You Can't De-Bleach Stuff

De-bleach isn't even in the dictionary. Neither is de-dye, you have to re-dye stuff (hey, is that how Tie-Dye t's came about? All from a bleaching accident?) but I've never even tried that and since I'm such a dork about laundry and such I would never attempt it.

But I sure wish you could correct the bleach accidents. I was mopping my kitchen and dining room floor in my favorite lounging sweats. Pine Sol and a little bleach does a good job but I must have been a little sloppy because that afternoon the bottom of my sweats looked like a dog pooped all over them. They're black, by the way, and now black with a lot of brown spots.

And then I felt a little woozy. I must have scrubbed too hard and wore myself out.

We've all had accidents with the bleach. Nothing like bright pink underwear. I have since learned to separate the colors from the whites. Aren't I proud!

I was pretty upset when my brand new jockies came out that way. We shopped at a popular discount store back in those days and picked up a bundle of jockey shorts (8 as I remember) that caught my attention. You've heard of, I'm sure, the Fruit Of The Loom brand? Quite popular. Well, this brand was a cheap spinoff called Room For The Fruit.

No, I'm not kidding. The labels had pictures of fruit. I think a couple of Kiwi's and a banana. But that was a while back so I could be wrong. They kinda wore out pretty fast. I figured they were made in Tahiti or somewhere like that.

But back to the bleach. You should have seen my finger tips. Man is that stuff caustic. You want to be careful what you mix it with and how much you use.

My other laundry problem is that all these new and improved, highly concentrated laundry detergents don't work any better than the originals. I still have problems with the old stains and spots on my undies. So I stopped believing those ads and get my detergent from the $ollar Store.

So I think I've got this laundry thing licked.

************************************************

Since this is such a short story, Tahiti reminded me of my daughter's favorite blond joke. (Yah, she is a blond.)

Anyway, this good looking blond found out one day that she had won her state's lottery. Oh, was

she over the moon. Her dream was to always visit Tahiti so she booked the flight.

The big day came she got all gussied up and rushed onto the airplane and plopped down in the 1st Class section with a big grin on her face. She turned to the gentleman next to her and squealed, "I'm blond, I'm beautiful and I'm going to Tahiti!"

The 747 soared into the air and after it had leveled off a stewardess came around to check the passenger's seating assignments. She discovered that the young lady wasn't assigned to 1st Class and told her that she would need to move back to the economy class.

"No, no, no!, she exclaimed. "I'm blond, I'm beautiful, and I'm going to Tahiti!"

Well, this went on back and forth for a while and the stewardess announced that she would have to get the Captain to handle this. She told him what had been going on for the past ten minutes and he assured her that he would take care of it.

The stewardess was hailed by another passenger but was still able to watch the pilot Captain bend down and whisper in the blond's ear. Suddenly the adamant young lady gathered her things and rushed to the back of the plane.

"My goodness, Captain," the stewardess said in awe. "What did you threaten her with?"

"Oh, no threats. I just told her that 1st Class wasn't going to Tahiti."

THEY CALLED ME "DOC"

HOW I GOT MY UNUSUAL CALL SIGN

If there is one thing I've treasured both during my time in the Army and all of the years since

it's the nickname "Doc". I don't doubt that all of the other Doc's in the military, whether true

MD's or ground pounder medics like myself, feel much the same. It's a nickname that denotes

respect.

In addition to "Doc" I had an unusual radio call sign that one might wonder about it when they

read some of the stories coming up. My call sign was "Malpractice" and I'll tell you how I came

to adopt such a strange call sign. 

Way back in the summer of 1967 my Army unit, the 3rd Infantry Battalion of the 506th Infantry

Regiment of the 101st Airborne Division based at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky, was training in preparation for fighting in Vietnam. As a part of this training my battalion was pitted against the rest of the Division in what they call "War Games"

In this particular exercise we were designated the "Guerilla Force", the bad guys using the same

kind of tactics that the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army were using against our guys overseas. The other battalions were trying to locate us, ambush us, and capture us. We had blank

adapters over the muzzles of our M-16's and shot blanks at each other.

Colonel John C. Geraci, our battalion commander, was designated "Mal Hombre" and there were

wanted posters for "Mal Hombre"  posted in the town of Corbett, Tennessee. Somehow another unusual nickname was assigned to the Sargent Major and that was "Mal Function". But

to be fair to the Sargent Major I'm sure that was all in jest. So to follow along in the spirit of things I came up with "Malpractice".

During our training over those long, hot summer months, veteran Vietnam NCO's told us that it

was not uncommon for the enemy to get on our radio frequencies and try to coax a medic or 

soldier to answer a fake distress call and force them to give away their position searching for

the phantom WIA. But the enemy used the generic call signs like "medic" and "bandaid".

I remember lying in the bushes one night on my watch and hearing some VC or NVA whispering

"Medic. Medic. Help. Me". Whoever it was knew we were in the area but not exactly where.

So our medics were encouraged to come up with a different designation.

The first benefit of the "Malpractice" call sign was that this was a hard word for Orientals to

pronounce correctly and the second benefit evolved that not only my platoon buddies knew it

but so did many of the other troops when I was sent in to take over when their medic went down.

I doubt if any of them ever knew my first name.

We Were Wanted Men

Did you know that certain members of a platoon had a bounty on their heads? They were the

Platoon Leader, the RTO (Radio Telephone Operator), and the Medic. Knock these guys off

and that platoon is in a world of hurt.

A Little History

Let's go back to the beginning of my military experience. I joined a reserve Mash unit between

my junior and senior year of High School. So upon graduating in 1965 I was immediately sent

to Ft. Ord, CA for basic training. After that eight weeks I reported into Ft. Sam Houston, Texas

fo another eight weeks of basic medic training. 

Suffice it to say it was like going through a Red Cross first aid course. Oh, we did learn 

how to give injections and perform "short arm" inspections. But, there was no Emergency Room rotation or ride along in an ambulance. It was a totally bloodless experience. 

I returned to Spokane and worked various jobs until the I became restless and enlisted into 

the Regular Army in February of 1967. I was in Jump School in April and then on to the

101st.

We Changed The Future

I must interject here that both today's Paramedic program and the Physician Assistant programs

that are now common place and accepted by both the medical profession and the general public

evolved from the experiences, expertise, and independent duty of the combat medics who served

in Vietnam. Today's MediFlights evolved when a stretcher was attached to the skids of a Bell Ranger Helicopter in the Korean War. Just watch the intro into the much beloved television show "MASH". (I've jumped from and ridden in beaucoup helicopters but I wonder what the ride must have been like for the  poor wounded grunt laying outside the chopper. Do you think any of them thought to themselves "Man, what a view!")

My Heroes

The "Medivac" or "Dustoff" chopper crews in Vietnam were my heroes. (Ok, the Huey crews

that extracted me and my team when we were in deep doo-doo were my heroes too!) It wasn't 

uncommon that the choppers with the big red crosses came down in what was called a "Hot LZ", LZ standing for landing zone. A Hot LZ means that these brave pilots and medics were sitting down in the middle of a fire fight (battle) when we had really critically wounded kids. They were taking fire when they hovered just above the ground long enough for four or five guys to load a wounded buddy or two.

Minimal Training

I can't say that medics fresh out of Ft. Sam in that day and age were highly qualified professionals. But there is a system in place in the Army that brings people up to speed in whatever specialty they were schooled in. That system is call "On The Job Training" or "OJT" for short. The philosophy of OJT is that if you throw a guy into the thick of things long enough something of value is bound to stick. Luckily for the medics of the 3/506th Battalion we had a topped notch Battalion Surgeon who continued our training as we prepared to ship out to Vietnam.

Advanced Training

The Currahee (which means the "Stand Alone Battalion") medics went through the same combat

and guerilla warfare training classes and exercises that all of the paratroopers in the Division went through. We qualified with a number of different weapons, rappelled from cliffs and choppers, and made combat jumps from 800 feet with full combat gear.

We also attended classes written and conducted by Dr. Andrew Lovy from Minneapolis/St. Paul,

Minnesota. Doc Lovy was not only an eye surgeon but also the first Osteopathic doctor to be 

commissioned in the US Army. My first impression was that no one would think that this

gentleman would ever jump out of airplanes, wear OD green fatigues, and eat out of a canteen cup. He surprised us all with his dedication to make us the best medics he could.

Our OJT occurred in the surrounding woods of Ft. Campbell, the Okefenokee Swamps of Georgia, and the Appalachian Mountains of East Tennessee. We treated snake bites, the beginnings of jungle rot (the skin breaks down when you spend a week in swamp water), 

broken bones, twisted knees and ankles, and diahrrea. During this time our confidence and abilities increased and, knowing that our unit would soon be in a hostile environment, we knew we could take care of our guys.Training along side the other troopers and caring for them during this time we earned the right to be called "Doc.

OUT TO SEA

Our training continued aboard the USS Weigel after the entire battalion boarded this troop

ship in the Oakland Harbor in September of 1967. There were 36 medics in the Medical

Platoon and we rotated working in the Dispensary during the 22 day voyage. (Don't dare

call it a "cruise". The food sucked not to mention the salt water showers.)

We viewed World War II films of medics in action and we even saw a film of how to deliver 

a baby (blush, blush). Remember that we were just seventeen, eighteen and nineteen year olds and back in those days and "we were saving ourselves" for the right gal. You're probably laughing right now but "Flower Power" and "Free Love" wasn't in full swing in the most of

cities and towns me and my buddies came from.

It was on this ship that I learned how to suture and do minor surgery. This is very advanced

training for a field medic but it served us well in many instances during our tour in Vietnam.

Doc Lovy knew that he wouldn't be by our side when troopers were struck down by bullets

or flying shrapnel or stepped on a booby trap and he wanted us to be able to perform our duties and handle the most severe cases to the best of our ability.

Our Mission

The primary responsibility of a combat medic, and this may surprise some readers, is to

"maintain the fighting strength of the unit". It's not our first priority to Medivac anyone

with minor wounds or injuries. There is no "injury time-out" in combat or on a combat mission.

We treated the sick and lightly wounded and carried on. And our troopers were tough kids and

they wanted to keep "drivin' on".

It didn't take long before I realized what an awesome responsibility us medics have. One medic

was assigned per combat platoon throughout the companies within the battalion.The platoon

strength at Ft. Benning ranged between 30 and 35 members. We were IT for these guys. We

were their doctor for the duration and we checked on our guys when "take 10" was called.

We dispensed the anti-malaria pills in the morning and evenings and handed out aspirin for

aches and pains. We carried a lot of pharmaceuticals so that we could treat coughs and colds,

constipation and diarrhea, allergic reactions, and alleviate pain with pills and morphine surrettes.

We carried Serum Albumin (a blood expander) and D5W intravenous fluid in 500 liter bottles.

Doc Lovy taught us how to use intracath needles that wouldn't pull out as easily as the standard butterfly. You can't imagine how rough it is for four guys to carry a wounded buddy with a make shift stretcher and their gear to the nearest LZ. And how painful it was for the downed trooper.

 The guys in our platoons had faith in us. They knew that should they become ill or wounded

that there was a Doc who knew his stuff, cared about him, and would do their damndest to

get them to safety and, ultimately, home.

We Were Also Riflemen

Unlike the medics in previous wars we were all trained riflemen. How those medics ran around

with arm bands and that stupid red cross target on their helmets unarmed is beyond me. When I

was in Vietnam I was armed to the teeth and I felt naked without my M-16. My hats off

to those guys and one of them was my uncle George who was a Naval Corpsman with the Marines on Guadacanal.

We had to willing and able to protect ourselves and the wounded should it come down to that.

Happy To Be Home

  

IT WAS AN HONOR

Being a combat medic is an awesome responsibility for a teenager. But is was also an honor.

To earn that kind of respect and to be relied upon in the heat of battle is humbling.

If it weren't for the additional training we were so fortunate to receive from such a dedicated professional I don't know if we could have done the kind of job that the medics of the 3rd of the 506th did. A lot of boys, seriously wounded kids, came home and for that I am very thankful and proud that us Docs did our job.

Dedicated to Captain Andrew Lovy who was wounded during a rescue mission for injured paratroopers.  

Terrence Plank (AKA Malpractice)

P.S. My son and daughter have encouraged me to post the stories that I sent to Brian when he was serving with the Marines in Kuwait and Iraq in 2003. 

I would love to read your comments about the stories on Muzzle Your Mouse.