Today is the 41st Anniversary of My Driver's License

Many people tell me they don't celebrate their driver's license anniversary. That is SOOO strange.  What could be more important than driving?

Actually, the strange thing about this anniversary is that until this one, I had always owned more cars, trucks and motorcycles than years of driving.  I owned three cars by the time I had a license for a year, six by year two, ten by year four, fifteen cars and two motorcycles by my tenth driver's license anniversary.  A decade later, I owned my tenth motorcycle and was up to 20 cars.  It took 17 more years to add ten more vehicles and I just spent $788 on my current 2002 Malibu to keep from buying another car.

In that same period, I have owned somewhere between fifteen and twenty bicycles and currently own five since the Trek GT single speed got stolen on Veteran's Day this year.    Bicycles are not quite separate from each other the way cars are.  I am currently getting all the components from one of my race bikes switched to a new frame that breaks in two pieces in less than a minute.  When it is complete, I will have a spare frame.

When it is complete, I will have:

• A Trek Madone road bike
• A Surley travel bike (the new one)
• A Cannondale tandem
• A Dahon folding bike with 20-inch wheels
• A GT Peace 9-R single speed road bike.

How I Would Have Died--If I Lived 100 Years Ago: Broken Neck

This week's post on my work blog.  Click if you want to see it there, or just read it here.

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Last week, I described the bicycle racing crash that left me in a ditch bleeding with ten broken bones.

The worst of those ten broken bones—at least in terms of my short-term and long-term survival—was my seventh cervical vertebra, C-7. At the moment I crashed, I flipped into the air and landed on my head. My helmet saved my skull, but the impact cracked the first two vertebra in my neck and smashed my C-7.  

I was blessed/fortunate/lucky that one of the other racers was a police officer and knew to keep me flat on my back until help arrived. Officer Mike Whitaker also called 911 and let them know I was in very bad shape and needed a MEDEVAC helicopter to take me to the hospital. Because an off-duty Emergency Medical Technician lives in the neighborhood and was nearby in his car, there was an EMT taking care of me in three minutes and I was strapped in the MEDEVAC 20 minutes later.  

The MEDEVAC landed on the roof of Lancaster General Hospital in ten minutes. I was again blessed/fortunate/lucky that the neurosurgeon on duty was Lt. Col. William Monnachi, just back from a tour in Baghdad Hospital treating wounded soldiers.

Dr. Monnachi and his surgical team replaced my C-7 with a bone from a bone bank the next day. I could barely swallow for the next six weeks, but I could walk within three days. I was in a neck and chest brace for the next three months, but was walking at least three miles a day from the day I left the hospital. I resumed running a month later.  

Last week Bess Williamson, one of CHF's visiting scholars, mentioned during a presentation that 100 years ago people with spinal injuries died within a few months. She said the polio epidemic led to new treatments for spinal disease and injury, but recovering from spinal injury was rare until recent medical innovations like bone transplants.  

In the hospital, one of the first people I thought of was Joni Earackson Tada. She is a quadraplegic who is three years older than I am. She smashed her fifth cervical vertebra in a diving accident at age 17. The difference between us:  In 1967 there were no bone banks, MEDEVAC helicopters were rare, and neurosurgery did not have as many tools as it has today. Joni has done great things for the disabled over the last 40 years and is an inspiration to thousands of people. But it seems clear from her writings and presentations that she would trade her work and her wheelchair for the use of her arms and legs.  

Next week, I will talk about the nine ounces of high-tech plastics that kept me from smashing my skull in the 50 mph impact with the road.

Rotten Weekend Turns Out Great

When I came home last night from drill weekend, I thought I had lost both the camera the Army issued me and a video camera from my day job.

But on the train home from Philadelphia tonight, Master Sergeant Kirby Hoke of 2-104th called my cell phone to tell me they found the cameras. I had left them in the S-1 (admin) office.  I thought they had been stolen from my car.

It turns out I just left them in the admin office while I was waiting to talk to SFC Lori Burns.

WHAT A RELIEF!!!!

I did learn some useful things about losing Army.

One of the officers, I own't rat him out, said even if they charged me for losing the camera, they can't take more than one month's pay.  That's less than $300 for a weekend warrior like me.  And he said that they usually waive the penalty in cases of hardship.

I asked if it would help if I put water spots on my statement and said they were the tears of my children.

How I Would Have Died--If I Lived 100 Years Ago: Bicycle Racing

Latest post on my work blog:

On Wednesday, May 9, 2007, twelve riders (including me) started down a 3/4-mile winding descent known as Turkey Hill. If you live in the Northeast, you probably have eaten Turkey Hill ice cream. It's that Turkey Hill—a real place on the west side of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania.

Turkey Hill is a coasting race; no pedaling allowed. Riders sweep down the hill crouched as low as they can get on their bikes, passing each other using the momentum of the draft. On that lovely spring afternoon, I started at the back of the group and picked off the riders one or two at a time as we went faster and faster down the hill.

Just before nearing the finish line, I swept left to pass the lead rider. I timed it perfectly—except that the lead rider moved left. We touched wheels. I remember less than two minutes of the next three days.

When two-wheeled vehicles touch wheels, the back rider crashes. According to the ten riders behind me, I flipped through the air and landed on my head and right shoulder, sliding into the ditch at the base of the hill.

By my count,  I would have died four different ways 100 years ago. In order of severity:

1) I broke cervical vertebra 1 and 2 and smashed C-7. 100 years ago, spinal injury victims survived for weeks or months at best.

2) My high-tech bicycle helmet was crushed and covered with blood, but intact. Without it I might have been dead before I was done sliding without the bike.

3) Within 30 minutes after the accident I was in a MEDEVAC helicopter on the way to the Trauma Center at Lancaster General Hospital. With a smashed vertebra, I could have been quadraplegic or worse before I got the hospital by any slower means.

4) When I landed, my racing glasses dug into my forehead, peeling it up about two inches and ripping the skin from the bridge of my nose. Plastic surgery put me back together. Without it, infection could very well have been fatal.

This does not mean I got off scot-free. Stay tuned for next week's post, when I explain how modern medicine healed my spinal injuries.

Westboro Baptist Church and Conspiracy Theories

Today's news reports say Fred Phelps and Westboro Baptist Church www.godhatesfags.com will be protesting at the funeral of Elizabeth Edwards.  I suppose this is great news for her former husband.  Even he looks good next to the vile members of that creepy Kansas church.

In a related story, Julian Assange was arrested for sexual assault.  Who knows how long his trial will drag out.  Remember the guy who was threatening to burn Korans?  I don't.  And I am not looking him up.

For me, the very fact that Julian Assange and Fred Phelps are alive show just how nutty conspiracy theories really are.  People who really think our government was involved in 9-11 should look at Westboro and Fred Phelps.  Phelps dishonors our own war dead, hurts the grieving families and friends of the dead soldiers and no one "takes him out."

You would think a government that could pull off a conspiracy like 9-11 or implant tracker chips in people's butts (Timothy McVeigh believed that one) or be involved in one-tenth of the conspiracy wet dreams of Glenn Beck or Michael Savage could at least kill Julian Assange and Fred Phelps.

But they are alive, healthy, and Fred is off to trash the funeral of a long-suffering woman for his own disgusting reasons.

Next time you hear some nut case--either live or broadcast--try to explain some vast government conspiracy just check to see if Phelps and Assange are still happily peddling their respective rubbish.  If they are, just try to imagine a world takeover by a government that can't do anything about Westboro Baptist Church.

Facebook Message from Medic I Served With

Facebook is great for keeping in touch.  I got this message today.  I hope I get to meet the lady Cynthia Dalton talked to.  I will write abut her for a future blog post.  I wrote about Cindy here:  http://armynow.blogspot.com/2009/09/who-fights-this-war-flight-medic.html

Hey! Something interesting I wanted to share with you...
So there I was at Military Clothing Sales, you know, purchasing all my last minute Class A stuff just like everyone else in the PA Guard! Well I was trying on some shoes for my Class A's when an older woman came over and asked if I was in the national guard. I explained to her that I was AGR. Out of nowhere she just said, I was in the Army for 6 years, active duty. I was a medic in vietnam. Fellow Medic! I instantly stood up from trying on my shoes and shook her hand! I thanked her for her service and especially for laying down the foundation of what I have had the honor and privelidge of what I have made my career. I instantly thought of you. I explained to her what you were doing next fall and asked her if she would be willing to talk to you. (I realize that may have been presumtious of me) She was hesitant for a moment and you could tell she was in deep thought. She said "IDK, maybe" sighed and then said "yea sure." I thought WOW I would love to sit down and have coffee with this woman. The only detail she mentioned in our short conversation was about assisting with a surgery in a tent while she could here the bullets flying! We instantly had a repor and talked a little about what it is like to be a female in the army and what it is like to do the best job in the army. She told me she was there shopping because her husband was in the hospital and he asked to be buried in army fatigues, not the new ones that we wear now but the old desert fatigues. She was looking for his ingsignia and rank to put on them. This woman went from being an army medic in vietnam to an army wife for 22 years, and now here she was preparing for her husbands funeral.
It was time for me to get going, I wish I could have stayed and talked to her for hours. She thanked me for continuing what the WAC's started (Women's Army Corp) and extended her hand to shake mine. I leaned over and hugged her instead.
Neil- I do not know if you have a place in the event you are planning but if you do she would be worth talking to. I was so intrigue by our meeting that since I have been searching the internet for hours looking for books or essays on enlisted female army medics. Unfortunately, I have not been too successful. There is some out there about Nurses and the Women's Officer Corp, but nothing on the enlisted female medics. Something told me to share this with you.
I could tell she wanted to talk more too. She lingered around the register and when I walked up she said "and here is Mrs. Dalton!" I have her name and phone number, if you would like. She gave me her home and cell. She also does a lot of painting revolving around women in the military. Let me know your thoughts-Cynthia

Waiting for the Retirement Verdict

Last week I met with the NCOIC of administration in our battalion, SFC Lori Burns.  She looked at my pay statements from the 80s and forwarded them to division HQ to see if there is any way I can stay long enough to retire.  I know I will have to stay another five years of so, the question is will five more years bring me close enough to 20 years to get me a real retirement?

I have a friend at Church, Ethan Demme, who knows everybody in Lancaster Country politics.  He said he can put me in touch with my US Congressman, Joe Pitts.  My wife knows our state representative, Mike Sturla.  I could need help from state and federal representatives if I hit one of the paper walls any big bureaucracy can set up.

Lucky for me, an old guy who wants to stay in the Army longer (and is healthy) should be one of the projects representatives actually have fun doing.  Many requests for their help come from people who are neck deep in a cesspool and need a real strong pull to get out--not to mention help with clean up afterwards!

I have read memoirs of people my age, back when 57 was really old, who said they believed what they saw in the mirror--a face that obviously belongs to a person nearing 60, but behind their eyes, the person looking at the mirror does not seem like a different person than the 17-year-old who looked in the mirror hoping he would get older so his zits would clear up.

After I met with Lori Burns, I talked to Captain Mike Gross, our battalion operations officer.  He was not with us in Iraq.  We talked about the newsletter.  He asked whether I "just wanted to be the guy with the camera" or if I wanted to work in my MOS to advance my career.  I said, "I'm 57 years old and have three college degrees.  I'm not sure my skill (or lack of it) in generator and pump repair will make a lot of difference to my career."  But he is right to ask.  If I am not going to fix generators, I should let a generator mechanic have the sergeant slot.

We'll see what happens.