Former medic praises 'real' veterans of war

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I was once in the army. Okay, it was really the militia, but 13 years ago I was a member of the 15th Edmonton Medical Company of Canadian Armed Forces Reserves.

It was hardly an illustrious career. I didn't go overseas. I barely got out of Edmonton. In fact, I didn't even make it to full private after one year. But to be fair to myself, that was due to scheduling problems and conflicting job commitments. I was unable to take my summers off like the other "weekend warriors" to participate in the full-time training.

Even so, I received field medical training on top of my basic military training. If you were hurt, I could fix you. Well, fix you enough to get you to a hospital where you could really be looked after. It was my job to stop your bleeding, to stop your yelling, and load your carcass into an ambulance. Fortunately, I never really had to do those things.

My medical training exposed me to what a mine, a bullet, a grenade, an artillery shell or poisonous gas could do to a body. We were also trained to treat the casualties of a nuclear war on the assumption that someone could actually survive such a thing.

It was an experience that changed my life. An experience a lot of people couldn't figure out. Some things about the army bothered them, like all the yelling and verbal abuse the recruits would be subjected to.

To be honest, it wasn't that bad. In fact, there was one sergeant in my basic training course who would try and make you laugh. He was really funny, but laughing was forbidden on the parade square. So a great battle of wills would ensue with this sergeant cracking jokes every two seconds and 30 of us soldiers biting our tongues. If any one of us so much as cracked a smile then it was push-ups for all.

I grew to love the traditions of the Canadian Armed Forces, as well as garner an incredible respect for the First Nations veterans who served before me.

I don't consider myself a veteran because I never served in any conflict. The only sacrifices I ever made were a bunch of my weekends and Wednesday afternoons. I'm thankful I never had to see a war up close. My training, however, was bad enough and I'm happy I've never really had to patch-up someone who'd been wounded.

It's hard for me as a writer to come up with the words to express the great admiration, love and respect I have for the veterans who fought for Canada. That respect is even more so for the First Nations veterans who fought and died for a country that insisted they give up their treaty rights to put on a uniform.

Despite serving honorably in two World Wars, First Nations veterans came back to discover that they couldn't return to their home reserves because they were no longer "Indians." Racist attitudes meant they couldn't even go into some of the legions that their fellow veterans were welcomed into. Very few of them realized that loans were available to veterans to help them buy farms and equipment, and that money was available for university educations.

In short, they sacrificed everything and Canada turned its back on them when they returned. Despite all this, however, the vast majority of them would do it all again.

As soldiers, we honored the veterans. We knew that at a moment's notice, Canada might call upon us to make sacrifices similar to those brave soldiers before us. It could have been in an all out war, like the one in the Persian Gulf, or as United Nations' peacekeepers.

It doesn't take much to say thank you for these veterans and you don't have to be a former medic to appreciate their sacrifice. Buy a poppy and on Nov. 11 at 11 a.m., take a minute to reflect on the courage and sacrifice of all veterans. And then add another minute for the First Nations veterans who had to fight another war when they returned from Europe.