Call me Doc O. I am 55 years old, married, have two children, three
step-children and seven grandchildren.
I was an Army medic. (For those of you who were not in the military, all
medics and corpsmen were called Doc). I was drafted in 1965, a week after I
turned nineteen. The Army decided I should be a medic. This was during the
time of the build up in Viet Nam. One third of my training company went to
Viet Nam. I was assigned to headquarters of a helicopter battalion as an
ambulance driver. My duties were to provide medical support during
operations at the airfield, in case of a crash. We also held clinics at the
local villages (hamlets). Those were known as MedCAP clinics. Medical
Civic Action Program.
After I left Viet Nam I worked on Recovery Ward at an Army hospital. As a
medic I saw quite a few people die. Most of them did not bother me at the
time. For the next thirty five years, I felt that nothing bothered me. In
August of 2001, I started having problems with my memories. Everything was
bothering me. Much of it was caused by “survivors guilt”. Why did I live,
when so many others died? I got counseling at the local Vet Center and
after five months I was able to handle my life very well. I’m one of the
fortunate ones, as most vets don’t come back that quickly. I knew I had to
talk, so I didn’t wait until the problem got too big to handle. I will
always have the memories, but now I know how to handle them. I have learned
the importance of being able to talk about the past. That is one of the
problems of the vets of all wars. When we returned, no one wanted to talk
about it, so we kept it inside and moved on.
The reason I’m here as a volunteer, is that I care about people. It’s just
the way I am. If I can help make anyone's life better, that is my reward.
It’s worth more than any medal given for service by the military. I don’t
care if you are a vet or not. If you have a problem and need to talk, I’m
here. We should all be able to sleep through the night.
doc145thcab@hotmail.com
