Standing Last in Line

During basic training at Fort Polk, the saying was “Your mind is your own but your butt belongs to the U.S. Army.”

That was true as our drill sergeants told us when to eat, smoke, sleep and take a toilet break for six weeks. We were also poked and prodded by doctors and dentists, and had so many injections during that time that my arms felt like pincushions.

With large numbers of soldiers passing through the facility, it was easy to contract various diseases from the troops. Mostly it was just colds and sore throats but often enough it was killer meningitis.

The injections usually occurred early in the morning, right after breakfast, leaving lots of daylight to deal with bad reactions to the various serums. Once, after a Plague injection, ninety percent of my Company had severe reactions that included vomiting and passing out. We were standing in formation when the troops began dropping in their tracks

Marilyn asked me today if I’d ever had an injection to protect against meningitis.

“I don’t have a clue,” I answered. “We often had multiple shots at the same time and they usually didn’t bother telling us what they were for.”

The doctors and nurses giving the injections would often form a gauntlet, three or four on each side, all carrying pneumatic needles that looked like air pistols. We would line up and roll up both sleeves and then parade through the gauntlet. The result was often bloody and painful.

You never wanted to be last in line. Those going first would trot past us, moaning in mostly faked pain as blood streamed down both their arms. It didn’t matter much because there were many more injections in our future. Next time, they might be standing last in line and it would be our turn to cause them mental grief as they awaited their fate.

Gondwana