Riding the #8, realizing there's a whole other world outside of my head

I was not intending on writing something that honoured the troops in any way shape or form, but I just remembered that earlier was Memorial Day and my experience today seems to fit, I guess, even though the intention was not to write some hokey troop-loving post.

As I am jobless and in a complete state of flux here in PDX, I have taken up a new hobby of late that I like to call urban hiking. Basically, urban hiking started because almost five years ago I left Portland. Now I'm back and I don't recognize shit. So I spend most of my days (when I leave the house) urban hiking, walking long distances around town exploring, and trying to take in the scenary. I did a bit of this on the Drive back in Vancouver, but obviously there is more walking potential in Portland.

Today I walked from PSU to Powells and then walked to the foot of Pill Hill (actually known as Marquam Hill) where OHSU is located. I managed to get about halfway up the Hill before my back started giving me shit, so I decided to cheat and bus on the #8 the rest of the way up.

On Friday I got a call from my doctor. Turns out he is actually on the ball and called because he was checking files and saw that the referal he gave me won't pan out until July and was surprised I didn't call him to get in sooner. (It's weird getting reaquainted with semi-timely healthcare again.) So he called to get me in with another specialist much sooner. This then resulted in me doing a 30 minute interview on the phone with a nurse with a promise that I'd hear something in the next 7 days.

The #8 was uncharacteristically practically empty when I got on it along Terwilliger, except for three people, 2 of whom were wearing Vietnam Veteran caps and the other was wearing a coat similar to the one I've seen Pat wear for his unit (they look like lettermen jackets). I happened to be sitting in the middle of the bus, towards the back and got to watch and hear their conversations. The two grisseled grey haired guys in front of me were engaged in a loud conversation about PTSD and their symptoms. They loudly and awkwardly rambeled off phrases like "self medication", "flashbacks", and "hypervigillence". The terms themselves weren't hard to hear. Hearing grown men (older than my parents) who seemed to epitomize an older time and way use these terms seemed not only strange, but just flat out uncomfortable. It was the same kind of uncomfortable I feel when you hear a stripper or porno star open their mouths and all you hear is the voice of a six year old girl. These Vets didn't seem to really have the personalities, faculties, whatever the word is to use their words without them seeming like buzz words or sterile. These words were defining them and they weren't their words. I still can't explain why it felt so weird to hear them use them but I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

Then I looked over to the opposite side of the bus and looked at the other Veteran, a woman, clearly only old enough for the most recent Iraq war. I have no idea if she was reacting to the Vietnam Vets conversation as well, or just reacting in general, but she sat with her head leaning against the window, and in the reflection I could see her silently crying. I instantly felt so much better and so terrible for feeling better/lucky at the same time.

They got off at the VA before me and I got off at OHSU, climbed the stairs, and took a picture or two from the tram dock. I hate the tram, but I love this view from up top.

I'm glad I can still enjoy it.