Medic,Medic

“Medic, Medic,” sacred words that meant so much,

He was one of us, with a healing touch.

Together we talked, laughed, sometimes cried,

We were LRRP’s in combat, good friends died.

Change socks daily, keep your extras dry,

Advice given by a medic, no one asked why.

From dental care, to taking Malaria pills every day,

You listened to “Doc,” what ever he had to say.

Drank too much, fell and got a bad cut,

Doc would chew you out as he stitched you up.

In his bag of tricks he had the means to make you better.

Kept an eye on you after you got your “Dear John Letter.”

Med-evacs on call if a patrol went wrong,

Too many Op’s for a medic to go along.

Each team member trained to care for one another,

“Doc” was one of us, we were all brothers.

Young men screaming for their mothers, overcome with pain.

Knowing “Doc” was close was calming, it’s hard to explain.

There is no treatment for “Mortal Fear,”

We all felt safer knowing “Doc” was near.

Michael D. Monfrooe USA Ret

2 January, 2006