

Andy folded the referral, put in his shirt pocket and hopped off the table. As he shook the doctor's hand, he couldn't help feeling better about the whole situation.

After his appointment with Dr. Lattener, Andy headed to the VA. As he drove, he chastised himself for getting worked up about nothing. How many times in the past had he feared the worst only to discover he'd worried for nothing? He put the whole issue to rest as he pulled into the VA lot and parked. Getting out of his car, he saw Nate hobbling into the building. He looked around for Janet's Highlander and saw it pulling out into traffic.

Damn! I was hoping to run into her.

It was then he realized the lines had blurred between Janet and his responsibility to Nate. Yes, he'd met Janet prior to Nate showing up at the VA, but it was only in passing. And while the rules about fraternizing with patients didn't apply to volunteers, they still mattered all the same. That he was attracted to her shouldn't matter. Except, turning off feelings was easier said than done. The question then became, where did his motives lie? Was his attraction to Janet the reason he'd taken more interest in Nate over other patients? The answer to that question made him uncomfortable as he joined Nate in the elevator.

As they ascended to the second floor, Janet's face continued to flash before Andy while he chatted Nate up asking him how things were going with the new apartment. But Nate was quiet, supplying only the bare minimum replies. It was clear the kid didn't want to talk so Andy took the hint and squashed the impulse to press further.

When the elevator door opened, they headed to Physical Therapy. Nate's routine consisted of a brief consult with his physical therapist and the usual test for range of motion. Once that was done, it was onto the treadmill. He set Nate's speed for a practical two-mile per hour pace. Nate frowned. He'd been pushing to up the speed since before he left for Yosemite.

Andy had seen this kind of drive in other soldiers returning from war with injuries. What was confusing him was Nate's brooding behavior. Anger, he understood. It often drove men to exceed their limits. But depression usually elicited the barest effort, if any at all. It didn't make sense.

But he had other patients to look after. He left Nate alone and went over to 'Old Man Horace' (as he was affectionately known to all the staff). Horace was a double amputee who'd served in Korea. The sharp-eyed old black man from the south saw more than most with his sky-blue eyes. As Andy helped him into his wheelchair, Horace flattened his ever-present smile. “I see ya hovering over that young feller over there the last few weeks. You worried about him, aren't 'cha?” Horace said with a raspy drawl.

“Just looking out for him,” Andy said, not wanting to get into a drawn out conversation.

Horace c****d a burnished brow. “Looks like more than that ta me.”

Andy smiled. “That so?”

“Just saying.” Horace buckled himself into the chair. Peered around Andy's shoulder. “Mark me, lot's going on in that boy's head an' none of it good.”

Andy glanced over at Nate who'd jacked up the speed on the treadmill, defying the PT's orders. Seeing the kid's knotted brows and pressed lips, he knew Horace was right.

It didn't take a lot of arm-twisting to get Nate interested in having a beer after PT. Apparently, Nate and his mother had argued recently and Nate was in no hurry to get home. He pulled into the parking lot next to Trent's Bar and Grille and found a spot near the front entrance of the quaint, one story understated brick building catering to the local veteran community.

Shutting the car off, the two of them got out and went in. In one corner, a muted TV was turned to a local news channel. A couple of grizzled war dogs named Lenny and Dan were nursing beers as they watched a young blonde woman wave at a weather map. At the back of the room, Dexter and Drew were playing a game of pool on an old beaten coin-operated table. Somewhere, a juke-box was cranking out Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues. The stink of spilt beer comingled with the lingering odor of burnt burgers and potatoes.

Andy watched Nate survey the room before taking a seat on one of the varnished wooden stools. The kid pulled a ten from his wallet and hung the crook of his cane over the lip of the bar.

“Put your money away,” Andy said, taking a seat. He ordered a couple of beers. Turned to the young man. “You wanna grab a bite?”

“Think I'll pass.” Nate panned the room again as if to assure himself he hadn't dropped into a Twilight Zone episode. “So, this where you hang out when you're not volunteering or running your book store.”

Andy shrugged. “I come here from time to time. Food's not bad.”

“Yeahhh,” Nate said, drawing the word out. The bartender set their beers in front of them. Lifting his glass, Nate threw back a gulp and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Beer's good.”

“That it is.” Andy took a sip of his own. “They have a Super Bowl Board here if you want to get on it. Ten spot a square.”

“What's the payout per quarter?”

“Two hundred a quarter, four hundred final score, I think.”

“Sure, why not.”

Andy called the bartender over and Nate picked a square. As the kid wrote his name on the board, Andy brought up the Seahawks and the NFL draft. He needed to buy time to get Nate comfortable and get him talking about what was going on in his head. At last, he said, “So, how was your Christmas, it went well?”

Nate glanced at him. “It went.” He took a gulp of beer, looked down and was quiet a long time. “So, I was talking to Jonah. He told me he was in college working on his engineering degree when he was drafted. He looks a bit old for Nam.”

Andy wondered what happened between Nate and his mother as he sucked his beer, but decided to stay on point. “Life's been rough on Jonah.”

“I guess…Did you–”

“No, we didn't serve together. I met Jonah shortly after I landed in Salem. I was at a stop light, running a load of lumber and rock from Kilgore's back to my store, when he came to my car window and hit me up for a few bucks. I would've brushed him off, 'cept for the patch on his jacket. 1st Marine Division, 3rd Battalion. My division!” Andy said, thinking back to the long talks he'd had with Jonah on city park benches over the ensuing weeks. Mostly, they'd been about life after the sweltering jungles of Nam, but occasionally they'd veered into the dark days when living was determined by lucky chance, because no matter how careful you were, there was always a bullet out there with your name on it.

“So, he was a panhandler?” Nate said, breaking into Andy's muse.

He started and turned to Nate. The kid was staring at him with knitted brows. “Umm…yeah.”

“Wow!” Nate shook his head. “What happened to him? I mean, he's not stupid–he was in college working on an engineering degree.”

He took in Nate's $300 Trail Blazer jacket and $175 pair of Air Jordan's. “Jonah's one of the 'unlucky ones'. He did his tour but never got his footing back on life when he came home.”

“No family?”

“Not that he speaks of and I don't ask.”

Nate was quiet a moment. “Were you ever scared…when you were over there…in Nam?”

Andy stared ahead to the mirror behind the bar. Well, that was out of the blue. “Yeah. We all were.”

Another a long silence passed. Andy grabbed a handful of nuts from the glass dish between them and popped them in his mouth.

Nate drained his beer and set it in front of him. “I never gave getting scared a second thought 'til we got ambushed. Bullets and s**t flying all over. Not knowing which way to duck. But the silence afterward. That's the worst, isn't it?”

Andy closed his eyes and saw a kaleidoscope of dead Viet Cong soldiers slowly spinning before him. Some no older than fourteen. Boys he'd gunned down from afar on orders from above. The ringing sound of bullets leaving his rifle and the smell of cordite akin to freshly lit fuses came thundering down upon him. He looked over at Nate. For the young soldier beside him, the horror lived in the silence. For him, it had, and would always reside in the deafening bang of the rifle. And while the silence and the ringing of the rifle's discharge were at opposite ends of the spectrum, they resonated all the same.

Nate grabbed a handful of nuts and pushed his glass aside, seeming not to care he hadn't answered him. “I remember being in that Hummer…Parker, Kendall, Cunningham all gone or bleeding out around me, and all I could do was deal with what was coming next.” His swept his shoulders back and shook his head. “And they want to give me a medal for that s**t? I'm no hero.”

Nate snatched his cane off the lip of the bar. Climbed down from his stool. “Gonna hit the head. Be right back.”

As the kid shuffled toward the Men's Room, Andy watched him. During the war in 'Nam he'd seen the toll of battle in men's eyes after months of brutal firefights. For some, it had etched a vacant, dull gaze of a dead soul that looked out at the world. He'd seen it in his own mirror many times after he came back and knew what it meant. That look was rearing itself more and more on Nate's face lately and it concerned him.