Olly, Olly

Chapter 11. From San Antonio to Las Vegas and then back to Chicago.

We walked in first thing Monday morning to the VA's office. We had to drive to San Antonio as this was the closest VA hospital. He was referred here from the hotline that we had called on Saturday, looking for information. We spotted a line of people standing in front of the office waiting to get in as we pulled into the parking lot. It took about fifteen minutes just to walk in the front door. As we made it in, I quickly realized most people in line already knew what they were doing and where they were going. Then there were those like us, that were pretty much lost. We waited in line until it was our turn to walk up to the counter. There sat a little pale skinned aged women behind the desk, who seemed to have dyed her hair recently but unknowably missed a chunk of her roots. It gave away her unwanted grey's, that escaped the red dye. Her thin hair was semi-brushed back into a bun with the exceptions of the fly-aways that pointed in random directions. Thick burgundy squared glasses sat at the bridge of her nose with a gold color safety chain to ensure she didn't misplace them. She barely looked up except when she asked for Ollie's ID's and took them to a copier, that was located behind her to make copies. As she returned to her desk and carefully sat back in place, she handed him back his ID's and placed the copies behind a clipboard which she then handed to Oliver. It had a package of papers that were already pre-packed onto the clipboard. She took it off a pile of clipboards ready to go for the next how many other people would walk in the door today. She had done this one to many times that it was routine. Her desk was cluttered with papers and glass figurines which ranged from animals to saints. Even with all the clutter, she knew where everything was, it was kind of skill. She kept her head down as she spoke and told Oliver to have a seat and wait to be called. Oliver thanked her as we walked into the waiting room and made our way to two chairs in the back of the room. He started to fill out the package, general information first. It followed with service information, history and last pages were about what he was experiencing. As he filled out the package I couldn't help but look around the room. There was a sea of differences, by ages, nationalities some with obvious disabilities; wheelchairs, crutches including cane's, bandages and cast over broken bones and missing limbs. The disabilities varied and didn't discriminate in age or race. Then there were the ones like Oliver that seemed out of place. They looked okay, physically. Except you could see those that were holding conversations and exchanging stories, while others were distant. Their facial expressions seemed, oh too familiar to me, just as Ollie would be at times. I turned back, towards Oliver sitting next to me, he had made it to a checklist page in the back of the packet. I watched as he checked one after another before long one-third of the page seemed to have been marked. He seemed discouraged by this point as each mark was jotted on the page. I put my arm around the back of the chair and just rubbed his back to help him relax and ensure him it was okay. When he finished the package he flipped the pages back to their original position as he started through it again, making sure that there weren't any in-corrections and that it was completed. Assuring himself that he hadn't overlooked anything. It appeared as a stalling method, to keep his mind busy. I watched as he fixated on each page again. Extremely scrutinizing each section and his answers. He started to erase some of the checkmarks that he had previously jotted down when I ran my hand up to his shoulder and gently squeezed— "it's okay!" I smiled the words out softly. I leaned in and laid my chin on his shoulder as he sat leaning forward, half off his chair. I knew he felt out of place being here, but part of me wondered if he was just uncomforted all together. He had mentioned over the weekend in one of our many long conversations, that he finds himself uncomfortable in his own skin. He admitted that nights were the worst and silence was torture. His mind was his worst enemy in silence, but then again, I remembered my analysis that sudden loud noises were triggers as well. I decided to keep my conclusions to myself, after all, he was here to seek professional help. People who have studied in this field, having years of experience, who were capable of doing their own fieldwork with no insight needed from me. Besides, he had revealed a lot more in the last two days than he had in the last couple of weeks. I wasn't going to push it.