The Broken Soldier

A bit off normal topics, but I think the matter needs addressal.  I see this all the time.  I hear and read very intelligent people espousing what is, at best, a very confused view.  A conflation of two necessarily separate subjects: Ethics/Moral Theory and the Sciences.  Deriving ought from is.

I could spend quite a lot of time laboring over the topic.  But it’s late.  I’m tired.  So I’ll demonstrate the silliness of this confused position with a few simple examples.

Your arm is broken, therefore it ought to be.

Your mother is dying of pancreatic cancer, therefore she ought to be.

Many children die everyday from AIDS, therefore they ought to.

Let’s see if it works the other way - forces of nature described using moral language.

The hurricane that destroyed NO is evil.

The great white shark that ate surfer dude is naughty.

The lightning that hit my uncle should receive a serious moral reproach.

Awkward to say the least.  That’s because we reserve moral language and moral decisions for human behaviors - regardless of whether we can or cannot ultimately reduce them to some biological property or function or compulsion.  Morality is right action.  It is a prescription for behavior.  It is not a description of any kind.  Descriptive (sciences of any sort) and prescriptive (morality/ethics) domains do not touch.  And never, NEVER, can a description be used to justify a behavior, regardless of how tempted we may be to do so.

My step and I are watching Strong Bad videos (”I don’t have hair, Dusseldorka”).  I just finished a second cup of heavily sugared and creamed coffee and a couple Djarum Lights.  Caleb’s taking a nap on my chest.  I’m pretty well-rested, so the pain I’m feeling is manageable.  All in all, it’s shaping up to be a pretty good day.

I’ve been feeling better for the last week or so.  Note well the comparative, rather than superlative, language.  Just so we’re clear, and to avoid a premature celebratory suck off involving the members of my posse and I, I’m still in a lot of pain.  I still walk, hobble more apt, with a cane.  But with the sleep meds I’m taking (Restoril), I’m getting a good 5-6 hours of restful, rejuvenative sleep a night.  That’s made all the difference.

I have a high tolerance for pain of all sorts.  That my body (and psyche) is scarred and tattooed and I’m still kicking should demonstrate this.  Some asshole said some-it bout ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’  Makes sense if you have shit for brains.  It’d be hard to argue I’m stronger having lived through the last year and half.

It’s a matter of discipline.  Mind over matter.  Whatever description blows your hair back.  I’ve found the mind loses its potency when sleep-deprived for over 18 months, and the pain has more of an impact.  More pain, less sleep.  Less sleep, more depression.  More depression, more pain, and so on and so forth.

Better has me seeing things a bit clearer.  I realize I’m not ready to hang it up yet.  I have a lot left to do.  And I will do these things, basically as planned, with slight modifications to the original plan to accommodate for the actions and inactions of idiots.  In fact, I’ve already set the original plan in motion, getting back to law school, regardless of what the Army and the MIARNG do or don’t do.  I’ve given these folks too much power.  Power to affect my life greater than they actually possess.  No more.

Got a semi-personal email - part tailored response to a previous email I wrote many months ago and part seemed a form letter - from US Senator Debbie Stabenow this morning.  In it she wrote of the various bipartisan successes she and her colleagues enjoyed in the fight to do better by our men and women in uniform.  New GI Bill, more and better and more convenient VA medical facilities, and ‘full funding’ of VA health care through to the end of fiscal year 2009.

She and I are in agreement, it would appear, that we could be doing a better job meeting our responsibilities to our men and women in uniform.  I applaud Senator Stabenow’s efforts and accomplishments.  She truly does seem to have our interests in mind, but more importantly, she appears to act on them.  However, there are certain matters left to address.

Feres needs to be revisited.  The structure and organization of military medicine needs to be tinkered with - possibly eliminating military professional classes altogether in favor of rankless civilians so as to avoid the conflict power imbalance creates.  Access to benefits, pay, allowances, medical care, etc., should be automatic with a line of duty injury, but if not automatic, then the processes by which these entitlements are obtained should be simplified.  Prescription costs associated with treating line of duty injuries ought to be totally reimbursed, as opposed to partially reimbursed (the best case scenario) to not reimbursable as is now the case.  Retention decisions need to be hastened, so as to allow those facing medical discharge to prepare for transition to civilian life rather than hanging in limbo, in some cases for months and years.  If a military member is in arrears, the government ought to protect them and their families from dunner wolves, and the stresses this chase creates.

I’m sure there are many things I’ve left out.  Point is, this is no time to rest on laurels.  There’s a lot of work to do.  And for many of us, regardless of what will be done, the fix will come too late.

I cut ties with a group this morning.  Ostensibly the group promotes itself primarily as soldiers’ rights advocates.  Their stated purpose to improve the overall condition of service members’ lives.  In this regard, there are obvious similarities in their goals and my own.

This group is unqualifiably opposed to the war in Iraq.  To cut my critics off at the pass, my own opposition to war is layered and nuanced.  I won’t be donning a jester’s outfit and a phallic missile codpiece while blowing a trumpet, waiving a “Bushitler” sign, and riding a three-wheeled bike at the local protest march anytime soon.  My opposition is more an Eisenhowerian/lament that after 10 million years of hominid evolution we (the present favored apes) still haven’t found a better way to resolve our disagreements combo.  Hackneyed?  Sure.  But I feel Dwight’s company overcomes any lack of originality.  As well, I find it unfair, for want of a better word, that those who create policy leading to war seldom pay the price of that decision - other than at the ballot box for their political inexpedience.  Additionally, if that horrible decision is made, those in power must commit themselves to full funding, and to play to win - rather than manage a loss.  Neither of these conditions seem to have been met in this war.  The justification for this war, by my lights, not privy to and therefore ignorant of the facts that led to this decision, is equally good, or bad I guess, depending on your perspective, as any other war.

After a member of this group contacted me through the site, I signed up.  Why not?  It was free.  The guy kept calling me ‘brother.’  My wife got a free T-shirt out of the deal.  This morning things changed.  Instead of simply archiving the newsletter/announcement that typically calls for protesters and shit like that, I read it in its entirety.  To my chagrin I found the group’s true purpose: The advancement of a Socialist political/economic agenda.  Their recruiting techniques, I’m sure, garnering a proud upshot grin from Trotsky and other revolutionaries currently residing in the 7th circle of Hell.

Whether Socialism is or is not a good form of government is a separate issue.  That these people, in guise of fraternal care, would prey on service members during times of stress and weakness to advance Socialism is the issue.  I find this approach despicable and totally at odds with my own purpose: Improving a system clearly in need of improvement.  In the future I’ll be much more careful with whom I associate.

I tend to be terse when I’m feeling this way.  Why break tradition?  My wife, step, and I were having breakfast at our Sunday usual.  We were talking, I was hurting from sitting up and a bit of walking.  Between mouthfuls of omelet, my wife told me she cried after looking at a picture of me from our last UP camping trip.  The pic is only three years old, but, by my wife’s lights, I look (and probably act) like a completely different person.  Strange the affect pain and lack of support can have on one’s identity.

I’m a ‘handicapper.”

My wife, step-daughter, and I went to WalMart to fill one of my scripts, to Taco Bell to pick up dinner, and to Blockbuster to drop off a rented video game.  My wife flipped the visor at some point, and I got a look at my most recent app for handicapped parking that fell out.  It had the usual stuff.  My contact info, my doc’s contact info, a series of “circle the best answer” questions, and a description of my injuries and limitations.  What was different was the length of time.  For the last year and half I’ve been getting capper parking in six months increments.  This one is permanent.

The last week or so has really driven things home.  Before the surgery talk of permanence was, while a true worry, almost academic.  I looked up journal articles, digested what I found, and posted it here.  It isn’t academic anymore.

I’m pretty depressed.  My doctor’s response is, as one might expect a biomedical model fella to do, to put me on medication.  I haven’t filled the script yet, but I think it’s either 40 or 60 mgs of Celexa/day.  I’d like to do some counseling too, as medication and counseling have better efficacy, and because this isn’t a purely ‘organic’ depression.  But, in spite of asking those appointed over me at the unit, the state, and at Fort Knox numerous times, my requests for psychiatric/psychological counseling have gone unanswered.

Brian stopped by for a visit.  My wife was working from home.  Our daughter was here.  Brian and I, in spite of our educations, combined IQs, strict Catholic upbringings, and neither of us having ever worn Crackerjacks or Khakis rely heavily on curse words in normal conversation.  We sat outside, smoked Djarums, drank Starbucks, and tried to keep the curse-filled confab to a dull roar.

We talked about many topics, as we always do.  We can discuss philosophy and sciences and other academic bullshit without a need to prove anything to each other.  Which is nice.  He’s teaching two classes, one at A2 and the other at U of Windsor.  He wrecked his old car, and had to get a new one.  It’s nice.  But of the many subjects we discuss, I appreciate the personal discussions most.  We discussed the loss of his Dad, and the loss of my health.  He’s worried about me.  Just like everyone else.

He’s got a McGill Ph.D. in philosophical logic, modal to be precise, as those of you of who follow this site already know.  Brian also is about 4/5ths the way through an Honors Biology degree.  He feels, as I did as I went through university, that it’s important to balance and round one’s education.  Aside from the enjoyment of learning stuff, this approach makes one conversant in many subjects and allows one to speak intelligently to those subjects - a rare, almost Renaissance, approach by today’s standards.  We got to talking, almost lightly debating, whether my gloomy opinions regarding my health now and in the future are justified.

We didn’t really make any headway clarifying points of disagreement - yes, that is what a ‘debate’ is, clarifying points of disagreement assuming a similar or commensurable method/perspective.  Though in our culture of “everyone on the internet is a fucking expert in every subject” (INSERT COLOSSAL EYE ROLL HERE), Jerry Springer, hit your opponent over the head with a chair while questioning his paternity and other concernments designed to remove focus from ascertaining the truth of a subject under discussion, most are clearly confused about what that term means.  (Which, by the way, is the primary reason I don’t grant open post privileges on this site.)  We were coming from two very different starting points.  I was quoting peer-reviewed lit.  Brian was applying standard criticisms of induction.  Who’s right, neither of us were willing to say.  We’ll just have to wait and see.

But as I wait and see, and my family and friends are dragged along for that painful ride, not knowing is possibly the worst, most depressing part.

Bruce sends me stories of other soldiers and their families from time to time.  One story hit me pretty hard.  The info I have is incomplete, but I’ll do my best to piece it together.

“Emotionally impaired” young guy.  CO and NCOs appointed over him deny the problem.  He’s sent to Iraq.  Problem gets worse.  CO and NCOs continue to deny the problem.  EI young guy up and hit the bricks.  No one, not even his mother, knows where he is.  Given that he is (or was) EI and suicidal, he may very well be dead.  If not, if found, he’d probably wish he were, as I’m sure his COs have no sympathies nor will they show him any mercy for unauthorized leave.

He was last spotted in Michigan.  The FBI and local sheriff are checking John Doe DNA for a match.  So far they’ve not found him.

I shared a similar story before about a buddy of mine named Ritchy.  His CoC denied him assistance with drug dependency and mental health issues.  Ritchy went AWOL to go to drug rehab.  I don’t know what became of him, but at least I know he returned alive.  I’m praying this young man will too.

I went to my primary care doc today.  We had frank a discussion about my injuries, secondary illnesses, the symptoms of each, and likely outcomes.  It was difficult for both of us.

He’s very concerned surgery and over four weeks of convalescing haven’t decreased pain and neurological symptoms, paying great attention to foot drop gait.  His worry, which was my worry well before we had our discussion, is that foot drop, as a prognostic factor, predicts a bad outcome.  Foot drop after surgical intervention even more so.

We also discussed my depression.  Confusion, forgetfulness, insomnia, irritability, ‘inappropriate’ crying, blunted mood, labile mood, significant weight change, feelings of hopelessness and worthlessness, and suicidal ideation.  The presence of anxiety and possibly auditory hallucinations (”possibly” because the hallucinations may be caused by interaction of all the medications I’m taking rather than a psychiatric condition), complicate treatment, and negatively impact treatment success and rate of recurrence.  He isn’t surprised I’m experiencing this, and neither am I.  I’m getting hit from all sides.  16 months of crippling chronic pain with little relief.  16 months of financial pinch.  Knowledge each will likely influence the rest of my life.  With this list of stressors profound major clinical depression (with anxiety and possibly with psychotic symptoms) is predictable (seriously, as even a casual look at peer-reviewed lit will reveal).

As we discussed all of this, what got us here, and what it took to get the Army to begin moving to resolve this (though resolution may not be possible at this point), he just sighed and shook his head.  He did this quite a lot between occasional stabs at the Army and at government run medicine.  It was very hard discussing some of these things with him.  With anyone really.  He kept saying, “You’re such a big dude.  It’s hard for me to see you this way.”  Me too doc.  But I’m initiating the VA Compensation process.  I guess this sort of discomfort is something I had better get used to.

I was enjoying my ID as much as I could - sleeping off what I assume was an accidental drug overdose.  Brief moments of full consciousness, or as full as consciousness gets these days, to eat a Klondike Bar or vomit or play with Caleb or tell my wife I love her.  The day was going fine until I was fully awaken by the loud booms from the local crackers’ firecrackers.  I wish I would have just slept through this one.