I knew better. I knew there would be trouble. And punishment. I knew it, yet I decided to climb into my pickup anyway. Make the 30-minute drive. Try it. What could they do? Inject air bubbles into my veins?
I drove over to the Longview Veterans Administration Regional Clinic this morning WITHOUT AN APPOINTMENT.
Yes, there would be hell to pay. I knew it. God even tried to warn me. Halfway there He threw a torrential rainstorm at me.
"Turn back!" the rain insisted.
"Hell no," I answered and plowed through the blinding downpour, "I'm on a mission."
Over hill and dale I drove through the pounding rain on narrow old Highway 80. Through Hallsville. Past what looked like abandoned dustbowl camps, homemade salvage yards and gentleman ranches. Shacks and summer homes. Narrow old Highway 80 is a strange drive if you're paying attention.
It was still raining cats and dogs when I pulled into the strip mall in Longview. The V.A. clinic is down at the west end, next to the Labor Ready day labor hall where all the decomposing junkies and young winos hang out.
I checked in, handing my Service-Connected Disabled Veteran V.A. identification card (with magnetic strip and mugshot) to the receptionist. Nobody was in the waiting room but me. Still she asked if I had an appointment.
"No," I said and braced myself.
"No?"
"No."
"Well what do you want?"
"I'm trying to get clearance to have this tumor cut out of my neck," I said. The receptionist took my card, scribbled something on a PostIt note and told me to take a seat. It was 10 a.m.
10:30. It rained. Ancient men hobbled in and were taken into back rooms. Nurses and receptionist glared at me. I shuffled around the room.
11:00. It rained. Ancient men hobbled in and were taken into back rooms. Nurses and receptionist glared at me. I shuffled around the room. I stepped outside the giant plate glass doors to have a smoke, being careful to watch for someone coming out of the back rooms looking for me, stationing myself where I could be seen easily.
11:30. It rained. Ancient men hobbled in and were taken into back rooms. Nurses and receptionist glared at me. I shuffled around the room.
12:00. It rained. Ancient men hobbled in and were taken into back rooms. Nurses and receptionist glared at me. I shuffled around the room. I stepped outside the giant plate glass doors to have a smoke, being careful to watch for someone coming out of the back rooms looking for me, stationing myself where I could be seen easily.
12:30. It rained. Ancient men hobbled in and were taken into back rooms. Nurses and receptionist glared at me. I glared back. I shuffled around the room. I was hungry and cold.
1:00. It rained. Ancient men hobbled in and were taken into back rooms. Nurses and receptionist glared at me. I glared back. I shuffled around the room. I stepped outside the giant plate glass doors to have a smoke, being careful to watch for someone coming out of the back rooms looking for me, stationing myself where I could be seen easily.
I drove over to the Longview Veterans Administration Regional Clinic this morning WITHOUT AN APPOINTMENT.
Yes, there would be hell to pay. I knew it. God even tried to warn me. Halfway there He threw a torrential rainstorm at me.
"Turn back!" the rain insisted.
"Hell no," I answered and plowed through the blinding downpour, "I'm on a mission."
Over hill and dale I drove through the pounding rain on narrow old Highway 80. Through Hallsville. Past what looked like abandoned dustbowl camps, homemade salvage yards and gentleman ranches. Shacks and summer homes. Narrow old Highway 80 is a strange drive if you're paying attention.
It was still raining cats and dogs when I pulled into the strip mall in Longview. The V.A. clinic is down at the west end, next to the Labor Ready day labor hall where all the decomposing junkies and young winos hang out.
I checked in, handing my Service-Connected Disabled Veteran V.A. identification card (with magnetic strip and mugshot) to the receptionist. Nobody was in the waiting room but me. Still she asked if I had an appointment.
"No," I said and braced myself.
"No?"
"No."
"Well what do you want?"
"I'm trying to get clearance to have this tumor cut out of my neck," I said. The receptionist took my card, scribbled something on a PostIt note and told me to take a seat. It was 10 a.m.
10:30. It rained. Ancient men hobbled in and were taken into back rooms. Nurses and receptionist glared at me. I shuffled around the room.
11:00. It rained. Ancient men hobbled in and were taken into back rooms. Nurses and receptionist glared at me. I shuffled around the room. I stepped outside the giant plate glass doors to have a smoke, being careful to watch for someone coming out of the back rooms looking for me, stationing myself where I could be seen easily.
11:30. It rained. Ancient men hobbled in and were taken into back rooms. Nurses and receptionist glared at me. I shuffled around the room.
12:00. It rained. Ancient men hobbled in and were taken into back rooms. Nurses and receptionist glared at me. I shuffled around the room. I stepped outside the giant plate glass doors to have a smoke, being careful to watch for someone coming out of the back rooms looking for me, stationing myself where I could be seen easily.
12:30. It rained. Ancient men hobbled in and were taken into back rooms. Nurses and receptionist glared at me. I glared back. I shuffled around the room. I was hungry and cold.
1:00. It rained. Ancient men hobbled in and were taken into back rooms. Nurses and receptionist glared at me. I glared back. I shuffled around the room. I stepped outside the giant plate glass doors to have a smoke, being careful to watch for someone coming out of the back rooms looking for me, stationing myself where I could be seen easily.
1:30 I decided to ask for my card back and try another day. The receptionist read my face and pointed to the intake door. I walked in. An angry nurse was waiting for me on the other side of the door.
"Why didn't you answer when your name was called?" she barked.
"My name wasn't called," I answered.
"Yes it was!" she insisted, "Now what do you want?" I explained that I needed a doctor there in Longview to sign a release for me to have surgery over in Shreveport. She seemed more interested in why I had been hiding when my name had been called.
"We don't have any doctors here today. You would've known that at 11:30 if you would've answered your name when it was called."
"Nobody called my name."
"NO! They did!"
"She must've whispered."
"NO! She is the head nurse in charge..."
"I would've answered..."
"NO! You were called at 11:30!"
This went on for a while. She lectured me on what an Acute Care Center was, that this hallowed place I had entered was, indeed, an Acute Care Center (though I had watched this very day several old men told to move it on down the road to the nearest civilian hospital if they needed acute care---they don't do that here).
She looked at my Cincinnatti jacket, looking for doctors' notes that might indicate I was lying. I finally got an appointment to see a nurse practioner in two weeks.
I left angry.
Again.
CLAP HANDS---Tom Waits
Sane, sane, theyre all insane,
Firemans blind, the conductor is lame
A cincinnati jacket and a sad-luck dame
Hanging out the window with a bottle full of rain
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Said roar, roar, the thunder and the roar
Son of a bitch is never coming back here no more
The moon in the window and a bird on the pole
We can always find a millionaire to shovel all the coal
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Said steam, steam, a hundred bad dreams
Going up to harlem with a pistol in his jeans
A fifty-dollar bill inside a palladins hat
And nobodys sure where mr. knickerbockers at
Roar, roar, the thunder and the roar
Son of a bitch is never coming back here no more
Moon in the window and a bird on the pole
Can always find a millionaire to shovel all the coal
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
I said steam, steam, a hundred bad dreams
Going up to harlem with a pistol in his jeans
A fifty-dollar bill inside a palladins hat
And nobodys sure where mr. knickerbockers at
Shine, shine, a roosevelt dime
All the way to baltimore and running out of time
Salvation army seemed to wind up in the hole
They all went to heaven in a little row boat
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
"Why didn't you answer when your name was called?" she barked.
"My name wasn't called," I answered.
"Yes it was!" she insisted, "Now what do you want?" I explained that I needed a doctor there in Longview to sign a release for me to have surgery over in Shreveport. She seemed more interested in why I had been hiding when my name had been called.
"We don't have any doctors here today. You would've known that at 11:30 if you would've answered your name when it was called."
"Nobody called my name."
"NO! They did!"
"She must've whispered."
"NO! She is the head nurse in charge..."
"I would've answered..."
"NO! You were called at 11:30!"
This went on for a while. She lectured me on what an Acute Care Center was, that this hallowed place I had entered was, indeed, an Acute Care Center (though I had watched this very day several old men told to move it on down the road to the nearest civilian hospital if they needed acute care---they don't do that here).
She looked at my Cincinnatti jacket, looking for doctors' notes that might indicate I was lying. I finally got an appointment to see a nurse practioner in two weeks.
I left angry.
Again.
CLAP HANDS---Tom Waits
Sane, sane, theyre all insane,
Firemans blind, the conductor is lame
A cincinnati jacket and a sad-luck dame
Hanging out the window with a bottle full of rain
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Said roar, roar, the thunder and the roar
Son of a bitch is never coming back here no more
The moon in the window and a bird on the pole
We can always find a millionaire to shovel all the coal
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Said steam, steam, a hundred bad dreams
Going up to harlem with a pistol in his jeans
A fifty-dollar bill inside a palladins hat
And nobodys sure where mr. knickerbockers at
Roar, roar, the thunder and the roar
Son of a bitch is never coming back here no more
Moon in the window and a bird on the pole
Can always find a millionaire to shovel all the coal
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
I said steam, steam, a hundred bad dreams
Going up to harlem with a pistol in his jeans
A fifty-dollar bill inside a palladins hat
And nobodys sure where mr. knickerbockers at
Shine, shine, a roosevelt dime
All the way to baltimore and running out of time
Salvation army seemed to wind up in the hole
They all went to heaven in a little row boat
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands, clap hands
Tags: Nurse Ratchet, Veterans Administration, V.A., socialized medicine, veteran, Tom Waits, clap hands, healthcare, kickerbockers, cincinnati jacket
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