This is just more of the same. Members of my unit and my State throwing monkey wrenches with all their might. The problem, of course, is nothing speaks for their positions and everything speaks against it. The other Gray made terrible claims regarding the character of my service. He based his claims on the claims of those who either a) were called to the carpet to answer for mishandling everything from getting me a TA 50 to go to OCS to getting me proper medical care and pay (which has had the obvious effect of crippling me and ruining me financially), or b) don’t know me from Adam. In his letter he claimed I committed many violations of the UCMJ, yet there is no paper trail supporting these claims. Not so much as a counseling statement.

I would like to believe he did this out of ignorance. Just following orders from above (I have a feeling I know who is pulling the other Gray’s strings), and following the rumor mill perpetuated by those above and below. I’d like to believe that. At least then this act would just be stupid rather than petty and malicious. But I have suspicions this man knew exactly what he was doing when he did it.

I may or may not file an IG complaint. Not sure if it’s worth it this late in my (cut short) career. Not sure such a complaint would accomplish anything, esp. given the investigatees would be caroling the same lies. Eh, fuck it. More importantly, fuck them. Remember my Lansing ladies and gents, the lowest level of Hell is reserved for betrayers. Drop me a line when you get there. Let me know if it’s hot enough for ya.

Not nearly enough, but it’s something.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/25/health/25warrior.html?hp

We had a long discussion about the article and my experiences. We agreed something is wrong. We agreed that it’s silly the truthfulness of my claims were disputed (joking a claim isn’t true until it appears in the ‘NY Times’). We agreed that something has to change.

I suspect nothing will change. Army culture is resistant to change (in some instances, for good reason), and the civilians appointed over military leaders seem reluctant to interfere (which in some instances is probably good). Treatment is equally shitty for everyone, and it seems in the eyes of those running things equally shitty is acceptable. I wonder how many more of our heroes have to die before that view is shaken.

I’m in Harvard Grad School. I have medical appointments almost every day. My days are sacrosanct and my energies - given I am disabled with severe spine injuries and psychological impairments - quite limited. Yet the always tone-deaf-to-my-needs MIARNG have made a stink with regard to my use of my time (in the CBWTU, a transitional program; in my case, not a transition to a different job, different command, different state, etc., but a transition out of the military). They feel my time and energies would be best used at the Detroit Light Guard Armory answering phones and guarding the stapler. Activities that are pointless in my present and completely irrelevant to my future.

Tomorrow is my first day back since the semester began. Though I’ve explained my situation to them before, as well as the fact I am required to do 20-30 hours a week (that includes school time and medical appointments and any remaining time for work, of which there is never remaining time, as I go over 30 hours each week in school and appointments) I intend to fill them in. I will not allow the MIARNG to further fuck up my life. In doing virtually nothing to assist me, in anything, they’ve done quite enough already.

To my surprise I’m in very little pain. My sleep is unaffected. My cursing is pretty much the usual fare. Fuck! Cock! Whore! See?

Of course my only issue is with the Army. I’m so surprised I’m molting. The doctor performing the surgery said 6-8 weeks of VERY LIMITED activity - meaning eating and going to the bathroom. I’ve been given 2 weeks of convalescent leave. Makes sense.

But I’m grateful. With any luck this fucking thing will work this time.

I’m pushing myself very hard. Three days a week weight-lifting. I go hard. It’s nice to see gains. My condition isn’t improving, but my conditioning is. I’m walking a razor-thin line between causing flare-ups and worsening my injuries/syndromes.

Yesterday was a good pain group. I learned of a new drug that sounds promising for those of us with seeming intractable pain: Embeda. Have a look. With any luck, you may find some relief.

To my brothers, sisters, and friends: Gather the bricks those above you throw. Build yourself a castle. Fly your flag high. It will protect your potential from crabs, big and small, who’d love for nothing more than to pull you back into the barrel. To make you as pathetic as they are and as they’d like you to be.

To my detractors: Fuck you! You’re on my list. With Harvard Grad letters next to my name, and as an aside, I’ve also been accepted and plan to start Creighton Grad’s Applied Bioethics in May, you have no choice but to take me seriously. My credentials will merit it, and my vocation, to serve our service members and vets, possibly in public office, will demand it. I’m coming for you with an inexhaustible pallet of bricks of my own and a strong arm to throw them. You know who you are. And you know to tremble at my ground-pounding approach in the distance.

Tomorrow some old honkies will gather in a room to decide my worthiness to receive Vocational Rehabilitation and Employment funds. Eligibility and suitability are the laws guiding them, but of course, no one in government in MI seems to know the laws governing them. The main shit bag I suffer has some real dicked-up ideas about university and the subjects that interest me.

He suggested all sorts of irrelevant shit. I can’t earn a Harvard Grad degree in Physical Anthropology because in my condition I can’t play Indiana Jones. Because of my condition, and an implication that because I’m just a dumb Army guy, I won’t be able to compete with my colleagues in the program. “They’ll run circles around you.” were his exact words. Funny. The notes in front of him showed a Shipley over 120 and a WAIS at 174. Not too many on the planet who can run circles round me academically. (Sorry detractors, I know you hate it when I talk about myself that way. You can blow me if it would make you feel better.) Now His Intransigent’s bullshit has shifted to ‘out-of-State.’ Higher costs and what not. Though the courses are mostly online, and cost the same regardless of location.

You know, at this point I don’t give a fuck what they decide. I can come up with the money. And frankly, relying on the government for anything is like relying on the retard at McDonald’s to get your ’special’ order correct. You’ll be disappointed and choking on onions? Making up a simile on the spot is hard. Fuck you people. Just playin’. I love you all so much.

On a side note, my revision is approved but not yet scheduled. I’ll keep you all abreast of what develops.

Peace,

Tsemi

For those unaware, part of being a ‘warrior in transition’ with a Community Based (meaning home) Warrior in Transition Unit, is having a place of duty. My place is the MIARNG Medical Command on 8 mile Road in Detroit. Yes, but a stone’s throw from every FUBU caparisoned white kid’s Graceland. Not the bad neighborhood about which our hero raps (or embellishes). Mostly solid working class folks. The kind of place producing people whose ‘Ho Cards’ get pulled by people like me (SW Detroit/Ecorse/North Lincoln Park folk).

However, many seem to mistake this ‘duty,’ which consists mostly of guarding the telephone, as the primary mission. When in fact, my primary mission is to receive medical care and to reach what’s known as ‘Full Clinical Benefit,’ or some such horseshit. Meaning once the Army’s done with me, I’ll be the best cripple I can be. My ’superiors,’ he he, at the duty site can’t quite grasp this notion, though I’ve explained it on numerous occasions. They aren’t in my CoC, and rather than bring their grievances to me, as one is supposed to do, they brought it to my PLT SGT and my case manager. “I’m telling!” Nothing came of it, of course. As usual, I’m doing exactly what I should be doing. The rough and tumble, hardened MIARNG soldier never ceases to impress.

But enough about people who really in the greater scheme of my life are about as important as ants I’ve accidentally stepped on approaching the bedroom door of my detractors’ mothers, let’s focus on the title. A real issue in my humblest opinion. This is a medical station. Looks like a school in Beirut. Leaky ceilings. Mold. Water-warped hardwood basketball court on which deploying soldiers are given shots, have blood drawn, and are physically and mentally examined to suss their competence to participate in one or both of our current managed losses. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, this is how we rate.