Garbage Out

Of all the spaces to be, I’ve been in a bad one. Really, I have been far from my happy place for quite some time now…about a month.  Yea, it’s been really close to a month now. I decided to go ahead and file a claim with the Veterans’ Administration. Last August/September I contacted the VA and got a packet of forms so that I could initiate a claim and renew on that I had cancelled when I went back active duty. That was the easy part: fill out the form and say something like, “I wish to reinstate my previous disability claim. I would also like to have it re-evaluated. Additionally, I am initiating a claim for injuries I received to my right shoulder, elbow and wrist while in Iraq in 2004 and a claim for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.” And, into the mail it went, no postage necessary. In early December the original claim came through, but VA called me about the other claims. I chatted to the lady and she told me what I have to do for the process and she mailed me another packet for the new claims. Not much of a problem for the arm, but to make a case for PTSD you gotta prove

• “Stressor”:  Proof of a traumatic event in-service.  Called a “stressor,” it is the basis on which all PTSD claims are based.  In short, no stressor, no claim, end of story.  A stressor is generally defined as personal exposure to a life-threatening event such as combat, a serious accident, or rape.  For those who hold a combat-related decoration such as an individual valor award, the Purple Heart, or the Combat Infantryman’s Badge, the issue of a stressor is conceded by the VA.
• Diagnosis: A diagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder rendered by a psychiatrist.  Counseling reports prepared by Vet Centers may be considered in determining the degree of your impairment; however, there must be a diagnosis of PTSD made by a physician specialized in psychiatry.

Well, I have the diagnosis, but I haven’t put a lot into the ‘stressor’ in a written format.  The claim requires a written format. And the VA being the VA, they have access to all sorts of records that reflect the combat actions. In a lot of cases down to the specific engagement. I’m not sure how all that is recorded and maintained between the military and other agencies and the VA, but there seems to be a good method for follow-up. This is one way to help prevent fraudulent claims, liars, and wanna-be folks.

 

Well I took a stab at the written part. I did some research on how to make a good report got a worksheet to help out and got started. Then got stopped. I found it pretty hard to actually put this stuff into a narrative form. It was really hard. I felt like my head just put the ka-bosh on any ability to write it down. And I got crappy over it too. This was in early December, maybe later in November. I decided that I would just let it go and not bother with the claim. Take the old claim and leave it at that. It was definitely easier. But the week that I sat on it, I couldn’t stop ruminating about it. So I contacted the Veteran’s Services. [for you UKers and other out of the US folks, each state in the US has a state-level veterans assistance organization. How effective they are and their focus vary between states. Not to mention funding, staff, and location access] I called the fella in my town, but he’s really new and decided he couldn’t help me. So I contacted a regional office and set an appointment to go over my claim with a person there. Set the date for December 17^th. This was a good guy to work with. He’s been helping vets for quite some time and knew how to go about it. He and I got all the papers filled out, waivers signed, releases of information finished, and all put into order.

 

Then I had to work on the PTSD statements. That sucked. I need to mention here that by this time I had started to go bonkers. I felt like I was barely hanging together and the thinking patterns of a PTSD episode (I don’t know what else to call them) was coming on hard. Once that ball starts to roll, it’s near impossible to get out of the way. Things go crazy. But since I felt something coming on, and because I felt emotionally explosive, I met with my doctor the week before I had to go for my appointment. We did the doctor-patient thing and I let him know what was happening. That I was going down pretty hard even with the medication I’ve been on. I wondered if I was building a tolerance to the Welbutrine. I thought I was on the maximum dosage, but he only had me on 150mg tabs two times per day. He raised my dosage to 200mg twice a day. I started right away. he also prescribed me Ativan (or Lorazepam) to help ‘soften’ the anxiety. I didn’t take any of the Ativan, it was in case something came on.  I was on the new meds for about four days before I went to the meeting with vet services.

 

The PTSD statement wasn’t fun. I churned up a lot of sh!t. I had to go pretty deep and it just stirred the pot. Cotton mouth. Shakes. Not fun. But I didn’t feel too wacky as I drove the 45 minutes home. I thought, and even told my wife, that the meds seemed to be helping because usually in this situation, I would have fallen fast and right away. At that time I felt okay. God that changed in a couple of days. I went down as fast as a bomb over Afghanistan. It took me about three days to realize that I was spinning out of emotional control. I was isolating, sitting at work just staring out the window, totally unfocused, didn’t shave and hooked my brain onto a lead weight and cast it overboard to sink. When my boss said something to me about my office presentation, I took the rest of the day off and went home, straight to the Ativan. I took one tab (benzo’s can get addictive pretty fast) to try and chill the head. This lasted from about the 23^rd until just a few days ago, last Friday. I had to take the Ativan two to three times each day and I still felt like I was barely keeping thing together. I was an inch from divorce. It was just a miserable time. My brain was in a blender non-stop.

 

It’s a very sickly feeling to have, knowing that I am in the throngs and spasms of a horribly crazy experience; reaching to get to the bottom and waiting for the bounce; and being utterly unable to stop the emotional drop. Not even caring. In a near-vomit like state always. Impatient, intolerant, insomnia. At the same time being emotionally cathartic. Noise, of any sort, driving me crazy. Even just my kids talking loud. Not in a ruckus. I would just plug my ears and close my eyes hard trying to get it all gone. Somewhere in there it stopped. End, done, finished. I woke up and the stomach nausea was gone, head clear. That was last week. This sh!t is crazy. Sucky part is that I will have to go get some evaluations at a VA hospital to go over it all again with a psychiatrist. Not looking forward to that. I gotta ask myself if it’s worth it.

 

My insurance just took on some mental health finally. Better than nothing, but I have to pay 50% of the bill and they limit me to 12 sessions in a calendar year (that makes absolutely no sense). So I will have an obnoxious bill paid off at the end of February and those funds can help out with the cost of some counseling. The insurance carrier says 12 sessions will fix me and I don’t have $200 available to pay for more individual sessions each week. And so in 12 sessions I will have become better and all over it. Fixed.

 

05OCT04     CAMP CUERVO

This morning's prayer reflection was about the Communion of the Saints.  Beyond just the bread and wine and that all people are saints in difficult times.  I prayed that God would watch over my family and keep them safe.  I asked that He protect me so that I can go home to share His Word, through my actions, with them.  I thought also that I am fearful of death, the pain it would cause my family, and not being with them.  But not of comming to Him.  I asked God to remove the fear, or at least give me the strength to deal with it.

 

15OCT04     CAMP CUERVO

We ran up to Heifa street last week as part of the ING's certifiation.  Talk about live-fire training.  All set-up to spend the afternoon fighting, but didn't - Yea!  Our company pulled into a blocking position at a major traffic circle on the west end.  Another did the same on the east end.  A third company pulled a raid on a coffee shop suspected of holding a cache of things, don't think it was espresso.  I don't know what was found.  It all went fast and we left.  Good way to be on Heifa.  People start shooting things there pretty quick.  Suprised nothing this time.  Today is Ramadan Eve, we have two patrols, one is tonight in Jisyr Dialah.  Shit.  Intel says to expect the crap at the front end of Ramadan to be directed at U.S. Forces to try and infulene the elections.  Expected targets to be U.S. units and locations.  I don't know how coordinated the Wahabists or Mahdi Militia are in J.D right now.  Probably enough to set IEDs, shoot RPGs, and ambush in small groups.  I hope that I'm about eight weeks out from leaving.  Not sure though.  I miss my family and it seems as time gets "closer" missing them increases.  Gotta get ready for the morning patrol.  TTFN.

 

...15OCT Again

Getting ready for another JD patrol.  Uncomfortable.  Don't know mission specifics.  As usual Captain isn't saying much about the mission to us.  I understand keeping things from haji, but not us.  I wonder if he will ever trust his NCOs.  Fv<king officers.  Hopefully Captain will leave it with a patrol on the east side and clearing the palms.  Hope we don't have to go into town.  This time of the celebration its said some haji's believe it's a given ticket to paradise if you die in jihad if you die during Ramadan.  Ending.  Ha!.  Missing home and family much this evening.  About two hours until we leave to go to ZGC to meet up with the ING then do the patrol.  Oh, well.  Gotta do what's next I guess: get through and end another day.  Closer to home after my eyes let me sleep...Well it's changed already.  One hour left.  Now a raid on some guy's house.  From a "reliable" source.  Fv<k, like any of them are reliable.  After 10pm, JD's not the best place to be.  I always go into that town amped.  Well it may be exciting, door kicking can be okay.  I tend to be pretty nervous before we go in and am able focus when wheels start turning.  More later.

CPL Jason M. Bogar

KIA 13 JULY 2008

Afghanistan

 

I went perusing the web today and came across a story about the battle last month in Afghanistan where a forward Army post was attacked by some 200 taliban.  Like most of you, I had heard about this, but I didn't do any follow-up.  I found a story about it today (http://www.stripes.com/article.asp?section=104&article=63479&archive=true, 7/23/2008).  I'm pasting it here in case the link dissapears as they often do.

 

It hurts to hear.  Bogar was one of the soldiers in my platoon.  I was the Platoon Sergeant and he was one of the newer Privates.  I worked with him for about 10 monts before we deployed to Iraq in 2004.  He was in a different unit and I moved to the advisory team.  He was a pretty good kid.  I think he was 20, maybe 19, at that time and was just learning about growing up.  A soldier who still needed to mature, but was able to learn and do good.  He was quick to be able to make folks laugh and had a lot of fun.  I am sure he continued to develop as a soldier, as I see that he was promoted to Corpral.  The loss of another person who I knew directly and worked with hurts.  It continues to bring home the reality, and I feel ashamed to say, that when I heard about the battle on some remote spot in Afghanistan that I acted like so many others - read about it and then went on to the next thing I was doing, forgetting there was a war, that I was a part of that war, and that so many are still being directly affected by it in so many ways.

 

Peace be with you Jason

I pulled this picture and the other one, now in My Photos, from a friend of Jason's MySpace page (http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=11718756, specifically from the Photobucket they link to here: http://s35.photobucket.com/albums/d167/DancinAng27/?start=20)

It looked surreal. It looked like a movie.

That was what Spc. Tyler Stafford remembered thinking as he stepped onto the medical evacuation helicopter. The 23-year-old soldier would have been loaded onto the bird, but the poncho that was hastily employed as his stretcher broke. His body speckled with grenade and RPG shrapnel, the Vicenza, Italy, infantryman walked the last few feet to the waiting Black Hawk.

That was Sunday morning in eastern Afghanistan’s Kunar province. At a forward operating base — maybe as big as a football field — established just a few days prior.

Outnumbered but not outgunned, a platoon-plus element of soldiers with 2nd Platoon, Company C, 2nd Battalion, 503rd Infantry Regiment (Airborne), 173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team accompanied by Afghan soldiers engaged in a fistfight of a firefight.

After maybe two hours of intense combat, some of the soldiers’ guns seized up because they expelled so many rounds so quickly. Insurgent bullets and dozens of rocket-propelled grenades filled the air. So many RPGs were fired at the soldiers that they wondered how the insurgents had so many.

That was July 13. That was when Stafford was blown out of a fighting position by an RPG, survived a grenade blast and had the tail of an RPG strike his helmet.

That was the day nine Chosen Company soldiers died.

It was just days before the unit was scheduled to leave the base.

The first RPG and machine gun fire came at dawn, strategically striking the forward operating base’s mortar pit. The insurgents next sighted their RPGs on the tow truck inside the combat outpost, taking it out. That was around 4:30 a.m.

This was not a haphazard attack. The reportedly 200 insurgents fought from several positions. They aimed to overrun the new base. The U.S. soldiers knew it and fought like hell. They knew their lives were on the line.

"I just hope these guys’ wives and their children understand how courageous their husbands and dads were," said Sgt. Jacob Walker. "They fought like warriors."

The next target was the FOB’s observation post, where nine soldiers were positioned on a tiny hill about 50 to 75 meters from the base. Of those nine, five died, and at least three others — Stafford among them — were wounded.

When the attack began, Stafford grabbed his M-240 machine gun off a north-facing sandbag wall and moved it to an east-facing sandbag wall. Moments later, RPGs struck the north-facing wall, knocking Stafford out of the fighting position and wounding another soldier.

Stafford thought he was on fire so he rolled around, regaining his senses. Nearby, Cpl. Gunnar Zwilling, who later died in the fight, had a stunned look on his face.

Immediately, a grenade exploded by Stafford, blowing him down to a lower terrace at the observation post and knocking his helmet off. Stafford put his helmet back on and noticed how badly he was bleeding.

Cpl. Matthew Phillips was close by, so Stafford called to him for help. Phillips was preparing to throw a grenade and shot a look at Stafford that said, "Give me a second. I gotta go kill these guys first."

This was only about 30 to 60 seconds into the attack.

Kneeling behind a sandbag wall, Phillips pulled the grenade pin, but just after he threw it an RPG exploded at his position. The tail of the RPG smacked Stafford’s helmet. The dust cleared. Phillips was slumped over, his chest on his knees and his hands by his side. Stafford called out to his buddy three or four times, but Phillips never answered or moved.

"When I saw Phillips die, I looked down and was bleeding pretty good, that’s probably the most scared I was at any point," Stafford said. "Then I kinda had to calm myself down and be like, ‘All right, I gotta go try to do my job.’ "

The soldier from Parker, Colo., loaded his 9 mm handgun, crawled up to their fighting position, stuck the pistol over the sandbags and fired.

Stafford saw Zwilling’s M-4 rifle nearby so he loaded it, put it on top of the sandbag and fired. Another couple RPGs struck the sandbag wall Stafford used as cover. Shrapnel pierced his hands.

Stafford low-crawled to another fighting position where Cpl. Jason Bogar, Sgt. Matthew Gobble and Sgt. Ryan Pitts were located. Stafford told Pitts that the insurgents were within grenade-tossing range. That got Pitts’ attention.

With blood running down his face, Pitts threw a grenade and then crawled to the position from where Stafford had just come. Pitts started hucking more grenades.

The firefight intensified. Bullets cut down tree limbs that fell on the soldiers. RPGs constantly exploded.

Back at Stafford’s position, so many bullets were coming in that the soldiers could not poke their heads over their sandbag wall. Bogar stuck an M-249 machine gun above the wall and squeezed off rounds to keep fire on the insurgents. In about five minutes, Bogar fired about 600 rounds, causing the M-249 to seize up from heat.

At another spot on the observation post, Cpl. Jonathan Ayers laid down continuous fire from an M-240 machine gun, despite drawing small-arms and RPG fire from the enemy. Ayers kept firing until he was shot and killed. Cpl. Pruitt Rainey radioed the FOB with a casualty report, calling for help. Of the nine soldiers at the observation post, Ayers and Phillips were dead, Zwilling was unaccounted for, and three were wounded. Additionally, several of the soldiers’ machine guns couldn’t fire because of damage. And they needed more ammo.

Rainey, Bogar and another soldier jumped out of their fighting position with the third soldier of the group launching a shoulder-fired missile.

All this happened within the first 20 minutes of the fight.

Platoon leader 1st Lt. Jonathan Brostrom and Cpl. Jason Hovater arrived at the observation post to reinforce the soldiers. By that time, the insurgents had breached the perimeter of the observation post. Gunfire rang out, and Rainey shouted, "He’s right behind the sandbag."

Brostrom could be heard shouting about the insurgent as well.

More gunfire and grenade explosions ensued. Back in the fighting position, Gobble fired a few quick rounds. Gobble then looked to where the soldiers were fighting and told Stafford the soldiers were dead. Of the nine soldiers who died in the battle, at least seven fell in fighting at the observation post.

The insurgents then started chucking rocks at Gobble and Stafford’s fighting position, hoping that the soldiers might think the rocks were grenades, causing them to jump from the safety of their fighting hole. One rock hit a tree behind Stafford and landed directly between his legs. He braced himself for an explosion. He then realized it was a rock.

Stafford didn’t have a weapon, and Gobble was low on ammo. Gobble told Stafford they had to get back to the FOB. They didn’t realize that Pitts was still alive in another fighting position at the observation post. Gobble and Stafford crawled out of their fighting hole. Gobble looked again to where the soldiers had been fighting and reconfirmed to Stafford that Brostrom, Rainey, Bogar and others were dead.

Gobble and Stafford low-crawled and ran back to the FOB. Coming into the FOB, Stafford was asked by a sergeant what was going on at the observation post. Stafford told him all the soldiers there were dead. Stafford lay against a wall, and his fellow soldiers put a tourniquet on him.

From the OP, Pitts got on the radio and told his comrades he was alone. At least three soldiers went to the OP to rescue Pitts, but they suffered wounds after encountering RPG and small-arms fire.

At that time, air support arrived in the form of Apache helicopters, A-10s and F-15s, performing bombing and strafing runs.

When the attack began, Walker was on the FOB. He grabbed an M-249 and started shooting toward a mountain spur where he could see some muzzle flashes. Walker put down 600 to 800 rounds of ammunition.

He got down behind the wall he was shooting from to load more ammo and was told they were taking fire from the southwest. He threw the bipod legs of his machine gun on the hood of a nearby Humvee. A 7.62-millimeter caliber bullet struck Walker’s left wrist, knocking him to the ground. A soldier applied a tourniquet to Walker and bandaged him.

Walker and two other wounded soldiers distributed their ammo and grenades and passed messages.

The whole FOB was covered in dust and smoke, looking like something out of an old Western movie.

"I’ve never seen the enemy do anything like that," said Walker, who was medically evacuated off the FOB in one of the first helicopters to arrive. "It’s usually three RPGs, some sporadic fire and then they’re gone … I don’t where they got all those RPGs. That was crazy."

Two hours after the first shots were fired, Stafford made his way — with help — to the medevac helicopter that arrived.

"It was some of the bravest stuff I’ve ever seen in my life, and I will never see it again because those guys," Stafford said, then paused. "Normal humans wouldn’t do that. You’re not supposed to do that — getting up and firing back when everything around you is popping and whizzing and trees, branches coming down and sandbags exploding and RPGs coming in over your head … It was a fistfight then, and those guys held ’ em off."

Stafford offered a guess as to why his fellow soldiers fought so hard.

"Just hardcoreness I guess," he said. "Just guys kicking ass, basically. Just making sure that we look scary enough that you don’t want to come in and try to get us."

(I don't know where this was first posted, but I found it here: http://www.thecommunitypaper.com/ on their August 21, 2008 edition)

"Jeff Emanuel summed the fight up very well, "Perhaps the most important takeaway from that encounter, though, is the one that the mainstream media couldn't be bothered to pay attention long enough to learn: that, not for the first time, a contingent of American soldiers that was outnumbered by up to a twenty-to-one ratio soundly and completely repulsed a complex, pre-planned assault by those dedicated enough to their cause to kill themselves in its pursuit. That kind of heroism and against-all-odds success is and has been a hallmark of America's fighting men and women, and it is one that is worthy of all the attention we can possibly give it."

Of the original 45 paratroopers, 15 were wounded and The Sky Soldiers lost 9 killed in action in the attack. They were:

1LT Jonathan Brostrom of Aiea, Hawaii
SGT Israel Garcia of Long Beach, California
SPC Matthew Phillips of Jasper, Georgia
SPC Pruitt Rainey of Haw River, North Carolina
SPC Jonathan Ayers of Snellville, Georgia
SPC Jason Bogar of Seattle, Washington
SPC Sergio Abad of Morganfield, Kentucky
SPC Jason Hovater of Clinton, Tennessee
SPC Gunnar Zwilling of Florissant, Missouri

Of the nine that were lost, Sgt Walker says: "I just hope these guys' wives and their children understand how courageous their husbands and dads were. These men were truly incredible warriors"

Last week, there were nine funerals in the United States. Nine warriors were laid to rest. Nine warriors who had given their all for their country. All proud members of a brotherhood that will carry on in their name. They fought and died in what most would consider impossible circumstances, and yet they succeeded. A nameless fight in a distant war which, until you understand the facts, could be spun as a defeat. It wasn't. And it is because of the pride, courage and fighting spirit of this small unit that it was, in fact, a victory against overwhelming odds. And there's little doubt, given that pride and given that fighting spirit, that we will be back to reestablish the base, this time with quite a few more soldiers just like the ones who "kicked ass" the last time there

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, did I hear someone say get help from VA?  Sheetz, right.  Here is my VA experience on PTSD:

What?  Sorry, would you say that again?  I couldn't hear you.  Oh, did someone say VA gives a damn? I knew I was hearing things wrong.

I know what the VA's solution to the problem is in 4 easy steps:
1 - Make an appointment in crisis and say your suicidal because you can barely keep your head from exploding hoping it will speed things up.  That way it will only take 11 days to get an appointment instead of 21 days.  Gotta prove crisis you know.
2 - Show up for your appointment on time (cleaned and shaved for the first time in two weeks to make a good impression) so you can sit in the waiting area for an additional 45 minutes before the psychiatric social worker will review your level of suici....err, sorry, I mean evaluate the scale of difficulty.
3 - Pass the pre-screen by really, really pushing the PTSD envelope (e.g. hitting 64 on a scale of 70), and be allowed (yes, they "allowed" me to stay) to wait an additional 3 hours in crisis so that you can see the psychotherapist.
4 - See the guy with 25 years working with vets who've got some emotional issues and PTSD, so he can say this:  "I saw you sitting out there waiting for the screening and you don't look that bad.  I tell you what, you can come up (a two hour drive from my home) to the VA once a week for an hour support group each week if you want". 
5 - [hidden step].  Cock your head to the therapists like that dog on the record label looking into the record player to be sure you heard him correctly.

The end.  Problem solved.

 

Easier to be angry.