Page 172 - Never Fly Solo

SERVICE BEFORE SELF | 145
Carolina. I checked in and made my way to Sergeant Sum-
mers’s room. With every step, things started to change.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had been in a hospital,
and it felt uncomfortable and awkward. I breathed in the
disinfectant-scented hospital air and gazed at the shiny hospi-
tal floor. I watched the faces of the people walking by me.
Most were depressed and sullen, and I wondered what family
member or friend they were visiting or who might be suffer-
ing. Perhaps their mom was recovering from radiation treat-
ment or their friend was in a bad car wreck the night before.
I started to really feel for these people.
Finally, I began to slow down, and the gravity of the situ-
ation became apparent as I began to think about Sergeant
Summers. Though I was thirty-one years old, I had never
known anyone who suffered a stroke. Would he live? How
serious was it? Would he even be able to walk or talk? What
about his career in the Air Force? What was his family going
through?
I got very nervous. As I arrived at his room, I could feel
my heart pounding away. What should I say? What could I
possibly do to help him out?
I opened the door and found his bed surrounded by his
wife, two children, and a few of his crew from the life support
shop. It looked as if each of them had a hand on a part of his
body. He was connected to a bunch of tubes and leads. The
poor guy looked pathetic. My heart dropped.
“Sergeant Summers!” I called out instinctively. I saw his
head lift up a little bit, and I walked up to the bed and put my
hand on his shoulder. He was awake, but the entire left side
of his body was slack and unmoving.
“How ya doing, Sergeant Summers?”