The Broken Soldier

Seriously, what the hell?  Is this really that hard to grasp?  I just finished up discussing billeting for my wife during my stay, which is indefinite by the way, with some folks at Knox.  People in the know about Warrior Transition Unit.  I appreciate that they’re trying to help, but Jesus Christ, can someone please give these folks a mandatory crash in critical thinking?

This is the description of the program I’m soon to enter, along with what I’m sure is hasty congratulation:

“Changes in the Army’s health care delivery system have become visible, even to the untrained eye. What’s more, the Warriors in Transition (WT) and Families under the care of that system have begun to feel the results of the changes.

Soldiers and their families are assigned a treatment team. This physician, nurse case managers, and military squad leader triad works together to help each Soldier and Family in the healing process. This personalized attention and treatment plan leads to better care and increased morale.

The Army has adopted many procedures from private sector health care and from lessons learned in military treatment facilities, to open communication channels between WTs and medical decision-makers:

• Encourage WTs and Families to express exactly what their needs are.
• Treat each person according to those individual needs.
• Ensure Triad members communicate with one another on the treatment.
• An ombudsman listens to WTs, Families, and the Triad, when things don’t work the way they ought to, then recommends improvements in the process.”

Notice, if you will, that family is to play an essential role in this new approach.  Yet, from conversation with two people associated with this program, it is uncertain, and I would say unlikely the Army will pay for my wife (at this juncture, my only real family besides my little brother) to be present during my stay.  How then is my wife, my only available family - little bro’s working and in college - to play a part in this new approach?

This is modus ponens folks.  If Warrior Transition Unit, then Family.  Warrior Transition Unit.  :. Family.  Is this tough to understand?  Does pointing this out make me a smart ass?  I sense it does to the boys in green.  But the playful method of this post belies serious matters.  Central among them are matters of trust, as in how am I to trust these people given past experience and given that they can’t live up to the standards and definitions they’ve created?  How am I to heal without the calming influence of family presence, especially when I don’t trust anyone else involved?

You know, Army personnel lacking recognition of who I am is really pissing me off.  By that I mean a failure to recognize that I’m not some dumb kid, green and ripe to be taken advantage of, manipulated, lied to, etc.  I’m a 33 year old man with multiple college degrees.  In fact, with 350 semester hours total grad and undergrad credit, there aren’t a lot of doctorate holders with as much education as I have.  I also have quite a lot of experience in the working world (including active duty military), and, in spite of deficits brought on by chronic pain, insomnia, and depression - each feeding the other - a great memory (close if not actually photographic) and intelligence slightly higher than that of a fucking carrot (Z score=5, to be precise).  I’ve kept my mouth shut and stilled typing fingers mostly because it isn’t worth getting into.  I don’t need to prove myself to anyone.  But folk in the Army seem to labor under the delusion that because I’m junior enlisted (as I was not given an opportunity to attend OCS) they are free flout the rules, to lie to me, to gain my assent to something by one set of conditions, changing those conditions after my assent is gained.

I’m a tolerant man.  I have a very long fuse.  It takes a lot to get me up to ‘get get get down’ as Flavor Flav, my cognitive father, is fond of saying.  But once I’m up….

The folks at the State, the unit, and at Knox got me up yesterday.  Each painted Active Duty Medical Extension as one thing in order to gain my assent, and now that it’s time to start ADME it isn’t what they said it would be.  Whether they deliberately misled me, failed to communicate what to expect to me, or were simply mistaken, my assent was gained under false pretenses.  But this happens quite a lot from my experience.  And when it happens and I’m bold enough to bring it up, I’m the asshole.  Whatever.  I trust this organization less and less each time I deal with them.  I’m truly looking forward to being a civilian again.

I’m set up for treatment at Knox through the Warrior Transition Unit program.  I’m terrified.  It’s possible these people are going to cut on me.  It’s definite that they’ll be making decisions about my retention, my initial disability rating, etc.  How can I trust them to do any of those correctly when I can’t trust them to be straight with me?  Answer: I can’t.

Ressentiment.  No, it’s not a misspelling.  It’s a fancy college-boy word meaning, as I’m using it, “chronic resentment and hostility towards a group without a means of acting on it.”  Why not?  I used to be a fancy college-boy, I’ve felt a lot of resentment towards our government for its failings, along with a feeling of inability to affect a more positive outcome.

Nietzsche spoke of this experience, treated in his one trick pony ’slave morality’ fashion, as one familiar with his work might expect.  Others have treated the subject in various ways to contrast Nietzsche’s diachronic approach, but all seem to view this feeling and its expression as ‘corrosive’ and or a misapplication of ethics/values.  But this post isn’t meant to be a criticism of their positions or an exposition of my own.  Got no energy for that.  And frankly, who gives a fuck what philosophers think?  (Aside from philosophers themselves?)

I’m pissed off.  I have good reason to be.  And those responsible for correcting the cause of this feeling are shirking their responsibilities - moral and legal.  I’ve been asking for psychiatric treatment for over a year.  Beginning around the time I started flirting with the idea of offing myself.

My unit was useless.  The State put the responsibility on Fort Knox.  Fort Knox doesn’t appear opposed to getting me counseling of some sort and a med adjustment, but aren’t approaching the matter with the sort of urgency it demands.  As I am a veteran, I’ve sought help through the VA.  The local extension directed me to the local VA medical center.  The local VA medical center directed me to the nearest ER.  When I informed them I had no medical insurance, and could not afford a trip to the ER (which likely wouldn’t be reimbursed although secondary to a line of duty injury), I was told going to the local ER was part of VA protocol.  I was told I’d do intake at the local ER, and then be transferred to the VA med center.  Why the extra step?

My buddy JR is trying to help.  He’s calling everyone he knows.  Giving me numbers in the area of people whose jobs it is to get me the help I need.  When I call, I’m either directed somewhere else, or I get voicemail and no return call.  Does the outrage and resent I feel towards the government seem slavish, a misapplication of ethics, or anything but wholly rational and justifiable to any of you?  It sure as shit doesn’t seem that way to me.

Feeling a bit distressed.  Distress worsened by the strange, shameful enjoyment derived from watching “Heart Beeps,” and what that enjoyment reveals about my personality.

Got a call from Knox yesterday.  Apparently I’m soon for discharge. That’s not distressing.  It’s something of a relief.  That I’m required to be at Knox, well, Ireland Community Hospital, for an indefinite time is.  While I trust Doc Harbinger relative to his comrades, I have sufficient reason, from experience, to be distrustful of the organization of which he’s a part.  Two weeks to three months is the range.  Lots of time to confuse things.  Hell, Dr. Toon confused things, which, to no small degree was part of the reason I went without appropriate treatment for a year and a half, in less than two hours.

The Doc and I are in agreement about one thing: It’s best for both the Army and for me that I be medically discharged.  As Deputy Commander, I assume he has some discretion in making this decision.  At least, I’m hopeful he has some discretion.  There is no way in hell I’d quietly accept the Army or the MIARNG breaching my contract, and there’s no way in hell I’d be physically able to satisfy the terms of my contract.

I’m still ambivalent with regard to the Army.  On the one hand, I’m relieved that there’s light at the end of the tunnel.  On the other hand, I’m saddened that I didn’t accomplish what I set out to do.  That is, become an officer viewing the men and women serving under him as people rather than mission essential supplies.  Someone willing to take heat for his folks.  Someone willing to advocate for them.  Something, from those I’ve talked to coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan, is sorely needed.

As more time passes, the realities of my injuries and secondary illnesses/syndromes become profoundly more clear.  By that I mean I’m not talkin’ the probability of permanent disability, but of actual permanent disability.  Recognition and acceptance has been a difficult process, but I’m finally coming to terms with it.  Indulge me in a bit of third person, the ‘old’ Jimison is gone and won’t be coming back.  The beat goes on.

I’ve done a lot of complaining to a lot of people over the past year and a half.  Making frank, angry, confrontational dialog something of a science.  I’ve been fortunate to have made many allies and friends - contradicting the ‘more flies with honey’ maxim.  JR is one of those.

Former Army, Airborne, messed up back, chronic pain, depression, his CV looks a lot like my own.  But our differences are what’s important for the purpose of this post.  He worked for quite a long time, until he was physically no longer able to work, with the VA assisting vets obtain equitable compensation and access to entitlements under the law.  Though he no longer works with the VA, he’s fully disabled from service-connected injuries, he has an encyclopedic knowledge of the system, many contacts, and considerable respect of his former co-workers.    He’s helping me navigate this system.

Based on his experience, JR’s confident I’m eligible for 100% disability entitlement or Individual Unemployability, which amounts to the same rate of compensation.  (And before those of my readership subscribing to an Eric Cartman strain of economic Conservatism get their vaginae sandy, there’s an easily recognizable difference between an earned legal entitlement and an entitlement mentality.)  That is, as JR says, “… if things are done right.”  Getting things right seems to be a major issue in my limited experience with the federal government.

A semi-worrying matter came to my attention last night during an argument with a friend.  A matter of false perceptions.  Understandable errors, but errors nonetheless.  The title suggests the errors.

Anger

One need only read this site casually to conclude I’m angry about what’s happened and what hasn’t happened during my tenure with the MIARNG.  But there’s considerable difference between justifiable anger and a pathological anger.  Let’s recap.

Sent to training against my will, Army Regulations, and the terms of my contract.  My assent gained by holding my career hostage.  While at training, instructor orders 250 trainees and all of their gear (80 pounds or so of it) out a banquet hall with two exits in ten seconds, else face some sort of punishment.  Hit from the front.  Hit from behind.  Twist.  Snap.  Crackle.  Pop.  Pain in my lower back running down my right leg and foot.  Went to the doc.  Doc punched my symptoms into WebMD while berating and mocking me for concern that I was losing sensation and movement in my right leg.  Doc goes with the least severe diagnosis, “pulled muscles,” and sends me back to field training with a broken back.  I get home.  Alert my home unit that I was injured.  I’m told not to seek treatment.  The reason: More paperwork for the unit NCO.  I’m told the process of approving medical care will take six weeks.  The process actually took six months.  No explanation was given.  My wife and I sought care, paying for it ourselves out of pocket on one salary.  Difficulty getting medical care approved.  Length of time between rendering appropriate care and injury was sufficient to permanently damage the nerves responsible for sensory and motor functions in my right leg and foot.  An outcome that could have been avoided had anyone in a position of power done what they were supposed to have done.  Am I angry about that?  You betcha!  And if anyone of you reading this were in a similar situation you’d be angry too.

But that this site is devoted, for the most part, to discussing my experiences with Army bureaucracy, and the harm its inefficiencies have caused my family and I, things I’m definitely angry about, it doesn’t mean I’m angry all the time.  This anger doesn’t manifest in a way that interferes with my other activities.  With personal and social relationships.  I don’t wake up every morning cursing the world, eager to kick the dogs, smack my wife, and take a shit on the neighbor’s lawn for borrowing my hand-truck without permission.  In fact, most people who know me, are around me often, are surprised at how good-humored and balanced I’ve been throughout this ordeal.

Authority

My problems with authority aren’t of a rebellious sort.  My problems are with misuse.  For example, a company grade officer, let’s call him LT Lemetrius Duckett, fails to meet his obligations to mentor and prepare me for OCS.  In the course of this failure LT asks that I lie for him to his superiors regarding his involvement in helping me prepare.  He then realizes a class scheduling error, a class seat for Warrior Transition Course, works in his favor.  The course, or so he believes, as he didn’t bother actually investigating the matter himself, will resolve certain issues needing to be addressed before I could leave for OCS training.  I resisted citing Army Regulation and the terms of my contract.  When that failed to persuade him, he changed tactics.  At first stating, “Don’t you want to feel as though you’ve earned that bar?”  When that failed to persuade me, he made the following statement in email.  “You are correct.  You are NOT REQUIRED to attend WTC.  You need unit approval to do that.”  In context the meaning was clear.  Go to WTC, or I will not grant you permission to attend OCS, satisfying the terms of your enlistment contract.

Another example.  Richard Dawkin’s “God Delusion.”  In it, he speaks to God’s existence as a testable hypothesis, and then, quite awkwardly, claims God’s non-existence is supportable - concomitant some strange call to God’s existence being non-zero probable.  Problem: Dick’s claims are not scientific in spite of being couched in scientific lingo.  No data, no test, and more importantly, no supportable conclusion.  Eliminative, enumerative, and statistical inferrence have their limitations.  Namely, they require observation.  Great for describing and generating explanatory stories regarding the physical universe.  Not so good at tackling the non-physical or non-physically measureables.

In each example authority is misused.  In each example it is right to question the use, regardless of one’s status or authority relative to the misuser.  I hope this clears things up.

eMom has a new campaign to help the troops.  She wrote today asking that I help her get the word out about Operation Soldier Care.  eMom and Nancy Sutherland (Mary Kay Sales Director) are raising money for sun and skin care packages for our men and women serving in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Top contributors receive gifts - t-shirts, coffee mugs, etc.  Please stop by eMailOurMilitary.com today.  Give as much as you can.  Thank you.

I’m having a bit of trouble.  Not the usual trouble I write about here.  Most of that trouble’s permanent, and while I’ve written a lot about it, I’m not big on repeating myself a thousand fucking times.  No, this trouble is of a different, but almost equally vexing kind.  A kind of trouble that’s caused me a lot of grief, and a trouble for which I have no corrective course to suggest.  I’m speaking of trying to ’shit higher than one’s ass.’

The phrase, sometimes attributed to Wittgenstein, though I don’t recall reading this statement in any of his work, I interpret as a ‘cautionary’ of sorts.  A handy, easy device to keep us honest and mindful of our strengths and limitations.  A device that, after 11 months of blogging and more closely observing the claim habits of others, many, if not most, don’t have in their intellectual tool belts.  Worse than not having it or something similar, most of those fail to recognize they need it.  This failure serves little purpose.  Other than to confuse whatever issue’s discussed, and possibly to ensure those discussing whatever issue go wrong with an undeserved and unsupportable self-congratulatory confidence.

This observation has me puzzled.  Why put so much time and effort into an activity one clearly doesn’t care enough about to get right?  I have some opinions.  Ego-investment.  A belief in ‘the right to one’s opinion’ founded on a lack of recognition of authority, expertise, difference, and understanding of even the most rudimentary structures of civilization, technology, knowledge-justification, and other foibles of our growing, greased-wheel eager impulse-slaking mass-man culture.  Toss in a bit of PoMo babble for flavor, which, by the time it trickles from the Tower to the streets has lost any meaning and application it may have had, and even the most simple and obvious truths are questionable (and questioned).

We do this at our own peril folks.  History is full of examples of this type of decadence and degeneration.  Many have followed the pattern we have (purposely or otherwise) adopted.  Most reside in the dustbins of history and unrecoverable retrogression.  Each time you assault and manipulate truth for some immediate gain, real or perceived, you plant another seed of our eventual destruction.

I’d like to think that through courageous diligence I accomplished something.  But I know that’s not true.  I played a very limited hand.  Constant, highly vocal criticism, and the ‘my buddies can do X’ card.  Both slapped down with good measures of temerity and what most believe to be righteous indignation.

Really I did very little.  Though very little is all one can do in this system.  That is, until measures, probably legislative, are taken to correct problems in the system.  As I think back on the past year and half, it really drops ten pounds of choler in my 5 pound choler bag that most of the problems I experienced, and the horrible consequences these problems created, could have been corrected in about 15 minutes had proper channels and procedures been used.

But there’s good news to report.  Finally I’m on Active Duty Medical Extension orders.  Approved and backdated to June.  Meaning a good bit of money, an easier time approving the medical care I need, and a retention decision within 90 days - possibly 90 days from June 5th.  It seems likely, as well, that incapacitation pay backdated to Sept 07 will be approved.

Why this change of approach?  Not sure.  I seriously doubt it reflects a change of heart.  My sense is, and of course I could be totally off the rez, the Army wants to get square with the house before they show me the door.  Or perhaps, more in line with their M.O., they’d try to retain me while also removing the largest stores of bitching-ammo.  I guess I’ll find out soon enough.  (And so will all of you.)

As many of you know, I’m soon to start theological training.  The end goal is ordination as a Benedictine Old Catholic priest.  An end the Abbot has asked be expedited.  My studies should be very interesting.  Given my background in languages - specifically Semitic languages, German, and Ancient Greek, the professor and I will focus on Scripture as it is thought to be originally written, Christology, and Liturgy.

I admit to having doubts.  Not a crisis of faith, but concern for finding my place in the presbyterate.  Those who know me personally fully understand.  Those who don’t, suffice it to say a Byronic hero, whether chasubled or flack vested, seldom makes a good subordinate.  (Yeah, I’m pretty sure I just made up a word and awkwardly used another.  Cut me some slack.  I’m just a dumb Army guy taught to deal death, defile cultures, indiscriminately kill children, women, and old people, and rape baby seals.  We warriors leave concern for orthography to the French (I mean ‘Freedom Landers?’) and other pussies.)

I wouldn’t say I’m disobedient.  More that I don’t bow well (bad back) and I never developed a taste for shoe polish.  I consider it a much greater show of respect to tell the truth and share my unfiltered thoughts than to flatter and agree.