Working at the Katterbach Clinic had its good and bad days. The worst part of it all was the monotony that grew after a while. Sick call and well baby clinic were so routine that we could almost perform the duties blindfolded. None of the officers or NCO's were 'power trippers' and didn't seem to have an agenda, but Captain Salzman could be authoritative if needed. One soldier who worked with us named Boudre' always seemed to push the envelope a bit when it came to military bearing and job duties. He didn't care much for cleaning up the treatment areas and always found a way to sham his way out of it. On my downtime, I usually hung around with Ludeke and Gains and talked music with them. I had my bass guitar with me and we always talked about getting a jam together, which would have been a welcomed thing for me.
Christina and I were becoming more of a serious item and spending a lot of time together. She was starting to ease my uneasiness and presumed assumptions of what she wanted in the relationship. She spent a lot more time at the barracks with me, much to the dismay of Ace. Ace was a loner; aside from just a couple of us, he really had no friends. And he was just fine with it. Ace was also a very private guy who rarely said anything negative to anyone, but one evening, he told me that he felt that Christina was intruding on his space. I initially got defensive, but he explained to me that he knew Christina and I needed time to ourselves and couldn't be ourselves with a third person hanging around. The time had came where I had to put things into a different perspective; to evaluate where I wanted to be.
Late February was a cold time in Germany indeed; bitterly cold. It would snow occasionally, but no large amounts would fall. The wind was the worst part of the German winters, but not bad enough for some of us to head over to the hills behind Katterbach's housing area for some sledding. One of our medics had the keys to the medical storage area and grabbed three or four wooden spinal immobilization boards we used as sleds one night. Of course, there was some beer involved, and things went well the first few runs down the hill. Degray went down the slope and fell off his sled and laid in the snow laughing. A short time later, Rucker came barreling down the hill and hit Degray's arm, knocking him down. It was classic fun until we noticed Degray rolling around, yelling. Apparently when Rucker hit Degray, his arm bent backwards and dislocated his elbow. The evening's fun was over and it was time to play medic. That's the thing about all of us who were in Shipton; we looked out for one another. If someone got hurt or had too much to drink, we patched them up or hydrated them. Many nights, I would get a knock on my door from someone asking for an IV or Motrin. Once we got back to the barracks, we fixed Degray up the best we could until he could get to sick call the next morning. Turned out, after x-rays and an exam, Degray's arm was broken along with the dislocation. And to top it off, we broke two of the immobilization boards...oops.
While Rucker, Donnelly and I were at the clinic working, the battalion was preparing for upcoming field deployments and qualifications, both tactically and physically. Our battalion had to qualify periodically for what was called the Table X Qualifications, something I never really understood, but it entailed several field deployments. We were told that later in the year, the battalion would be doing tactical evaluations and other field exercises with NATO organizations. We, at the clinic, wouldn't be part of these deployments until our rotation was over, but we would have to participate in the battalion's PT test. We had taken one in Saudi Arabia, but for some reason, headquarters wanted us to take another one, this time in cold weather. The PT test took place early one morning when the wind was whipping across the field viciously, mixed with sleet. We did the push-ups and sit-ups in the battalion common area, but the two mile run would be at the old missile storage facility behind Shipton and the launcher area we called the 'Near IRP'. The weather had deteriorated before we started the run and the wind was brutal, but the regulations stated once the PT test had commenced, it couldn't be halted unless an unsafe condition warranted. Apparently freezing wind and sleet isn't unsafe.
During the run, people that usually would have been lapping other runners started falling behind. It was a nightmare. My lungs felt as though they would rip out of my chest as I ran against the force of the wind. The sleet pelted my exposed skin and I felt I wasn't going anywhere as I ran. Eventually, it was over and as expected, I failed the run event...by almost a minute. There were several more who failed, but no one really did well as a whole. A few days later, I was brought before Captain Taylor with my squad leader, who was now Specialist Smith. The meeting started off well with Captain Taylor addressing my hair, which hadn't been cut to 'battalion standard'. It then moved onto the failure of my PT test and how my 'luxury of being at the clinic' was probably a factor. Granted, there was no structured PT at the clinic and the attitude was far more relaxed, but I really had no excuses. I was placed on a remedial PT program and had to get a haircut and report back when I was back to standard. My next meeting with Captain Taylor was a bit better, he didn't yell at me as much but told me to get back into shape or he'd pull me away from the clinic. Enough said...I'd do better.
Christina and I ventured out into Ansbach to find a place to live. Being part of a 'ready battalion' meant I had a limited radius from Shipton where I could live. Army housing was out of the question because we weren't married, but would have been ideal because it was rent free. Until this point, I had only heard about the preconceived notions the locals had about American GI's. The only time I ever felt uncomfortable in Germany was when I wandered into the Alt Ansbach Club and the music literally stopped because I was an American who infringed on an all German club. Christina scoured advertisements for rental homes or apartments and we would follow up after duty hours. Several times, we were flat turned away because of me being an American. One time, I sat in the car while Christina looked at an apartment with an older lady, who was smiling and being very friendly. The rent price was very reasonable and the area was close to Shipton's rear IRP. Things were proceeding well until the lady looked in the car and saw me. Her smile turned into a scowl and she waved Christina away, telling her something in German that wasn't very pleasant from what I gathered. For the first time, I felt the sting of ethnic discrimination. Christina's parents didn't make matters much better with her dad saying things like, "Well, what do you expect," or, "He's about like the Turks. Nobody wants to rent to a soldier or a Turk." Her mom also piped in saying we weren't ready, which now with hindsight being 20/20, wasn't at all derogatory. After a discouraging search for a place to rent, the topic of marriage came up. It had only been just barely three months from the time we even met, but the idea and notion came up. The fact that we could get military housing if we were married was alluring, but I still was very guarded. That guard started relaxing more and more and as crazy as it may have sounded, the idea of nuptials started sounding...okay. I talked to Jeremy and Misty about it and they were supportive, Harold and Salina were supportive, but told me to be cautious and make sure I was ready. I didn't want to call home and say anything just yet.
Eventually, Christina and I found an apartment at 26 Benkendorff Strasse, on the south end of Ansbach near Bleidorn and Barton Barracks. Our landlady was nice and lived below us, and she was not judgmental because I was an American. The rent was a little steep-the equivalent of 560 dollars per month-but with both our incomes, it was possible. In early 1994, the ratio of the US Dollar to German mark averaged roughly $1.57, although the ratio fluctuated depending on the market values. It was not exactly the luxury of the $3.75 ratio of the Saudi Riyal, but comfortable. We couldn't receive the basic allowance for quarters through the military because we weren't married, but we started off managing the financial end of things. We didn't have to sign a long term lease, which was a blessing considering I roughly had a year left in Germany. Had we been able to have gotten military housing, I would have had to extend my stay in Germany by another year.
I was becoming more and more confident in my medical skills at the clinic, and occasionally something would happen unexpectedly that would bring a new challenge. One afternoon, Doctor Haskins was treating patients and suddenly became ill. He began to sweat profusely and complained of sudden pain in his lower abdomen and left side. He told us that he had been trying to work through the pain of a kidney stone the past few days but apparently the stone had become lodged. I established an IV in the doctor's arm and Captain Mitchell administered some pain medications, which caused some nice conversations with Doctor Haskins.
"I feel like my hooter is going to split open," he blurted out loudly, while patients were in the next room. Everyone chuckled, but occasionally the pain negated the medications and he doubled over in agony. In this day and age, I'm sure he would have been a hit on Youtube. Doctor Haskins ended up being transported to Wurzburg Army Hospital that day for surgery, and recovered after a couple of weeks.
Something we now take for granted as an everyday use or even necessity was introduced to us at Katterbach Clinic; the internet. With the click of a computer mouse, we could interact with clinical and hospital staff all across Germany. We could communicate within the clinic by electronic mail and pass information along within the departments. This was a totally new concept, and quite rudimentary in 1994. Another item I was starting to see more often was the cellular phone. I had seen a guy at Fort Sam with one and was intrigued by the fact you could talk to someone via phone and be mobile. Again, this is considered a normalcy in this age, and almost a must have; but in 1994, it was just plain neat and new. Only a few people had cell phones, or mobile phones as they were known then, usually higher ranking officers had them. Technology was starting to go into the 21st Century whether we were ready or not.
Now that I was out of the barracks and living in town, my time at the Goose and other usual establishments diminished; mainly due to having to be responsible for once and on a budget. Not long after getting our apartment, Christina started complaining about her job and how she hated it. She had told me before that it wasn't a great job, but her complaints increased now that we were on our own. I told her to do what she felt she needed to, that she could probably get a job on post somewhere...totally thinking that was the plan of action. One day, she walked into the clinic and announced she had quit her job and was now a 'fucking dependent'. I told her that it wouldn't be long until she found something else, to not worry; but inside, I was thinking that the reduction in income would impact our rent and other bills. Things would have to tighten up financially if we were to survive on our
own for sure, and the casualty was the social escapades that had brought us
together. Eventually, the only time I ever saw my buddies from the Goose Gang was if I had to report to Shipton for whatever reason. Christina and I really only stayed at home or would go between her parents' house or up to Jeremy and Misty's place as they lived just up the street. Occasionally, we would go to Harold and Salina's but not many other places outside those. It sucked to have to be responsible and not be a carefree party guy like before.
I woke up one day with a headache that felt would split my head wide open. The transition from winter to spring was happening, so I was sure it was my usual seasonal allergies. As the day went forward, the pain began to debilitate me and I asked Captain Mitchell to take a look at me. He said it was just sinus pressure and prescribed some antibiotics and Motrin...The Army had to have had a contract with the makers of that drug as much as it was prescribed. I went home that day, almost in tears, and laid down. I kept waking up with the pain pounding in my head and radiating into my right jaw. It was so bad that I couldn't hold my eyes open and became dizzy and nauseated. I didn't sleep much that night and decided to report to sick call as an official patient the following day. Christina drove me to post and I signed the sick call roster, then proceeded to Katterbach. After being examined again, Captain Mitchell told me that it was the due process of the sinus infection and to give it a few days. He ordered me as a sick in quarters status, meaning no duty for me. I went home and tried to sleep again, but was miserable. I got up the next day and the right side of my face was swollen, the pain was still excruciating. I went on into the clinic for duty, but it wasn't long until the looks and gawks began. Captain Mitchell took one look at me and said it was apparent I didn't have a normal sinus infection. He looked inside my mouth then told me to go upstairs to the dental clinic and check in. I really didn't know why he had said that, but went regardless. At the dental clinic, an X-ray showed that my wisdom teeth were impacted and one had started coming in through a molar, causing the pain. The dental surgeon was called and I was set up for a next day surgery, something I wasn't too keen about but if it relieved my agony, I was up for anything.
The next day, the pain was still as bad and I went into the dental clinic with hopes I could be put out and be able to sleep for once. Instead, the oral surgeon injected lidocaine directly into my gums and the roof of my mouth, creating some of the most intense pain I'd ever experienced to that point. Eventually, my mouth went numb, but I was wide awake as the dentist began cutting into my gum line. I could feel the pressure of the instruments as he worked and that was very unnerving. As he worked on my upper right tooth, there came a point that the dentist took a small chisel device and hammer and began chiseling my upper gum. He hit a point that hurt and I told him, so he gave another shot of lidocaine into my upper gum just behind the tooth. There was an intense shock of pain when he did it and I nearly came off the chair. I was told to relax and settle back in, but my face felt like it was on fire.
After about thirty minutes of the surgeon trying to hammer the tooth out, the lidocaine wore off again. I told him it was starting to hurt, of which he replied, "I've given you enough medicine. Do you have a substance problem?" I was taken aback at his assumption, but he said he was about done and I should "suck it up." After a few more minutes, the dentist, who by now I was convinced was a sadistic impostor, started pulling chunks of tooth out and dropping them into a metal pan. I was soaked with perspiration and nearly in tears at that point. The molar had to come out in one piece, but the wisdom tooth came out in five pieces. The ordeal had taken the most part of an hour...an hour of brutality in my opinion. After I was cleaned up, the dentist told me that due to the severity of the extraction, I would need to come in at a later time to have the rest of my wisdom teeth taken out. I think I would have rather braved the headaches than what I had just endured.
Aside from drinking too much and the night at Tivoli Park, I had never been on any kind of narcotic drug until my wisdom tooth was taken out. I was prescribed Percocet for the pain and given a few ways off duty. I was also told not to drink alcohol while taking the medication. I went back to the barracks that day because Christina was elsewhere for some reason and couldn't pick me up right away. Luckily, Ace let me use his room to rest until Christina could come get me later. I took my medicine and laid down; my face still throbbing. It was still early in the day but overcast and cold with snow starting to move in, a great day to just sleep. Soon, I drifted off and slept a while. I woke up sometime later, dazed and my head feeling very fuzzy. It wasn't like a good beer drunk feeling; I felt like I could walk through a brick wall. For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to go check the mail, so I walked down stairs and outside into the cold and light snow shower. the only problem was I was just wearing my PT sweatpants with no shirt or shoes on. I walked into the mail room and the clerk just stared at me at first, then blurted out, "Kiss, are you drunk already?". It was like I knew what was going on but my body and mind were two different beings. The clerk handed my my mail and I wandered back toward the barracks, still unfazed by the cold. When Christina picked me up, I was asleep again and the medication was wearing off, not a fun hangover.
I spent the next few days at home, only waking up long enough to change my gauze or try to eat. My mouth and face was swollen like I had been beaten at the Goose, but the excruciating headache was gone finally. Christina felt it would be funny to take candid pictures of me while in a Percocet daze or asleep during my recovery, I still don't know what she was trying to prove by doing so. After about a week, I recovered and felt like a new person. Apparently the problem had been ongoing for a while and I was just passing the headaches off as sinus problems until it got worse.
I got together with Gaines and Ludeke one evening at the Katterbach Recreational Center and we started jamming some songs as a band. It was all mainly classic rock material from bands like The Cars, Tom Petty, John Mellencamp and Cheap Trick. For being only the first time getting together, things sounded pretty tight. I was surprised we knew all the songs we did. Gaines was a good singer and a good guitar player, Ludeke was a solid drummer who's inspiration was Neil Peart from Rush. We decided to get together on Sunday afternoons as often as we could just to see how we progressed. If we never payed a gig, then it was going to be okay; we were just having fun playing music. This was better than any drinking binge for me and a good release for any frustrations I may have had.
Things were going well for me all around. I was feeling confident in my Army skills, was at a good duty assignment, had someone to care for and a place to live for us, and I had my music back. I knew I was going to be sent back to 6/43 again soon, but I would have a much better vision once I got back to the unit and field. I would have one vision and one goal: To finally be all I could be, personally and as a soldier.
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