It Ain't About Choo

My short stent in the USAF opened my eyes to more than just the politics behind being a Federal employee. I entered the Air Force during a time when they were 20,000 people over manned and they were top heavy, so they were sending a bunch of entry level folks home so they could continue paying the higher salary of the folks up top. So lots of us developed “medical” issues we had never had before, and some of us had our names electronically signed on release papers and told we would be going home instead of returning to training (but I won’t even get into that). But the greatest lesson I learned in Basic Training, was to rely on your wing man to get you through tough situations, and that our lives are not lived for ourselves, but to help others.

My body had horrible reactions due to the stress and rigor of the physical training (I mean, I turned 27 in basic training, so I was almost 10 years older than the average trainee) so I found myself in what is called medical hold. This is a place where dreams go to die. While there was a small group who were convalescing to return to training, most were there in limbo wondering if they would be sent home and kicked out the military or left wondering what would become of their careers period. I was offered the chance to return to training, but only if I agreed to sign a waiver that if I developed certain conditions I would not be medically covered. They were very specific and I thought it was odd, and I was too old and wise to fall for that type of bullshit, so I declined signing.

In medical hold you were there waiting for some jackass higher ranking office, to return from their day on the golf course and finally get to the stack of papers on their desk to determine your fate. In the meantime, you sat around all day polishing your boots. The poorly trained military training instructors yelled at hopeless depressed individuals, telling them at least they were still getting paid to sit around doing nothing all day, because they lacked the understanding that no one signed up for 8 hours of boot polishing. Not to mention they had no clue that there were people like me in the sea of boot polishers, who took a 50% pay cut and cashed in my 401k to pay off final debt before enlisting, so I was not impressed with the meager pay. We would look for other daily jobs to keep active, but there were way more people than there were jobs, so 99% of us were left to sit idle all day. This afforded one the opportunity to consider failed dreams, and for many, this was much more than their fragile psyche could handle. Because it’s still Basic Training, you couldn’t go home, you couldn’t make phone calls unless given permission, you couldn’t have visitors, you couldn’t go off base, so you were held captive.

During this time I had, what we called a CDS waiver (can’t do shit), which meant that I was not even supposed to carry my own food tray in the dining hall. It is a pitiful feeling when you can’t even haul your own food. I had a wonderful friend who traveled there with me, trained with me, and ended up in medical hold with me named Slead, who not only carried my tray for me, but she did it with a smile and made me feel like it was her pleasure to help me. In her, I experienced the true love of God. She prayed for me and with me, and when she left, my heart sank. I went into the shower room and cried feeling like God had left me, once again. While quietly crying in the shower room (that I wasn’t supposed to be in because it was boot polishing time) I overheard someone in the bathroom stall groaning loudly. I pulled myself together to go see what was going on. I called out to her, but she was in too much pain to answer. I saw blood droplets begin to hit the floor by her boots, and then a razor fell, and more blood. I knew she was attempting to slit her wrist when she thought no one was in the dorm, or the bathroom. I tried to break into the stall, but she had locked the door. I yelled for help, then went under the door to open it and got her out of the stall in time to wrap her wrist and get her to the emergency room. Just as I watched her being escorted out, crying and asking everyone to just let her die, I felt a release within me, and a soft voice said “now you can go home.” I then heard my name called over the PA system, the higher ranking golfing jackass had signed my paperwork and I would be on the next flight going home, leaving in less than 24 hours.

I had been so busy worrying about all of my own problems and my own life, that it never occurred to me we are often placed in situations and places to be a blessing to others. That experience solidified my belief that my life must be about more than fixing me. I needed the help of Slead and the troubled young lady to get emotionally fixed. I would have never reached this understanding on my own. We often try to wait until we have everything lined up, enough money, resources, have it all figured out, before we take that leap of faith towards our goals in life. Uh, duh, it’s called a “leap-of-FAITH!” In order to find healing and forgiveness, you have to connect yourself with people who have found healing and forgiveness, and you have to be willing to go through the hard processes they’ve gone through in order to get where they've gotten. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it, just like most rewarding things in life are.

Continue to love and f;ght,

Andrea Y. Jones