Introduction

Starting a blog is something that’s always been floating around in the back of my mind, but never a thought executed because I found it to be high-risk behavior in my line of work.

See, I’m a “Public Affairs Officer” (PAO) in the U.S. Army.

If you’ll allow me to paint with a broad stroke: A PAO’s responsibility is being the Army’s spokesman at the unit level; to be the tip of the spear (or in many cases, a shield for feces to be flung at because of poor/controversial command decisions) in the “information environment.”  If you’re a rational person, you can see how publishing a blog of personal thoughts could put me at odds with the position I hold at work, and my employer’s expectations of me in that role.

So, in short, this page’s name isn’t just alliterative: I’m actually an Army Captain. As the title of this page also suggests: I have cancer. 

You might think to yourself, “Wait, you said you are a Captain right? You can’t be old enough to have cancer…”

You would be wrong in that assumption, although I wish you were right.

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High Risk Behavior

More than one PAO has become persona non-grata in the career field, or in their individual workplace, for publicly airing a little too much of their personal feelings on some subjects. I’m not trying to create one of my own moments like that here, but I’m an active duty officer undergoing cancer treatment in the military medical system- from time to time things might slip out. I’m going to call them like I see them.

Never fear, Congress of Colonels, I will always add the customary “The views and opinions presented herein are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of the Department of Defense or the U.S. Army.” so that you and the Army can wash their hands of any of the goofy shit I say here in a media Response to Query (RTQ) or Holding Statement if I go terminal and let loose some unhinged rants.

I do not plan to go terminal, but only so much of this outcome is in my cognitive control. And as the popular staff officer saying goes: no plan survives first contact with reality.

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1000 PST – 20 December 2024

(Author’s note: I’m using military date and time conventions because they make more sense and I’m going to force it down your throat like cancer forced its way into mine)

I was two days removed from my return to my home in Tacoma, Wash. from Sagami Army Depot, Japan. I’d just completed the largest staff exercise my unit had ever partaken in, and in conditions that are best described as “the worst glamping trip you’ve ever been on.” 

I was looking forward to playing hockey outdoors for the first time in Winthrop, Wash., at a rink on the eastern edge of the North Cascades, for a weekend-long veterans scrimmage tournament. It was projected to snow and while my little Corolla Hybrid is trustworthy and faithful to its purpose, its purpose isn’t driving in blizzards through mountain passes. This is how one of the heroes of our story makes their first appearance.

Nicolette is a military contractor, and despite this handicap an all around good human. She’s the office therapist, financial counselor, honorary warrant officer, continuity, and dating coach. Like me, she is also overflowing with candor; we were natural friends from the start.

We’d arranged to swap cars so I could, you know, not die crossing the Cascades to go play outdoor hockey for a weekend. See, Nicolette had just bought a brand new Subaru (sorry ladies, she’s straight and taken) which was the far superior option to my compact hybrid.  I’d arranged the swap for the morning I was supposed to leave. We were standing at her desk, chatting before I was to swap cars and hit the road, when she said it. The phrase that brought this story to life.

“Hey, what the fuck is wrong with your neck?” she said, frozen in place across from me.

“What do you mean? Nothing’s wrong with my neck. What’s wrong with your neck? Fuck you, Nicolette.”

Then, I felt my neck, “Oh, shit, I don’t know, do you think I should go see the medics?” I said with a little surprise.

“Yeah, dude, you should. Remember that time you thought I was gonna die when my face got itchy? This feels like one of those moments,” she said, showing genuine concern.

In this instance, a few things happened that many people in the Army are not always accustomed to:

1- The medics were actually in the aid station instead of the clinic. 

2- A provider was actually in the aid station instead of the clinic.

3- The aid station was actually open the Friday mid-morning before holiday block leave.

Granted, I’m in a large headquarters and our medics are very communicative about their hours and duty locations, but I’ve seen too much of the other half of Army life, and my expectations of anything having to do with military medicine were still set, by default, at “hilariously low.”

(Author’s note: I will not be referring to my medical team by their real names in this blog)

CPT Bennett is an ER doctor by trade, but I’ve learned that the Army by and large doesn’t give a shit what your speciality is when they assign you to a unit as the provider; she happened to be the provider in the aid station when I walked in there to be seen about… whatever the fuck was going on with my neck. 

After a screening exam she came to a shocking conclusion: my neck bulging out on the right was not normal. I could sense that this was going to be one of those moments where I see myself getting ready to limbo underneath that aforementioned low bar, but then something different entirely happened: She ordered labs and an ultrasound. She showed genuine concern. She eliminated every possible emergency scenario before cutting me loose. She was treating this seriously.

“Will I die this weekend?” I asked as I put my shirt back on.

“Probably not,” she said, “but never say never.”

Fuck it, good enough for the government I work for. I’m gonna go play some hockey.

I went to the military clinic I’m assigned to and got my labs done, since it was more or less on my way out of the gate. The ultrasound referral would have to wait until at least Monday, but whatever, that was a future me problem. It was probably nothing anyway.

The views and opinions presented herein are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of the Department of Defense or the U.S. Army.