Sign in Ann Arbor VA Lobby

Dad, The Atomic Veteran

Dad will be 84 tomorrow. Happy birthday, Dad! We're going to one of his favorite restaurants for dinner, and I've got candles and matches in my handbag. Yesterday we went to the VA for his six month check. He likes his doctor, and I respect her professionalism and her ability to be pleasant about his desire to find something that will make him feel younger, better, more his old self. I got him this hat for Christmas a couple years ago, and he wears it often enough to think about getting him a new one. He's proud of his service in the U.S. Navy and we are, too. He was at Bikini Atoll for Operation Crossroads, Able detonation on July 1, 1946. His troop transport had duty taking the residents of Bikini Atoll to other atolls in the Marshall Islands in preparation for the nuclear tests. People ask about his hat, especially at the VA. There are few of our atomic veterans still alive; because of age, and how and where they served. Many died of cancer and related maladies brought about by close contact to unleashed atomic blasts. Dad has carcinomas pop up on his head and hands (only one melanoma, thankfully) - the areas of his body exposed to radiation. But he's alive and I pray he has many more happy birthdays to celebrate. We both hope one day no one will be exposed to danger from war, weapons of war or the aftermath of combat, and can enjoy birthdays in global peace and good health.

A Three Story Life: Huh?

Dad made an appointment with the ear doctor when we got back from the island because Scott's hearing was weak. Dad said he'd ask to have his own ears checked, too. That was welcome news. When I first came here, we had a lot of "pardon?" and "I"m sorry, I didn't hear what you said?" Dad wasn't used to having someone in the house who talked. Then Dad started guessing. Your orchestra got tea towels? for oranges are on sale tomorrow; and Susan gonged the trolley? for she's going to the library. I started writing those down, because some were downright funny, but lost what I wrote. Now we're at huh? I'm a soft-spoken person; now I'm screaming in my own ears. Dad will say huh? and I'll raise my voice to repeat. Scott always looks up startled because he doesn't know me raising my voice, and I don't either. The ear doctor checked and Dad's practically deaf in one ear, and can't hear out of the other. He made an appointment to get fitted for at least one hearing aid, and then told a friend of mine visiting that he canceled the appointment because he won't spend the money. So I'm back in the shouting business. Dad has an appointment at the VA end of the month, and I'm going and we'll see what the VA has to offer. If that doesn't do the trick, Dad and I going to have Scott teach us sign language.

A Three Story Life: VA Visit

Up at 0 dark thirty for the six month VA appointment. I haven't met Dad's new doctor, and once a year it's helpful to find out what the doctor is being told and not. Fact checking is a brilliant caregiver strategy I forget regularly. Every year it gets harder to tell the WWII veterans from the Vietnam veterans. The hats help. I got Dad a hat with his ship name, and Bikini Atoll on it, and it gets attention when he wears it, which is often. He was in the Marshall Islands for the A-bomb drop, his LST moved people and animals off Bikini to Majuro. He's one of few atomic veterans still alive. His doctor is very nice, she's a good listener, and I got to ask questions that Dad might not ask. There was a man in one of the waiting areas who had blood drawn and was probably on blood thinners as he dripped on his jacket, and had to get a new wad of gauze. Not as many younger veterans there today as the last time. After the hats for war identification - I noticed footwear. The WWII vets had on dress shoes or sneakers: the Vietnam era veterans had either cowboy boots, work boots or bigger work boots. God bless them every one! Brother Scott and I got to talk together, hold hands and decide we wanted kielbasa for dinner. Note: the glowy uniform - so maybe my childhood memory of a heroic aura is not so imaginary.