OUR NEXT STOP wasn’t part of the plan: we were headed to a Veterans Affairs hospital in Seattle. Josh’s prosthetic leg was fine, but his good leg was giving him problems. He thought he might have a blood clot, which could be life-threatening.
We had stopped in Portland, Oregon, and for the last few days, Josh had been leaning into his prosthetic more than usual, limping a little. Josh finally told me he was in pain, but it was clear that he had been uncomfortable for a while. I thought about all the demanding hiking we’d done in Big Sur, the redwoods, and Crater Lake, wondering if we’d pushed too hard.
We planned to stay in Seattle with Matt, another of Josh’s army friends. When we pulled up to his apartment, Matt met us outside. He looked like he could have been Josh’s brother: they were both tall and thin, with big smiles and similar mannerisms. Matt had been one of the medics in Josh’s unit. Now he was in the Army Reserve and had a civilian job as an X-ray technician at a local hospital.
We joked around for a bit and then I told Matt what was going on. “We should get Josh to the hospital,” I said. “His leg is getting worse.”
We dropped our gear with Matt, and I drove Josh to the VA hospital. Neither of us spoke. I knew Josh feared that someday he’d have to have his good leg amputated. It had been badly damaged. He had shown me the scars where shrapnel had sliced through muscle and surgeons had made repairs.
I went out of my way to treat Josh the same way I would have treated any of my other buddies. I didn’t want him to feel that I doubted him or babied him because of his prosthetic. If we were on a trail and he needed to rest, I’d sit with him and wait. I didn’t ask, “Are you okay?” with pity or worry. I knew he wanted to push himself, and I wanted to help him do that.
Now that something was wrong, it was hard to find the right words. Josh had challenged himself throughout his recovery, and especially on our trip. He’d been a good friend, listening to me tell Fred’s story over and over again, waiting for me when I wanted to mountain bike, and putting up with me for two months on the road.
When we got to the VA, I gave Josh a quick hug.
“Hey, man, at least you know your way around a VA hospital,” I said. “You should be able to get seen pretty quick.” Josh knew I was being sarcastic. No appointment at the VA could ever be described as “quick.”
“Yeah, bro, I’ll be in and out,” Josh said, not looking at me. “Go have fun with Matt. He’s a great guy.” He rubbed Fred’s head and let the dog lick his face before hopping out of the truck.
Fred and I watched Josh limp down the breezeway and through the lobby doors. I drove back to Matt’s house to wait for an update from Josh. On the drive, Fred didn’t climb into Josh’s seat like he usually would have. Instead, he stayed in the back with his head down, as if he knew something wasn’t right. In the past two months, our pack had never separated. I wanted to feel optimistic, but I had a sinking feeling that this was where Josh’s trip ended.
“You know, if it is a blood clot, it’s a good thing you stopped in Portland,” Matt said.
“What do you mean it’s good we stopped in Portland?” I asked. We were sitting at the dog park watching Fred and Matt’s white Labrador, Lucy, chase each other.
“Clots usually get worse when someone sits still for an extended period of time,” he said. “If you had driven all the way up to Seattle, one of the clots could have traveled up to Josh’s brain or his heart. That could have killed him.” Matt spoke in the matter-of-fact tone of medical professionals.
I hadn’t understood how bad things could have been. We’d come so far on our trip, and our difficulties had been relatively minor. Maybe our luck was running out.
I got Fred settled at Matt’s house and went back to the hospital. I didn’t want Josh to feel alone.
Under the fluorescent lights in the hospital lobby, I bought a cup of coffee from a vending machine and took a seat in a stiff plastic chair. A few elderly veterans wearing Vietnam vet baseball caps sat in wheelchairs or with walkers. The group appeared to be waiting for a bus back to their assisted living facility. I didn’t speak to any of them, but I was reminded of the shameful ways the veterans of that era were treated when they came home. Many of them had been drafted into the conflict and saw combat that left them physically and mentally scarred. The society they’d returned to was a far cry from our current thank-you-for-your-service spirit. I tried to remember that anytime I found myself complaining about the VA.
I got a text from Josh: “Blood clots. They wrote me a prescription. I’ll be out in ten.”
I was relieved that Josh didn’t need to stay in the hospital, but I knew we weren’t out of the woods. About twenty minutes later, he came out carrying a shopping bag of meds. He had been prescribed pain meds and a blood thinner that he needed to inject into his leg twice a day.
He still limped but he was smiling.
“Hey, man, you didn’t have to wait for me,” he said.
“Well, I really wanted to get a look at the lobby of the Seattle VA,” I said. “It was right up there on my must-see list with the Grand Canyon and the redwoods.”
Josh climbed into the Land Cruiser. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see the inside of this beauty,” Josh said. “The doctor told me to take it easy but she didn’t say anything about not traveling.”
I had assumed he’d catch the next flight home. “If you wanna keep going, it’s your call,” I said. “I just don’t want you to drop dead on me. That would really kill the trip.”
“I always thought my time would come in the passenger seat of a Land Cruiser—I just didn’t think it’d be this soon,” he said.
Josh and I had our first big fight a few days later in Minneapolis. One of Josh’s high school friends took us to a Twins game. All night, I noticed Josh favoring one leg and limping. I was concerned, especially because we were low on money and ready to drive back to Washington, DC.
“Hey, man. You feeling okay?” I asked. “How’s your leg?” I tried to sound casual.
“Yeah—I’m fine,” Josh said. “Why?”
“You just looked a little uncomfortable while we were walking around tonight,” I said. “I realized I hadn’t really asked you about your leg in a while.”
Things had been tense between us since Seattle. After saying goodbye to Matt, we drove ten long hours to Bozeman, Montana. We camped overnight, and I went for a long mountain bike ride, then it was onward to North Dakota and Minneapolis. I felt a strain between us that hadn’t been there before.
I thought Josh was putting his health at risk. We both knew he’d done more on this trip than we thought possible. Why didn’t he know when to call it quits? I wanted Josh to appreciate the difference between challenging himself and being reckless. He was ignoring his pain. To me, his problem was obvious. What was much harder for me to see was that I was ignoring my own pain, too.
“Look. Why don’t you just say it? You think I should fly home,” Josh said. “I can tell you’ve been thinking it.”
“Shouldn’t you listen to the doctors in Seattle?” I asked. “Didn’t they say riding in the car could be bad for the clots? That’s pretty much all we’re gonna do between here and DC.”
“If you want me off the trip, just say it,” he said.
After months on the road together, we were on each other’s nerves.
“I want you to make that decision,” I said. “I want you to take a look at your situation and deal with it instead of sweeping it under the rug and making it someone else’s problem.”
I didn’t hold back. “This summer you’ve seen what you’re capable of—how far you can push yourself mentally and physically. Now you need to accept your limitations.”
The next morning, I drove Josh to the airport. We got out at the departure terminal and stood next to the Land Cruiser. Cars whizzed past and people hurried through revolving doors. I handed Josh his duffel bag and gave him a hug.
“Thanks, man,” Josh said. “I had a great time.”
He kissed Fred on the head.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I said. “I’m really glad you came.” It was true.
In the front seat, Fred didn’t whimper or complain. He seemed to understand that Josh needed to go. I shifted the Land Cruiser into gear and headed toward home.