Finishing school meant that I had to leave the Army. I used to despise those who always told those, ‘best time of my life,’ stories. The next 6 years found me telling them…
“…when I was a flight medic…â€
The Army defined me.
My patients spoke to my heart.
My friends held me together.
My fellow soldiers, who were both of the above, proved that loyalty does exist.
I was where I belonged.
Age 30. An Ivy League educated Nurse Practitioner with enough credentials to be ridiculous.
Empty.
Homesick.
Soft.
An Army Reserve Nurse.
Mom still calls it, ‘summer camp.’ I was dreading Annual Training. Commissioned for 2.5 years—only 18 days in uniform during that time. I was scared. I had no idea what to expect. Not once did it cross my mind that the powerful change I experienced while on active duty would reemerge like the second coming.
As I sit here at 0035 in a small pizza place back home, everything feels different.
What happened to that young, ambitious kick ass flight medic?
She is still here.
I have found her again.
Roused from torpor.
How would I be as an officer? Could I handle responsibility? Would I remember how to be a soldier?
Good.
Yes.
Yes.
The haze, dust and murk accumulated over the past 6 years has cleared.
4 bottles of scotch, a disgusting amount of vodka, and one huge hang over have clarified, yet complicated, my existence.
The Fantastic 4 have cemented the change.
Alcohol + the 4, and I have lived 14 days that I will never forget.
Passion, intelligence, friendship & shenanigans.
I miss you three as I even breathe.
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