Wounded Warriors

Abstract

He had fractured his clavicle by simply turning his head. Later, he similarly fractured his arm. Fred had weakened bones throughout his cancer-riddled skeleton. Despite these hardships, his wife Peggy managed his care at home, driving him 100 miles to the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) for treatments. During his hospitalization, Fred was pivoting to a bedside commode when his thigh bone broke. Howling with pain, he shifted his weight to the other leg. In an instant, his hip broke too. Peggy heard the bones snap and was beside herself. I took her out of the room while staff worked to stabilize Fred’s fractures. “This is so unfair,” I told Peggy tearfully. “Fred doesn’t deserve this.” I could see Peggy took comfort in these words, as I validated the suffering she was feeling. “I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve this,” she said softly. We continued to express our dismay. Having confronted her own feelings, Peggy was able to return to the room to comfort Fred. A few days later, we needed to lift Fred to a special mattress. He refused any pain medication, so I shut the door and told him to scream or do whatever he needed to help his distress. But Fred had been a soldier in World War II. He knew what it took to survive, and the way soldiers survive is through sheer grit and determination. He never made a sound. While held aloft in a lift, gritting his teeth, face knotted tightly in pain, Fred winked at me and said, “How ya doin’?” I was stunned by his stoicism. I had seen it with hundreds of other veterans—veterans who refused pain medication, veterans who were wincing in pain and yet when asked, replied “I can handle it” or “It’s just a little discomfort.” For some, the more pain the better—it proved just how strong they were. “Breaking down” to take pain medication signified failure. The military magnified the “big boys don’t cry” attitudes already instilled in little boys. Male soldiers received a double dose of “macho.” Fred died a few days later, never complaining. His face remained taut until the last hours of life, when stoicism finally yielded to the peace and freedom of death. I remained haunted by his determination not to succumb to what he was experiencing—fighting until the bitter end.