Landstuhl Hospital is unique among medical centers. It’s laid out in a far-flung succession of long wards and connecting hallways – a concept born out of a need to survive an aerial bombardment typical of wars fought long ago. The walking distance, say from the urology clinic to the emergency room, the operating room, the I.C.U. or the cafeteria, is vast, which may partly explain why everyone here looks so fit. The corridors are crowded with gurneys laden with soldiers on their way to the MRI or CT rooms, or with wheelchairs headed for the outdoor smoking pavilions. (Smoking is not as socially unacceptable a behavior in the Army as it is back home in California.) In addition to the wounded from Iraq, Afghanistan and Kosovo, we treat the local population of dependents (spouses with children), DOD civilian employees and the many expatriate military retirees. So it’s not that unusual to see men on the wards who are obviously too old to still be serving in uniform, and who suffer from ailments not found in the ranks of 20 year-olds. The first patient I spoke to here was a man in his 70s in a wheelchair, his left leg sporting some external orthopedic hardware and his right hand clutching a filter cigarette, blocking a back door entrance to the hospital. It being my first day on the new job, I thought it prudent not to lecture him on either of his obstructive behaviors. At the other end of the spectrum, the hospital is nearly overrun with children – from kids in strollers and in backpack carriers to preteens and teenagers. They are not patients, but dependents visiting their soldier mom or dad for a quick meal, or an after school visit. Many parents walk the hallways of the hospital, on the way to the bank, post office, laundry, cyber café, travel office or convenience stores located within the facility, with two or (often) more children in tow, explaining the high volume in the vasectomy clinic each week. All of them very well behaved in public, these children belie the “Army brat” locution that will follow them in later life. Here comes a small brood now. Gotta go.