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All too Common

Liam Spencer

    I was running late. The appointment was for 9:30 and traffic was a bitch. The news on the radio was frightening. Two Veterans were debating the incoming regime of Trump. His supporter repeatedly sung his praises and hopes for the strong man leader. The opponent nervously said that dividing people within the military was not good for the military, and having no foreign policy experience did not bode well. The two were thanked and wished a Happy Veteran’s Day. A new program began.
    I found parking on the second level and hobbled my way to the elevator. Time was tight. I might make it.
    The line to check in was long. Mostly it was older, damaged people, but there were some young faces scurrying about.
    The standard questions asked in the assembly line; “Last name?” “Insurance?” “Date of Birth?”
    “Next?”

    I looked over the new paperwork I had just received in the mail. It was from OWCP (Office of Worker’s Comp. Programs). Federal workers’ comp. Sigh. My back. This time it was middle and lower back, along with left hip and groin. It hurt like a motherfucker.
    I checked in and hobbled to the spinal clinic. I knew them well. They had more paperwork for me. All things must be tracked in every way. Mountains of trees dead for record keeping, to ensure against bad apples.
    I shaded in the areas on the tiny human body inked onto the form. How absurd. Scales of one to ten. Where was thirteen? New symptoms? Not enough room to fill out. The old ones had not been fixed.
    Work is such a bitch. If one is even slightly capable of physical work, they’ll be chewed up and spit out until they’re no longer capable of any work. Then it’s to the streets.
    With Trump coming, the streets will mean private prison labor camps, which will mean death.

    It was my turn. I was whisked away to a room, and asked questions by a cute young woman. Bubbly.
    “Oh, you prefer to go by Liam? I have a son named Liam. The thing is (she giggled) it took him nearly two years to say “Liam.” He kept saying “Lia.” I told him “No No not Lia...not Lia... Your name is not Lia.”
    She giggled and blushed a certain sexiness.
    “Dr. Burton will be in to see you shortly.”
    “Ok. Thank you.”
    I went back to completing paperwork, wondering if the kid would end up changing his name to Lia, and if would be alright for him to do so by then.
    Dr. Burton came in, tall and lanky as ever, his long silver hair flowing in the wind supplied by his hobbled pace. He washed his hands before shaking mine. He sat down with some paperwork just as I handed him more.
    “How is it going?” he asked as he looked over the shaded body on the paper.
    “Not good. I’ve had another injury.”
    “Really?!”
    “Yes, I sent a secure message with details and the doctor I saw.”
    “Yes, I saw that.”
    “Speaking of which, I have yet more paperwork to fill out. For the new injury.”
    He began looking it over and sighing.
    “Yeah, all the paperwork. Looks like you’re swimming in it.”
    “It never stops.” He sighed.
    “Well, it’s all a nightmare here too.”
    “Yeah, I bet.”
    “and the election didn’t help either, shit.”
    He took a break from staring intensely at the paperwork, leaned back and smiled.
    “So you didn’t like the results, huh?”
    “I need a full roll of Charmin every day.”
    “Well, Liam, you’re a white guy, so you have little to worry about...unless you try to save those who are not as white, that is.”
    “You know the old saying though; First they came for.... Need I say more?”
    “Liam, I don’t think....look Trump doesn’t believe what he said. He just said whatever to win. He’s....He’s just...He’s just full of shit, Ok?”
    Dr. Burton looked around nervously as we both laughed. He had gotten away with one.

    “Well, with this new injury, I’m required to examine you. I already know what’s going on. You’re getting a new MRI. I still have to give you an exam.”
    We began. It was standard. I couldn’t quite stand straight at first, but worked my way up. Crouching only went so far. My left leg began shaking and giving out as I struggled to straighten my back. Pain was severe.
    “Hmm.... I’m going to have to study you more. Have a seat on the table.”
    “Uh oh...I’m not sure I like the sound of that.” I said as I sat down.
    “No, there’s no uh oh. It’s very common, actually. Some damage to discs. Common.”
    He began testing reflexes, etc., and sought to reassure with calming voices.
    When he got to my right foot, he looked up at me sharply. It had been my left leg and foot for all this time.
    “Did you ever have brain damage?”
    “No.” I gave that look.
    “Hmm....Ok. Make yourself comfortable while I fill out this paperwork.”
    He began filling out paperwork furiously, rarely pausing. I began alternating between sitting and trying to walk it all off, while trying to peek at what he was writing.
    What the hell was this? What now?
    I noticed on one of the OWCP forms he had written that it was certainly a work injury. Whew! That had been a fight since the last back injury, some seven months prior. Now, that, at least, would be resolved. I would have some measure of income, even if I was not able to work until this healed.
    “You’re getting an MRI on both your lower and middle back. I’m keeping you off work for at least a month, probably longer, ok?”
    “Ok. That’s probably a good idea.”
    “Yes, yes it is.”
    “What was the thing with the right foot? Brain damage?”
    “No no, what that likely means is that there’s some nerve compression in your middle back, which may explain the groin pain as well. Now, do you have numbness in your groin?”
    “Well, not really...I mean, there are times where there is an absence of pain.”
    “Ok. Good. If there is ever numbness, get to the ER, ok?”
    “Ok.”
    “Now, would you like some pills for the pain?”
    “No, I still have plenty left from the ankle surgery two years ago. I hate pills, and I know they’re expired, but I ignore those expiration dates.”
    “Good. Those pills are horrible for you...and you’re right, the expiration dates don’t mean anything.”
    He continued filling out forms, then handed them to me, asking that I hold that bundle while he finished yet another bundle. His desk was too small to fit everything.
    While he was wrapping up, I looked at the paperwork he had filled out. For the OWCP forms, he had written “No surgeries to be scheduled yet, but highly likely pending MRI results.”
    Fuck! I knew the road all too well. Minor, routine, day surgery my ass! Here I go again.
    Quickly the MRI was scheduled. The next appointment set. Out the door to my car. The good thing was that I wouldn’t have to go to the hell of work for a month. Whew. At least that.
    The radio held more news on the incoming Trump regime, with experts of every persuasion citing the same unpredictability. Some reassurance was predictable, no matter how false it would be.
    I knew it was coming. Congressional leaders and others of influence would seek to show normalcy, lulling us to relaxation about what was coming, meanwhile knowing full well that no one could stop Trump. No one could. It was truly the end of Constitutional Democracy.
    It was much like when doctors tell you it is nothing to worry about. It’s very very common. Death is also very common. Authoritarianism is very common. War is very common. The fall of a great power is very common. Nothing to get upset about, right?
    What is, or I guess was, uncommon is Constitutional Democracy. I thought to the founding fathers. When I got home I looked up and reread the Declaration of Independence.
    The time is coming to restore the uncommon, much like being able to stand and walk when one is over a hundred years old. Give me the uncommon any time.
     I paced my apartment. Who would stop Trump? How? When? Would he be stoppable? I thought about the uncommon peace in Europe; the longest in history. It would be no more. NATO and the EU were about to be further gutted, the far right taking over. The commonalities of war and brutalities returning. We’ve learned nothing from history.
    A beer opened. Then another. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Born in the USA.

    My back locked up. My groin doubled me over. I forced deep breaths into my lungs. It released a little, just enough to grab ice packs from the freezer and make my way to the couch. My body relaxed slowly. A little of the blanket found a way to snuggle, lulling me to sleep, like the majority of the country.
    Meanwhile storm clouds gather, and a new normal begins to set in. Dehumanization already well established. Building ever higher. Scapegoats number in the billions. It’s been building for a very long time. Now unstoppable, even in the mightiest nation in history.

    It can’t happen here. It IS happening here.
    We’re all just common after all.

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