Editorial

Thanksgiving 1976*

RiChaRD h. DaFFneR, mD, FaCR

Most people attribute the annual Thanksgiving holiday tradition in the United States to the Pilgrims who settled in Massachusetts in 1620. However, the celebration is documented to have begun a year earlier, in what is now Virginia. It began as a day of giving thanks to God for the blessings of the harvest and for having survived the triumphs and disappointments of preceding year. For most of us, it is a day of (over)eating and watching football. Thanksgiving 1976 changed my perspective on the holiday forever and I remember the details as if it happened yesterday.

In October 1976, I was working at the VA Hospital in Durham, N.C. Earlier that fall I had joined an adult soccer league. In my first game, I jumped to “head” the ball, and when I landed, I hyperextended my left knee and tore my ACL. I was fortunate to have a conservative orthopedic surgeon who urged me to try to avoid surgery and to see how I did with vigorous rehabilitation. In 1976, there were about a dozen surgical procedures for ACL repairs, none of which worked very well. (This was long before the late Dr. Freddie Fu developed his unique repair.) And so, once the swelling and pain had subsided, I dutifully went to physical therapy at the hospital every day at lunchtime to strengthen the muscles around my injured knee.

The U.S. involvement in Vietnam ended March 29, 1973. That war had killed 58,220 Americans and had wounded another 153,303 (not to mention an estimated two million Vietnamese dead and wounded). In 1976, the VA population of patients had many young former servicemen (and a few women) who were still dealing with the aftermaths of injuries suffered in Vietnam. The war injuries tended to be more common in lower limbs due to land mines and booby traps the enemy was using. Statistics showed that more GIs were surviving battle trauma thanks to air evacuation as well as advances in surgical and medical care. Unfortunately, bullet wounds to the head or torso from an AK-47 the enemy used were usually fatal.

The Physical Therapy Department at the hospital scheduled patients in regular time slots. And every day when I came during the noon lunch hour there were the same three patients. We talked briefly about our injuries, and they told me about what combat was like. I, too, was a veteran; having been in the Air Force during the Vietnam era, but I had the good fortune to have served my entire tour of duty in the United States.

The youngest of the three veterans, in his early 20s, had stepped on a land mine which miraculously (my judgment) had taken off only the front half of his left foot. Unfortunately, the wound hadn’t healed properly, resulting in him eventually undergoing an amputation at the ankle. He was getting used to a new prosthesis. The second man was slightly older and had suffered trauma to both legs, also from a land mine, which necessitated below-the-knee amputations. He, too, was adjusting to using new leg prostheses. The third man, a prototypical “hard boiled” sergeant (complete with cigar clamped between his teeth – at the time, the VA allowed smoking on the premises and even sold cigarettes at a discount in the PX in the basement), had been in a bunker that had taken a direct hit from a rocket-propelled grenade. He lost his right arm just below the shoulder, as well as both legs above the knees.

As the days progressed in November, the talk in physical therapy turned to the upcoming holidays, beginning with Thanksgiving. All three of the ex-GIs would be going home on leave for the holidays. The two men with the more significant amputations were excited about spending the holidays with their families. The youngest, however, was really depressed over his lost foot

and was clearly not in the mood for giving thanks. I, too, was certainly not happy with my injury, which paled in comparison to what these three men had lost.

The youngest veteran started a conversation in which he wondered why his two buddies had anything to be thankful for. “Look at us,” he said. “We’re cripples for life.”

“Well,” said the double amputee. “It could have been worse. Look at poor Sarge here. I’m thankful I still have most of my legs and both arms.”

“I’m thankful, too,” said the sergeant.

“For what?” asked the younger man. “You’ve lost both legs and an arm.”

The old veteran looked at the young man and with tears in his eyes said, “You know I told you how I was wounded. What I didn’t tell you, son, was that the day I lost my arm and both legs I was with three other men from my squad. Of the four of us, I am the only one who will be celebrating Thanksgiving this year.”

The silence that followed was deafening. After hearing that story, I no longer felt so bad about my injured knee. I realized then that it is sometimes better to look at the glass being half full rather than half empty. Things could always be worse.

Forty-six years have passed since I met those three GIs. Every year as Thanksgiving comes around, I think about those three men and realize how grateful I am for having been able to share the experience with them. And I give thanks that despite my injury, I was still able to play hockey for another ten years (with a knee brace). And when I think about those men, I know that for too many people throughout the world things are, in fact, worse.

* A shorter version of this piece, entitled

“Three GIs” was originally published as a First-Person column in the

Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, November 21, 2009.

Dr.Daffner is a retired radiologist, who practiced at Allegheny General Hospital for over 30 years. He is Emeritus Clinical Professor of Radiology at Temple University School of Medicine and is the author of 9 textbooks.

The opinion expressed in this column is that of the writer and does not necessarily reflect the opinion of the Editorial Board, the Bulletin, or the Allegheny County Medical Society.

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