166 Days: My Journey Through The Darkness (2 page)

I got my focus back. I was eager to gain as much knowledge as I could from my military experience with plans to finish college and get commissioned as some sort of medical officer. Life was good again. After tech school, I was stationed at Nellis AFB in Las Vegas, Nevada and my first assignment was working on the medical surgical (Med/Surg) floor. I was responsible for all of the not-so-fun tasks like bathing the patients, dressing changes, cleaning bedside commodes, etc. Even doing this work I realized I had a passion for taking care of people. On night shift, once all my duties were complete, instead of sitting at the nurse’s station shooting the breeze, I would often find myself in with the patients listening to their stories when no one else would; I met some of the most amazing individuals whom I would never forget.

My favorite conversations were with the World War II vets. I had a special place in my heart for them due to the fact my grandfather was a 1
st
Lieutenant in WWII. I always wished I could have heard him describe his experience, but unfortunately he died when I was only nine years old. I remember growing up, my grandmother used to tell me when he came home after being at war for four years, he sat down with her and told her, “You can ask me about it this once, and then we will never talk about it again.” I never understood that as a child.

Time went on and after a year on the Med/Surg floor I was transferred to the Surgery Clinic. While working there I was able to return to school and complete my Associates degree in Allied Health Sciences through the Community College of the Air Force. I had big plans; my feeling of having it all figured out returned, except this time it was “for real”. I decided to finish my Bachelor’s degree in nursing through an Air Force commissioning program that would allow me to go to school full time for the remaining two years of school I had left. After completing my nursing degree, I planned to go on and become a physical therapist. I had the perfect plan and I was well on my way to my goal by working closely with the base education office, my commanders and mentors; their feedback was encouraging. Based on my military awards and GPA I was led to believe I was a shoo-in for the nursing program. I was certain everything was happening the way it was supposed to. My package was submitted, and it became a waiting game.

While I was working in the Surgery clinic I met a Physician Assistant student. Up until that point I had no idea what a PA was. The student explained that PAs were mid-level providers who could evaluate and treat patients in a very similar way to doctors, but a doctor was responsible for being a preceptor for their work. It was a Master’s degree and one of the fastest growing career fields at the time.

As I listened to him tell me about it, I realized what an amazing way to impact the lives of patients it could be and began to love the idea of it. I could make a much bigger difference for the patients and their families I had grown to love than I could in my current position. I remember telling Greg, “I kind of hope my package gets denied, then maybe I’ll look into this PA thing instead.”

Several weeks later I got the notification I had been waiting for; the board had met, decisions had been made for who was accepted into the nursing program. As I opened my email, I was already celebrating my selection…and then….I saw it….the word that took the wind out of my nursing school sails:
Disqualified.

What??!
Disqualified? How could that be? I was beyond upset, I was
devastated
. I just
knew
I would be accepted. I had looked over my package with a fine-tooth comb. I did everything that was required, and I had exceeded all of the standards. My commanders and supervisors were equally shocked. I could tell they felt horrible for falsely leading such a young airman to believe she was invincible. I went home that day and cried and cried on Greg’s shoulder. I was so upset with God. I felt I was being prevented from doing absolutely what was meant for me to do.

The next day I opened the email again and called the provided contact phone number to find out what had disqualified what everyone thought was the “perfect package.” The reason left me speechless. The base education office didn’t sign my cover letter, so as soon as it made it to the board, it wasn’t even opened. The very first page stopped them from going any further. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I remember going home that evening, sitting in silence, soaking it in, trying to find the reason, and having a very loud conversation with God about how I felt about the whole thing.

“I don’t understand,” I pleaded, “I felt so sure you were guiding me down this path, for what? Only to fail? I feel like such an idiot. Now I have to face everyone and their disappointment!” I was so embarrassed at my certainty of acceptance. “God, you and I go way back. Surely there is a very important reason for this,
right?
” The next day I felt reassured that the reason for the circumstances would come to light eventually.

As time passed, I looked more seriously at the idea of being a PA. The more I researched, the more I felt it was worth pursuing. After a year in the Surgery clinic, I was transferred to the Emergency Room, and I loved every minute of it. I had the opportunity to work closely with many doctors and PAs, and was able to hone my skills as an EMT. My love of my patients continued to grow with me through my experiences. While the pace of the ER was much quicker than the Med/Surg floor or the Surgery clinic, I continued to spend time with patients, listening to their stories.

I will never forget one night an elderly man came in with chest pain. He was all alone, and I could tell he was beyond scared. He was lost in a sea of wires, IV tubing, EKGs, the portable x-ray machine, doctors, nurses, and me. Initially, of course, we rushed his bed and got all of the necessary labs, x-rays, and medications on board, and then he was all alone again, waiting for the answer to what was happening to him, which could very well affect the rest of his life. As he waited for what probably seemed like an eternity, he had no other option but to listen to us as we referred to our patients as bed numbers. He happened to be “Bed 2”.

When things calmed down, I found myself drawn to his bedside. I pulled up a stool, held his hand and said, “Sir, don’t worry; everything is going to be ok.” He started talking, and before we knew it we were having an amazing conversation about his time in Japan in World War II. He talked about several of the missions he was on; I listened in amazement at what he had been through.

He came to a point where he just stared off into space, and we sat in silence. He finally spoke again. “You know, kid, I gotta tell you, back then, going into battle knowing damn well what I was facing, having to fire my weapon on someone else and possibly not surviving - that was nothing compared to how scared I am right now.” I wished so much I could take his fear away. I squeezed his hand and began talking to him about meaningless things to get his mind off of the unknown.

Several hours later he was admitted, and as they wheeled him off to the elevator, he grabbed my hand and squeezed. ”Thank you” were the last words he spoke to me. Once he disappeared into the elevator, I never saw him again.

I felt a sense of fulfillment in the Emergency Room; I was growing up, meanwhile still pursuing becoming a PA. I completed the required classes, submitted my package and nervously awaited the results. I was an E-4 with a line number for an E-5, with only three and a half years of military experience; the odds were certainly against me. The average person who was selected at that time had over ten years of military experience, average rank was E-6 and above. I knew despite my grades, military record and my recommendations, it was a long shot. Several months went by and then finally the results were in. I couldn’t bear it! What would the answer be? Would it be another disappointment? Another disqualification? I damn well knew my cover letter was signed, that was for sure!

I could feel my heart beating out of my chest as I opened the email. I scrolled down through what seemed like a never-ending list of eighteen names; and then to my amazement, I saw my name! I was overjoyed with excitement. I couldn’t wait to tell Greg, and that evening when I did he chuckled and said, “Aren’t you glad you didn’t get that cover letter signed last time?” I was informed of my selection in 2004, and my class didn’t start until the following May in 2005.

Over the next year I put on SSgt (E-5) and continued working in the Emergency Room and going to school. In May, 2005 I relocated to San Antonio and began the most intense schooling I had ever experienced. We completed one hundred credit hours that first year. My class census was just over sixty people when we started, by graduation we had lost over half of the students who started with us, due to wash-outs.

Despite the stress, I truly loved what I was learning. The program was called the Interservice Physician Assistant Program (IPAP) and was intended for service members from the Air Force, Army, Navy, and Coast Guard. We all spent the first year together at the campus at Fort Sam Houston for the didactic portion of the program, and the second year we would be sent to various bases to attend our clinical rotations based on our respective branch of service.

I loved my class; we had such a unique melting pot of personalities which made our long days together fun. A couple of my classmates were former Green Beret medics. I remember thinking what an odd sense of humor they had, sure that they really had a few “screws loose”. I had no way to anticipate that in the very near future the Green Berets would bring me to know several men that I still consider brothers to this day.

My world was school for the next two years; I woke up at 0500, studied, and then went to class from 0730 to 1630. I got home and ate a quick dinner, took no more than an hour break and then resumed studying until I went to bed. When I woke in the morning my routine started all over again.

I graduated with my Bachelor’s degree in the spring of 2006 and ironically was assigned back to Nellis AFB for my clinical rotations. It was incredible to come back to the same hospital I worked at as a young medic, now as a PA student interacting with the providers I had known before in such a different way. After completing my year of clinicals, in May, 2007 I received my Master’s Degree in Physician Assistant Studies, and I was commissioned.

During the ceremony I was able to choose who would pin my bars on, and undoubtedly it was Greg. He had sacrificed so much for that day to happen, so of course it was his place. That moment was so special to me. My mother gave me my grandfather’s Lieutenant Bars that he wore in WWII, and as Greg pinned them on, I felt such a connection to my grandfather, knowing he was somewhere smiling down on me. I was twenty-six years old, standing in front of my family and colleagues and officially 1
st
Lieutenant Jennifer Clark; a moment that was surreal. After the crazy road of disappointment I had been traveling on for so many years, it was hard to believe I’d really accomplished the goal I had set, and I was actually a PA and an officer. I had made it to SSgt as an enlisted medic, and had learned so much from my experiences as an enlisted airman. I was so proud to have been prior enlisted; I vowed that day that I would be the best officer I could be, ensuring I would never lose sight of the importance of what the enlisted members of the military do every day.

I will never forget my first day of seeing patients as an official PA. I was so nervous that I would make a mistake, I was beside myself. I studied my schedule the night before and re-read everything I could possibly find in my textbooks about the diagnoses the patients were scheduled to be seen for. I had to know any and every scenario that could present. Greg and his reassuring hugs and tough love helped carry me through the initial days. He had a great way of telling me to suck it up, put on my big girl panties and get over it! Yet, when I needed his softer side, he was there. How quickly time had passed, so much seemed to happen in my life in a few short years.

Tony nudged my arm. “Hey, Jenn! Let’s go!”

“Huh?” I replied, realizing I had been lost in my memories.

“You ready?” he asked. “They’re calling us to re-board the plane.”

“Oh, ok. Yeah, let’s go.” I looked up at the moon again, took a deep breath and headed back to the aircraft. Tony and I sat together the majority of the trip, and after many hours of training and flight time together he had a clear understanding of what I would be doing once we arrived.

As we prepared for takeoff, he leaned over and said to me, “Hey, I’ve been thinking about what you’ve told me you’ll be doing on this deployment.”

“Really? What about it?” I asked.

“Just remember, Jenn, if you get into trouble out there,
run
. Don’t try to be a hero,” he answered. As I heard him speak those words I began to wonder,
what would I do if something horrible did happen
? I had never been in a situation like that, and I couldn’t say I knew how I would act. I knew how I
hoped
I would react, but I was well aware that how a person feels she would handle a situation is often different from the way she actually does. I recalled many times hearing of situations in which the most unlikely person performed heroic acts, or, on the contrary, the most qualified person to handle a tragedy couldn’t take the pressure and cowered in the corner.

As I digested his statement and pondered the unknown, I prayed that I would never have to find the answer to the perplexing question of how I personally would react. I looked at the clock, Manas…..four hours away…..

27 April 2008

As we flew over Kyrgyzstan I could see the barren, mountainous earth below. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now on our final descent into Manas. Please fasten your seatbelts and ensure your tray tables are in the upright position and your seatbacks are fully forward. It has been our pleasure and honor to serve you, the men and women of the Armed Forces on this flight. Please stay safe and come home soon.”

The time had dragged for the past twenty seven hours of flight time, but all of a sudden it seemed to race by. The ground was coming closer and closer and then that familiar sensation of the wheels touching ground, and we were there. It was now an official deployment. “Here we go,” is all I could manage to say with a smile to my fellow deployers, but inside my heart was pounding and my thoughts were racing.

Once we taxied to our stopping point on the tarmac another voice sounded over the intercom, only this time it was not the friendly flight attendant, but a harsh military voice telling us to “stand by” and wait for further instruction on deplaning. The voice called for the baggage detail to come forward to begin unloading all of our belongings. A mass of young enlisted troops from both the Army and Air Force plowed forward. Eventually, after the detail had secured our things, they gave us the okay to deplane. As my foot stepped off of the last stair, and onto the asphalt, I had a sudden change of mindset. I was now
in
this, boots on the ground, and it was time to toughen up and be a “soldier” for six months.

Luckily Tony’s friend, Tim, who was also traveling with us, had a girlfriend (Tracy) who was conveniently deployed to Manas as the commander of the Security Forces squadron and was waiting for us on the flight line with her pickup truck. She greeted us with a smile. “It’s great to see you all made it,” she said as she waited while we got our bags loaded into the bed of the truck. After we secured all of our belongings she was gracious enough to give us a tour of the base. As we drove, she explained where everything was and the basics on how the base operated.

“So this place is pretty small, but easy to navigate,” she stated. “All of the transient tents, where people are typically required to stay, are off to your left; but not to worry, I have secured rooms for you all tonight with some permanent party troops. Jenn, you can stay with me.”

“Wow, thank you so much,” I said gratefully. The transient tents could’ve easily been a disaster; an open bay, sleeping on cots and nights filled with hopes that no one would steal our stuff. Her room was very small, but we could both fit reasonably comfortably and I was thankful for her gracious offer.

She eventually pulled up to the Personnel Command (PERSCO) tent, which was where we in-processed the base. She dropped us off and said, “I’ll come back to pick you guys up after the briefing.”

We surrendered our ID cards and waited in typical military fashion to be told what to do next. The PERSCO members explained that we were to stay in the transient tents (thankfully we would not).

“While you are required to keep accountability of your weapons at all times, you are not required to wear them on your person. This means someone has to be in the presence of the weapon at all times,” said the airman giving us the briefing. This made sense with all that we had been trained prior to leaving country. He continued, “The linens for your cots are in the building across the street on the right. In order to obtain your sheets and pillow you will be required to present two copies of your orders. You are all considered on stand-by status for the next available flight to your final destinations. This means you will need to check in with the terminal every eight hours to see if you are listed on the manifest for the next flight out. Does anyone have any questions?” We all sat in silence, waiting to be dismissed.

After the briefing, Tracy returned and picked us up as promised with a wonderful surprise. “Great news, guys,” she said. “I’ve arranged for you to store your weapons at the Armory.” In that moment I decided she was my new best friend. She had done so much to help make our time there as comfortable as possible.

The rest of the day was spent getting settled, going to the gym and running off the past twenty seven hours of plane time, and finally catching up on sleep. It was Day One of what I expected to be a very unique and life-changing experience.