After graduating from Texas Women’s University as an Occupational
Therapist (OT) in 1980, my job search included a visit to the local
military recruiter’s office in Arlington, Texas. Growing up in an Air
Force family, the USAF was most familiar to me. The recruiter put
a star by my name on the file and promised to call me when a slot
became available. Over the next five years I established myself in the
Dallas/Ft. Worth medical community and gained excellent clinical
experience that proved beneficial in the military. And then the day
came that the recruiter called me to come raise my hand and get
sworn in, and my military adventure began.
First stop was MIMSO (Military Indoctrination of Medical Service
Officers) at Sheppard AFB, Texas. Wearing the uniform, learning
military ranks of the AF and other military services, when to salute,
how to march, battlefield patient retrieval and patient care in and out
of chemical warfare and wearing “chem gear,” were just a few things
I learned. There were times during this six-week training period we
were reminded that the average lifespan of a battlefield medic was
3 minutes. I found myself asking, “just what have I gotten myself into?”
As a military-medical officer, I was trained to carry a handgun,
and never a long gun/M16. I could use that handgun to defend my
patients, but not myself. Now there’s something to ponder on.
As an officer, among many other additional duties, I was responsible
for our enlisted OT technicians, their training and patient care.
During this time, I was also the Chief of the Patient Retrieval
Team; every training exercise was followed with lessons-learned
debriefings. I remember very clearly driving the ambus (big blue
school bus with a white circle and big red cross painted on the
sides) carrying my mock casualties from a triage point back to the
AF hospital in Wiesbaden/the 7100 CSW (Combat Support Wing/
Medical Center). Upon approach to the hospital compound, I heard
on the radio, the code for locking down the compound just as I
was approaching the designated ambus gate to the hospital. Now
locked out of the compound, and the exercise scenario included
chemical warfare, it occurred to me, although me and my medical
staff on board were able to donn/finish putting on our chem gear,
our patients weren’t as fortunate because
of their various wounds. This was a sobering
moment. You can imagine the debriefing
and brainstorming that ensued after that.
One of the most gut-wrenching things that
kept occurring during the Desert Storm
period, was that spouses of deployed service
members would bring me pictures of their
husbands and their contact information
imploring me to be sure I was the one
calling them if their husband came in as a
casualty before they were officially notified.
Sometimes preventive medicine (mental/
emotional/physical) is moments like this.
During the Vietnam Era, people and groups
of people protesting the Vietnam War were
frequent and ongoing. To this day,
I don’t know if what we were experiencing during Desert Storm in
Wiesbaden was considered sexy enough to be newsworthy, but
stuff did happen. The Green Party was an active group of politically
exercised groups of people bent on targeting Americans, especially
US military. This atmosphere of outrageous disdain for the US
military and Americans was palatable and I got to experience it
firsthand.
Just outside the main gate of the 7100 CSW compound, where
our clinic annex was located in the basement of a barracks, was a
neighborhood grocery store. One day I left the compound to pick
up some lunch items at the grocery where I had to yield to traffic to
cross the street to the store. Upon leaving the store, I realized the
street was strangely empty and there was an MP (Military Policeman)
standing just outside the gate signaling and yelling at me to get to
the gate ASAP. When I looked down the street there was a crowd of
Green Party “war” protesters marching toward me and the main gate.
I honestly don’t remember my feet hitting the ground, but I do recall
the sound of that huge gate slamming shut just as I ran through it to
safety. The MP yelled at me to keep running and go through the
main door of the barracks instead of the entrance at the end of the
building, as that would have put me in harms way entering the clinic
next to the perimeter fence.
continued on page 17
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Donna Culp,
Captain, US Air Force (retired)