The Broken Soldier

Funny story. Tried to correct a grievous error: Incapacitation Pay still not paid. I tried to do this during Muster on Rock Island Arsenal. A gala event of high-ranking, dare I say it?, yes, shit bags. (And by the by, motherfuckers, please, I’m begging you, pull a Marc Hall on me. You think I’ve embarrassed you already. You’ve not begun to experience embarrassment.)

So I sent an email to one of the CSMs I met. A man who claimed he’d help in any way he could. I gave him details of my situation, and my interest in resolving the matter.

What I received was more blame. Oh, and also a claim that my email sent to him in confidence, which he then, as seems custom in the MIARNG, sent to everyone other person in the MIARNG, started a ‘firestorm.’ He also said Finance and Health Services were aware of my problems with Incap. Interesting use of language. Finance and Health Services are aware of my problem, the problem is thought of in terms of a ‘firestorm,’ and yet for the better part of three years the problem has gone unresolved.

Well, finally the MIARNG’s neglect may work to my advantage. My PLT SGT with CBWTU suggested I should never have come off of orders when my LoD was initiated. I should have immediately been placed back on orders, and treated until the resolution or discharge. Hmmm. A 20+ year Admin SGT saying the same thing I’ve said for three years. I imagine, however, knowing what should happen in a case like mine doesn’t garner him death and UCMJ punishment threats from my ‘brothers.’

It’s possible, though I’m not holding my breath, I may receive back pay without having to fill out Incap Paperwork again (for the 20th fucking time).

And one other thing, unrelated, to you in the MIARNG who felt it necessary to ruin my name to cover your asses, spread rumors around to besmirch my character, a National Lawyers Guild Military Task Force lawyer is working with me now to, upon release from the Army, bring libel and slander lawsuits against you and possibly push for UCMJ action against you. You know who you are. Buckle up.

No salvation, indeed. And if you resist said crazy world long enough, ‘normal people’ will tuck you away in a place slightly better than jail until you tell them what they want to hear. “Oh yes, I’m feeling much better.” “Okay, you’re free to go.” Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy.

I’m referring, of course, to the wacky tank. I spent several days there, again. Group therapy in which grown men and women are praised for crying, coloring pictures, going outside to play, and otherwise acting like needy children. Needy children are no threat, you see. At least I got to sleep a bit, and watched a truly sideways chick play ten different sports, including basketball, with a rubber chicken.

“What set you off?” you may be wondering. What else? The Army and those who make it up (in both senses). My mental health case manager got pissed because I missed a few appointments. Two of which had already been explained away. The third was missed due to placement on quarters.

I was sleep deprived, in a lot of pain, and in no mood to be talked to like a child being scolded. I wrote to my PLT SGT saying as much, and telling him what had transpired, that is to say, getting bitched at by a civilian for doing nothing wrong, was more than I could take given that I am on the edge each and every day. A few hours later I was talking to the commander, who told me to go to an ER for a psych eval.

Can’t say I understand what happened. Doesn’t seem reasonable to me. Something of an overreaction by the other players. But this is what I’ve come to expect. Nothing gets a big reaction. My Incap Pay, Medical Reimbursement, word on when to expect completion of my MEB/PEB, etc., get little or no reaction. An approach to which I cannot adapt.

I forgot to mention meeting a cog in the rumor mill. Hubbell, Hummell, something like that. He was sitting with the Michigan table at Muster last week. He sat through a discussion between several CSMs and myself of what had gone down for the last three years.

This coward, who has made a point of sending libelous email to my current CoC at the Rock Island Arsenal, IL CBWTU, couldn’t look me in the eyes. A man who has spent a year and a half slandering me to everyone who’ll listen, including my CoC at Knox and RIA and my current duty site, based on little more than the slander and libel of those above him, couldn’t pay me the respect of looking me in the eyes. He couldn’t say a word to me. He didn’t dare chime in as I told the CSMs of my state my story.

Now I’m pissed again. It’s been a while. I was trying to be Zen or Christ-like about it. But I only have two cheeks. Both have been slapped. Once at Knox, then again at RIA, and then again at my current duty site. Creating a negative impression of me before anyone at each location has even met me. Creating a situation in which a very difficult situation is made just that much more difficult, as I have a negative impression, a false negative really, to disprove and dispel.

You, sir, are a coward. And I hope, you doting sycophant, that you have a good attorney. Cuz you and your lords have slander, libel, and calumny suits coming. And no, you fucking invertebrate, that’s not an article of clothing. Ask your masters what that means. I’m sure they’ll lie to you, you’ll lap it up, and all convince yourselves there’s nothing to worry about.

Muster. As predicted, a week of pain. However, there was several thousands pounds of cheese danishes, and some of the classes were good. Meaning, implicitly, some were not so good.

I had a nice time. It’s good to be with friends more or less sharing your struggles. I did a bit of networking, which may become very important if my VA Comp isn’t as high as most expect it to be. I made sure Voc Rehab would be paying for Harvard Grad School (a subtle way of saying, ‘fuck you’ to critics doubting I possess the intellectual chops to speak to issues spoken here).

I gave some of my friends gifts. ‘Some’ because some, well one, will receive his gift later in the form of help on research papers and possibly a series of novels. My Platoon SGT received the most gifts: A child’s penguin Halloween outfit, a five lbs bag of Twizzlers, a ‘fine pewter’ Army pen holder w/pen included, a card with a chimp on the cover, and a junior enlisted coin. The latter being the only serious gift, given because I truly appreciate him, personally and professionally. A few other friends received coins too. Mostly for showing my wife and I support and empathy (as they faced similar horrors with Army medicine we did). One friend, a friend who demonstrated serious discomfort with anything having to do with man on man action, got the latest copy of “Muscle Fuck Monthly” (or whatever it’s called).

At this point, you must be asking yourself, “What does the title have to do with the post?” Good question. It’s meant to be ironic. Those of you who’ve doubted me, the stories of others I’ve shared here, everything discussed on this site were so cocksure of your doubts. When this program, CBWTB and its ‘Muster’ are designed to answer the very criticisms I and others have leveled. Perhaps, my little cocks, before you generate your perfect assurance in rightness of your position, you check first to see if there’s adequate ground beneath your feet. Cuz even the Army’s, dumb and lumbering as an organization it is, has passed you on its way to the middle of the bell curve.

I’ve not posted in some time. In part because I’ve had nothing to post about. In part because I’ve lost interest in posting here. Those with similar experiences see truth in what I’ve posted. Those who haven’t see lies. Those who want ammunition to use against organized military will surely find it here. Those who seek reason to besmirch the characters of or if in their power destroy anyone criticizing organized military will, likewise, find it here.

Yesterday I alerted my CoC my wife wasn’t attending ‘muster,’ a five day event my Community Based Warriors in Transition Unit (CBWTU) program put on every quarter. A chance to voice grievances, press the flesh with higher-ups, receive information, play golf an meet beauty queens. I brought this to the attention of those in charge as soon as I learned of it. Those in charge seemed unhappy, but, as I’ve so often said here, truth doesn’t have to be beautiful/what we want it to be.

My wife is being promoted. A promotion taking us to San Francisco. A big move with short suspense. Much for which to prepare. Additionally, my wife chose to stay behind to attend to matters of moving and to take care of our dogs - one of whom is only 4 months old, weighing less than one pound.

Upon sharing this information, I was told this was creating significantly more work for those responsible for my travel and lodging - while the person responsible for my travel and lodging stated in the background ‘It’s not a big deal.’ I offered, in the spirit of making things easier for everyone, to make my own travel arrangements (n.b. I did not actually make them, just offered to do so to make things easier). I made the mistake of sharing this information with my wife. My wife sent an email, as she was instructed to do by those in positions of power at the CBWTU, to my CoC.

My CoC voiced its distemper with me today. In our discussion, I was told ‘This is how the rumor mill gets started.’ My wife’s email, containing the word ‘reprimand’ to describe her sense of what went down. Her email was then forwarded to ‘15-20 other people.’ To this I voiced confusion. Confusion that will never, regardless of how much discussion is had, dissipate.

This is not how the rumor mill is started or fueled. “This” meaning the actions of my wife and I. I did what I was supposed to do. A change in plans came to my attention, and I shared it with those in power immediately. My wife did what she was told to do: If you have a problem, share it with us.

My wife and I are neither the creators nor the fuel for the rumor mill, which has created hostility for me everywhere I’ve gone. Those who send information, often out of context to those who, as enumerated above, look for lies and a reason to besmirch or destroy in anything viewed as criticism of the organization to which they belong are the rumor mill. God only knows the motive. I makes no sense to my wife and I.

From now on we will keep our mouths shut. I have little time left. And motive and hope to correct what we see as wrong, as we’ve been encouraged to do, simply isn’t worth the potential cost.

Just got word, literally two minutes after writing the previous post, that my Community Base Health has been approved! Thank God. Longer time in, which does interfere with making future plans, but I can be treated here at home by some of the best medical professionals in the world. If there’s a way to make things better for me, I’m sure they will find it. I have renewed hope that things may get better. Mrs. Hickman, my case manager, and Mr. Serna, the warriors in transition ombudsman, deserve special thanks. Without their efforts, this would not have happened. I’d be stuck with a non-functioning spinal implant, and shoved off onto the VA’s already overburdened shoulders. Again, thank God.

My convalescent leave’s been extended to the MINIMUM the pain management specialist prescribed. Meaning I’ll be home until at least the 21 JUL. So that’s good. I’ll take small victories when and where I can get/find them. Perhaps things are looking up? I may [eyes clinched tight with everything crossed] even get Community Based Health. That’d be great! Cuz this neurosurgeon at St. John’s seems to think there’s more to be done. I may get some of my ‘old self’ back yet.

New info. My convalescence is indefinite - in a good way. I’m having medical appointments here, in Michigan, and there’s talk of Community Based Health - which allows continued care in one’s community until such a time that one is ready for final medical/physical evaluation boards. If I were Nana Rope, my Nana-in-law, I’d probably say some-it like, “Smashing!”

I’m with my family. I’ve been able to rest. I’ve been able to hang with good friends - our revelry limited by my condition (of course), but some fun is better than none-at-all. I’ve grown out my goatee, and have shaved my head in a Liddell-style mohawk (at least until I’m off of leave and on WTB Community Based Health, wink wink). I’m playing all the new games on all our new platforms. Aside from a few turds in my punchbowl, those in addition to the regular floaters, things are good.

Now the bad news. According to the neurosurgeon with whom I had an appointment yesterday, I should never have had a spinal cord stimulator implant. “Other options,” of which I was not aware there were ‘other options,’ are available, and ’should,’ according to this doc, been exhausted. “I wouldn’t put a stimulator in a 34 year old man.” More, apparently, can be attempted, and should have been before the ‘last resort’ was considered, let alone implemented/implanted.

The doc said he would not replace the malfunctioning device. Period. Full stop. I have an appointment with him in three weeks, during which time he’ll review the medical evidence and make a decision. A decision that may mean starting my treatment from the beginning. I’m not happy about this. But if there’s a chance, even a remote chance, that I may get some of my life back, I’m willing to try.

“With Veterans Affairs hospitals giving botched radiation treatments to nearly 100 vets and exposing 10,000 to HIV and hepatitis viruses, veterans advocates and lawmakers say the VA health system is in dire need of proper oversight and funding.”

Source: http://www.foxnews.com/politics/2009/06/24/va-medical-shambles-veterans-groups-say/

No shit.

Sort of a joke. Sort of hit this link and buy something so I can get free shit.

It’s hard to find good fitting, good quality t-shirts with naughty or witty expressions on them when you’re fat. I’m fat because I broke my back for this country. The least you can do is hit this link - which will give me $3 each time towards the purchase of a shirt.

Thanks,

Fatty

http://www.tshirthell.com/store/link.php?id=SmltaXNvbjE=