Just had a phone conversation with my medic from Vietnam
I learned that he will be retiring from the VA (where he has been working in prosthetics) this year.
When I got hit, Doc was a cherry medic in-country, and I was his first casualty. AK fire had blown away half my teeth and jaw, hit my shoulder, and I was peppered with shrapnel.
I remember Doc running up to me, throwing his hands in the air, and screaming, "Oh, my God, he's hit bad."
After I was evacuated back to the States, I wrote a letter to my platoon to let them know I'd survived (they'd been told I'd died). I could have addressed my letter to my platoon sergeant, my top squad leader, or any of the guys I'd been with through those times in combat. Instead (and I have no idea how I was smart enough to do this), I wrote that letter to my cherry medic.
Doc found me 20 years later, after he'd seen me interviewed at the Wall on Good Morning America. He still had my letter packed away somewhere, but the only thing we both remembered about it was my PS: "Your bedside manner sucks."
Somehow, Doc and I both survived the war and its aftermath. Both diagnosed with PTSD, both managing and surviving our trauma.
The first time we spoke, Doc told me, "Your letter literally saved my life." He didn't need to explain. I'm all too familiar with how caregivers, especially combat medics and corpsmen, blame themselves for the deaths of those they were unable to save.
For me, it was a real pleasure to be able to let Doc know that I didn't die, after all. Even though his bedside manner sucked. 
Doc's grandfather was a Jewish war vet who had fought the Nazis in the U.S. Infantry in WWII.
Doc and I live far far apart, across the country from each other. But on his retirement day, I'll be celebrating with him.
To Doc... 
= new reply since forum marked as read
And thank you both for your service.
Looks like my OP got posted twice, but I think I'll leave it like that, rather than have your post deleted.
I'll pass your thanks on to Doc.
To You and doc...
