Home…

Back in September we sat down at the table and discussed maybe buying a house. I’ve never bought a house before and the prospect was scary as hell. The credit I had after my divorce was lower than whale turds. So, when I called the guy at the mortgage company I figured he and I would share a good laugh and I would forget the whole thing.

I figured it would be easier to try to get pre-approved rather than face the heartache and loss of cash when getting turned down in Escrow. Ron, the fellow at the mortgage company, actually said he could help me and gave me about a 95% guarantee that he could get me financed at a decent interest rate. “We’ll see” I said jokingly and left him to his trade.

A few weeks later I get a call and he asked me to fill out a mountain of forms and send them back to him. Still thinking it was a pipe dream, I humored him and got writers cramp at the same time. So, with forms sent, I put it in the back of my mind and carried on with my daily business.

A few more weeks and more forms. This went on for months. Still, I had no hopes of ever owning my own home. Hell, I lost that dream when I was a young man and the markets were just freakin’ ridiculous. I mean, there was NO WAY I was gonna pay $400k for a dinky house in a shitty neighborhood. I will say the dream reemerged when the market fell out and I could once again maybe be able to own a home and still eat.

Lets move the clock forward from September to March. All this time I was filling out this and faxing that. Then, in March on a Tuesday I got a call from Ron that knocked me off my feet. “Go find yourself a house. I got you approved!” WTF?! Now this was real and I was unable to deal with the news. At first I thought it was an early April fools but once I asked Ron to repeat what he said, I was floored. It was unbelievable. I mean I always thought you had to have arrow straight credit since birth to be able to own a home but, with the amount of idiots out there that have them, that can’t be true.

On that Saturday, Chris and I hopped into the Jeep and went around looking at houses. A local real estate website said there were over 1400 foreclosed homes in my town. Holy shit! 1400? Well, I think maybe we should look for a foreclosure. Boy-o-boy was I in for a treat. Just like repossessed cars, the previous owners either trashed them or left them in ill-repair. Hell, there was one home we looked at that I’m pretty sure someone had died and decomposed in. I’m glad we looked at that one because that’s where we met Caren.

Caren is an agent that deals only in foreclosures. I got her card and told her we were pre-approved and looking. We talked for a bit and told her what we wanted then parted ways. By the time I got home, she had already contacted me by email with a list of homes, some of which were listed by other agencies.

We looked at one that Chris fell in love with but I was reserved about. The floor plan was choppy and it felt busy to me. I just couldn’t get comfy inside that place and it bothered me a great deal. I told Caren that we would have to think about it. I wanted Chris to be happy so I decided I could live with it. I gave Caren the go ahead to put an offer on it but was too late. The bank accepted an offer on it just two hours prior. Chris admitted later that she was “very angry” at me over that one. Boy, after that we looked at some doozies!

The next day we found ourselves in a “Haunted House”. This place was the cover of home and garden magazine 1968. No shit, this place was a time capsule. There were brown plastic windows with raised circular designs on swinging doors. A wall of newel posts separated the very dated Formica kitchen and the breakfast nook / dining room. All that was missing in the place was orange shag carpet, lava lamps and those chairs that look like hands. Oh, and there was a piano. Yup, the previous folks left behind a piano that didn’t fit the homes design. Nope, this piano would have been right at home at some Gold Rush, desert tavern. I hit a couple of keys and an eerie atmosphere filled the house. It was time to go!

There was one that had a gorgeous facade but looked like you were walking into an Easter basket once inside. We dubbed this one the “Skittles House”. I’m not kidding, you could almost “taste the rainbow” when you walked into that place. But, the floor plan was nice and we thought we could live with the colors until we painted. It had the coolest kitchen I had ever seen. It sat on the corner of the house and was filled with windows. We put that one down as a definite maybe.

The same day we looked at a house that had, for lack of a better term, one of those “Emo-Gothic” feels to it. Dark walls and the odor of old incense permeated the air covering the stench of long deceased rodent sacrifices. And, there was a heavy feeling in the place, plus the floor plan was such that the whole house was hidden behind the garage. Perfect if you wanna grow illegal plants I guess.

Down the road a bit further was the “handy mans dream home”. By “handy” I mean this guy was more handicapped and less handy. The two upstairs bedrooms had been joined by a very crudely done arched opening. The spackle job was really awesome in a 1960’s Star Trek, alien planet, subterranean set design. The homemade French doors leading to the back deck off the master were held together with nails and both sets of handles had locks on them. I still can’t figure that one out. Other than that the house was OK with a very dated kitchen and other interior aspects. But, it had a pool! I was warming up to this one. Hell, I have been accused of being handy and I am always looking for a project. While at this house we were greeted by an insurance adjuster there to take pics of the pool area where the pool pump had been stolen. OK, so maybe this wasn’t the best neighborhood. So on to the next.

The last house we looked at that day, I immediately dismissed because I thought there was no way we could afford it. A beautiful home with fresh carpet and tile work, three bedrooms and two baths. It had everything we wanted and no faults other than a few maintenance issues. Even though I dismissed it there was no way I was gonna lose anther house to being a day late.

We decided to put bids on both this last house and the Skittles house. The agent said that two bids getting accepted NEVER happens and that we would have to see which way it went. She said that if both offers were accepted, she’d faint. When we went home that day I was sure we would end up in the Skittles house.

The next morning the phone rang and it was Caren. She was calling from her kitchen floor. It seems that both offers were accepted. Now I had to choose between the perfect home and the Easter Bunny’s house. Well it was a no brainer!

We started the process and again, I signed a mountain of papers. I didn’t sign this much when I gave my ass to Uncle Sam. Now all we had to wait on was the VA to sign off. Oh shit… Here we go again. My life hangs in the balance while the VA gets off its affirmative action ass. We had to get two extensions in Escrow and at one point it looked like the seller was getting irritated enough to pull out. But, somehow we managed to get everything done. I’ve finished signing and have closed. Once the property is recorded and funds are transferred, we move in.

Thank God! Not a minute too soon. As you’ve read in some of my rants on this blog the upstairs neighbors have been just fucking ridiculous. And, as you may have guessed, continue to test me daily. All of this and riding the emotional roller coaster that comes with buying a home. It’s truly not for the faint at heart.

Here it is… Home sweet home.

Madeline…

Ever since I lost my Border Collie back in 2004 I’ve been desperately wanting another.
So, with the advent of the new house and more room to be able to house a dog, my darlin’ gave me the go ahead to get another. Of course, as you read in my previous post, the going has been rocky but I was finally able to find a Border Collie locally and can hardly wait to welcome her into our family.

Meet Madeline or “Maddie” for short.

She’ll be 10 weeks old when I pick her up on the 9th of May.
The plans are to train her as a PTSD service dog and have her certified as such.

Crazy People…

Finally, we got the word that closing on the house will be next week.  Thank God!  I don’t think I could live in this apartment much longer without something bad, real bad happening.  I’ve known for a couple of days that the deal was sealed on the house.

My little darlin’ told me that once we get out of this apartment and into a house, I could have another dog.  See, I lost my Border Collie in a divorce.  My ex told me I couldn’t have my dog and the day the divorce was final, she gave her away.  Oh, I went to get her but when I did Sophie had already bonded with her new owners young daughter and I didn’t have the heart to take her away.

So, I start looking for a dog.  I searched the local Internet listings for a “rescue” dog.  Nope, I won’t buy from a breeder. Puppy mills need to all be shut down.  I found a Border Collie named Harley on this website:

http://www.retrieversandfriends.com/index.htm

Harley:

I had to fill out an application just to be able to inquire about the dog.  And since I assumed a reputable rescue shelters paperwork would take a while, I figured I’d go ahead and fill out the application and inquire about the dog.  I thought the timing would come out just about right and the newest member of our family could start a new life with us in a new house.

This application asked you to answer all kinds of questions about yourself and your pet history.  It was explained that they wanted to make sure YOU were a good fit for the dog.  What ever happened to going to the shelter and viewing the dogs and picking the one you want?  Well, this is the Planet California and they do things bass-ackwards here.  “Oh well”, I thought and carried on with filling out the application.  I submitted it and shortly I got this response:

Hi

Thank you for your info.
We have asked one of our volunteers to contact you to set up a good time for
a home visit.
You should hear from Nancy soon.

Liz

A little while later I got this message:

Hi

My name is Nancy and I am a volunteer with Retrievers and Friends. I understand that you are interested in adopting Harley. I would like to schedule a home visit with you on Wednesday, if that works for you. If you could give me a couple of times that you are available that would be great, I live here in Temecula also.

Nancy

I had hoped the process took longer than that and on Wednesday we are starting the move.  That date didn’t work for me.  So, I sat down and wrote this email and sent it to Nancy:

Oh Nancy, I’m sorry. Wednesday isn’t good. As a matter of fact, we aren’t totally moved into the new house yet. I thought this process would take longer. My fiancée told me I could get a dog when we moved into the new house. And immediately I thought “rescue dog”. I couldn’t bear the thought of trying to limit a dog to this apartment. We should be moved in inside of a week.

Sorry for the the inconvenience. Is there any chance we could set something up in about a week or so?

Thanks

Chris

OK, so far so good right?  Well the response I got was unexpected to say the least.  I’m pretty sure Miss Nancy didn’t intend for me to get this email.  Yeah, I’m pretty sure she screwed up when she addressed this and hit send.  It reads as follows:

Crazy people are out again!!!

His fiancee told him he could get a dog when he moved into the new house!!  I just printed off a picture of Romeo and told him “look what we are getting!!”   haha

What the hell?!  I don’t have to tell you that with all the stress from the VA, closing on the house and the crap generated from upstairs, I’m very easily irritated.  OK, scratch that, I want to kick someones ass so bad I can taste it and this bitch just plucked my last nerve.  But, rather than start a tirade the likes of which would make John McEnroe blush, I chose the common sense approach and penned her this response which I also CC’d to Liz the owner of Retrievers and Friends:

Nancy,

Well, I do have PTSD and am 100% disabled through the VA. But, I am offended that you would consider me crazy.
Perhaps your organization is NOT the best one I should go through to get an animal.  And, perhaps your business practices would be of interest to certain authorities that govern the welfare of rescued animals.

Thank you

Chris

Then I wrote a nice little letter asking what course of action should be taken, attached all of the emails and sent copies to Adopt-a-pet (the website I got her link from), North Shore Animal League of America (Adopt-a-pet’s sponsor), The California State Humane Department, and The Better Business Bureau of Riverside County.

My little darlin’ is livid and set out on her own campaign. She contacted Liz by phone but had to leave a voice mail and she also emailed her.  I’m pretty sure that there is gonna be a newspaper or two contacted as well.  God I love that woman!

Be sure to click her link and pass it on to everyone.  Tell them this is THE LAST PLACE you’d ever want to deal with when trying to adopt a dog.  Hell, drop her a line while you’re at it.

PTSD and Apartment living, a dangerous combination.

It’s been a year since my fiancee’ and I moved into this apartment.  Rather than it being a joyous, bond building experience it has been what seems like a 12 month jail sentence for the both of us.

In May of last year we came into this apartment pie-eyed and hopeful.  “Our very own place” we said in unison and then drew in the first few breaths of apartment air.  Soon enough this air grew stale and to heavy to breathe.

You see, I know how to handle going out to places.  I always find the chair in the corner of a restaurant and know where the exits are and keep an eye on them.  I plan my exodus from any store we go into way before we enter the door. I had no clue what awaited me in this new torture chamber.

The following is a list are the things I’ve learned over time and I hope others with PTSD will find helpful in planning a move into an apartment:

1. If you can AVOID apartment living, do so AT ANY COST!  Rent a house! Trust me!!!

2. NEVER rent a “downstairs” apartment! The noises from above are the catalyst for never ending torment.

3. Make sure you get an “upstairs”, “CORNER” apartment.  These tend to have more windows and will help to subside the “OMG I’m trapped” feeling.

4. Make sure the apartment is well away from the parking lot.  The noises of car alarms and loud exhaust suck!

It’s that simple.  Had I followed these few simple rules I wouldn’t have relapsed the way I did.

You see, I’ve posted about this before.  In December the idiots upstairs moved another family into a one bedroom apartment.  Yup, 6 people living in only a couple hundred square feet.  The thumps and bangs often gave me flashbacks.  Or so I’m told.  I never remember them.  Hell, I lose the whole day.  The noises often mimic the sounds of combat. It’s more than I can bear.

This went on for months.  These people had ZERO courtesy for anyone (this stands true for most people) and didn’t really care that anyone else lived around them.  They would be loud all through the night. They had 2 children that both were in desperate need of an ass whoopin’ bounding through the house at all hours.  One or more of them would get drunk and kick the drywall in fits of inebriated anger.  I would call security and complain and it got to the point where security told me to “quit calling”.  This all built into a crescendo and I snapped.  I went off and hung a cloud of obscenities over this complex that would make a Sergeant Major blush.  and in March, finally they were evicted.  But not for the noise, for not paying rent.

All was quiet for about 2 weeks.  Just long enough for maintenance to rebuild the apartment.  Then, more of humanities scum moved in.  This time, I thought “this won’t be so bad”.  A young couple.  Just two of them.  No problem, right?  WRONG!!!  These are the types that like to go at it all night and she likes to pretend that he’s killing her during sex.  Pa-fuckin-lease!  I’ve been heard to say out-loud during their sessions “Shut up!  He’s not hurting you!”.  And, my darlin’ lays there and mocks the young lady’s howling like a dog at a full moon.  “Oh well” I figured.  If that’s all we have to deal with, so be it.  Oh no!  On Easter Sunday they moved in the rest of their riff-raff family and we have the EXACT same set of circumstances as before.

I’m DONE!!! We bought a house!  I’m just (get this) waiting for the VA to finalize the paperwork.  Holy fucking shit!!!  If it takes them as long to do this as it did to process my claim, there are gonna be problems!

So, take my advice.  If you want to try to deal with your PTSD and want to see ANY results, DO NOT RENT AN APARTMENT!!!

I read something interesting today…

Metabolic Syndrome a Risk for Veterans with PTSD VA Watchdog

Newswise — Veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) are more likely to have metabolic syndrome than veterans without PTSD, according to a study led by Pia Heppner, Ph.D., psychologist with the University of California, San Diego School of Medicine and Veterans Affairs of San Diego, VA Center of Excellence for Stress and Mental Health (CESAMH). The study will be published online January 8 by the journal BMC Medicine.

Metabolic syndrome is composed of a cluster of clinical signs including obesity, high blood pressure and insulin resistance and is also associated with cardiovascular disease.

The researchers studied a group of male and female veterans presenting for screening and treatment within the PTSD programs at the Cincinnati Veterans Affairs Medical Center. The sample was primarily male (92%) and Caucasian (76%), with an average age of 52 years. A majority of the sample had served in the U.S. Army (71%), and close to 70 % were Vietnam-era veterans. Clinical data indicate that over half (55%) of these veterans had moderate to severe levels of PTSD and 64% met criteria for major depressive disorder (MDD). About 40% of the veterans met criteria for metabolic syndrome.

Controlling for other factors such as age, gender, depression and substance abuse, the researchers found that those with a higher severity of PTSD were more likely to meet the diagnostic criteria for metabolic syndrome. Additionally, the rate of metabolic syndrome was higher among those with PTSD (34%) than in those with MDD (29%). For those with both PTSD and MDD, 46% met criteria for metabolic syndrome.

“Our research indicates that stress and post-stress responses are related to long-term health outcomes,” said Heppner. Studies show that veterans, prisoners of war and individuals exposed to severe trauma have higher rates of disease and increased use of health care, she continued. “Our findings suggest that metabolic syndrome provides a useful framework for assessing and describing the physical burden of PTSD and can be used prospectively to evaluate health risk that may be associated with combat exposure and PTSD.”

Any traumatic event or series of events can cause PTSD and nearly 7.7 million Americans suffer from PTSD in any given year, according to the National Institute of Mental Health. A neuropsychiatric illness that was first formally diagnosed in soldiers and war veterans, it is now recognized to afflict many civilians as well. PTSD is caused by horrific, life-threatening and traumatic experiences that can occur during combat deployments. Symptoms include re-experiencing the trauma through flashbacks, intrusive thoughts and nightmares, avoidance of reminders of the trauma, excessive anxiety and trouble concentrating. Many people with PTSD also develop depression and substance abuse problems. Recent data from Afghanistan and Iraq suggest that more than one in ten military personnel involved in these conflicts develop PTSD.

The authors suggest that future research is needed to evaluate the specific mechanisms in which physiological responses to stress can increase long-term health risk.

Additional contributors to the paper include principal investigator Dewleen G. Baker, M.D., Niloofar Afari, Ph.D. and Richard L. Hauger, M.D.,VA San Diego Health Care System and UC San Diego Department of Psychiatry; Uzair A. Haji, M.D. and Sarah E. Nunnink, Ph.D.,VA San Diego Health Care System; Eric F. Crawford, Ph.D., Durham Veterans Affairs Medical Center; Boris A. Dashevsky, Ph.D.,Cincinnati VA Medical Center; and Paul S. Horn, Ph.D., Cincinnati VA Medical Center and University of Cincinnati.

Funding for the research was provided by VACO Research funds, the National Institutes of Health and the VA Center of Excellence for Stress and Mental Health.

Oh sweet.  So, I’m not fat.  I just have “Metabolic Syndrome”.  Freakin’ awesome!  May as well ad that one to the growing list of syndromes I have.  What the article failed to mention was the use of “Psychiatric Medications” and their roll in this so called “Metabolic Syndrome”.  Back in November of 2007 I was prescribed a cocktail of Psych Meds to combat my PTSD.  The day I had the prescription filled I weighed 185 pounds.  These meds made me a zombie.  They didn’t fix my issues, except for the sleeping disorder I had.  They put me down.  Like an Elephant tranquilizer.  I’m not kidding, I slept for days on end.  The meds had other effects as well.

First, I started noticing that everything seemed backwards.  Left was right, up was down, I would go to walk down the stairs and take a step up.  Hell, I climbed into the passenger side of the car and sat there looking for the steering wheel. When I told my Doctor about this he looked at me like I had Lobsters coming out of my ears.  He didn’t believe me at all.  Hell, I would think that a shift such as this would spark some sort of study to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.  I guess 15 or so Vets have to die before the VA will study it.

Secondly, I started seeing things in my peripheral.  Flashes of shadows.  Echos of people if you will.  Sometimes just shadows but other times full on, real life, in color people walking passed me in my peripheral.

And lastly, I started piling on the weight.  In 2 months, I gained more than 40 pounds.  My metabolism went to hell in a handbag.  I was fatigued and irregular.  When I look at pictures of myself from that time, I look like I’m nothing more than a big bag of fluid.  And since then I have been unable to successfully loose all the weight.  Nothing I did before works.  I’ve tried dieting and exercise. It seems like I have to work twice as hard as I ever have in my life.

So, after only a few months of taking the Meds, I stopped.  I came off of them cold turkey.  As a Medic, I knew better, but with the shift in my orientaion, I felt it was necessary to stop before I killed someone or hurt myself.  Man, that was a shitty couple of weeks.  Headaches, Insomnia, Nausea, Chills, Shakes, you name it, I had it going on.

12 months out and I’m still feeling residual effects from these meds.  There are times where I still get disoriented and left is right and what not.  My wieght is still high and I can’t control it.  I wish I could have eaten enough to make me this fat.  At least I would have had the pleasure food brings to the psyche.

Most recently, I have noticed a return in the shadows and people in my periphery.  Things I know aren’t there.  Hell, I guess as long as I know they aren’t there I’m not crazy.

I think the VA needs to restudy this and note that the medications are whats causing “Metabolic Syndrome” in PTSD sufferers.

You know, at least I’m lucky.  There have been several Vets who died in their sleep of complications caused by the very same cocktail of meds I was on. And I’m sure the VA is still handing them out like M&M’s.  I guess it’s easier to hand out meds than it is to actually treat any issues.

UPDATE: WILL VA’S WALL OF SILENCE QUASH “SHREDDER” INVESTIGATION?

I’m sure it will get played down to nothing…  If this crap would happen to anyone else it would be front page news.  But Veterans’ issues, all to often, just get swept under the rug and no one really cares.

by Larry Scott

VA Secretary Peake’s obligation to veterans is clear cut. But, will he “do the right thing” as he promised?

Yesterday we reported on documents found in shredder bins at the Detroit Regional Office (VARO) of the Department of Veterans’ Affairs (VA).  The documents included claims for disability benefits and other paperwork critical to the claim process.  Story here…
http://www.vawatchdog.org/08/nf08/nfoct08/nf101308-1.htm

While this may seem shocking to some, it isn’t so shocking given the history of that office.  Veterans, Service Officers and attorneys will tell horror stories of “lost” documents or paperwork “not received.”

The VA’s Office of Inspector General (VAOIG) made this discovery.  We await their report.

We also await some sort of official statement from the VA on this matter.  As reported, a highly-placed official at the VA’s Central Office (VACO) merely said, “I can’t talk about that.”

This attitude is indicative of the VA’s “wall of silence” when it comes to bad news.

Since this story broke over a holiday weekend, we haven’t heard from VA Secretary James Peake.  But, when we do, it will be something like this:  “This is an ongoing investigation and VA will take appropriate measures pending the outcome.” Basically, more silence.

We see this over and over.  When confronted with veterans at the Marion, Illinois VA demanding action concerning the deaths of nine of their brothers, Peake said, “We don’t do public floggings.” More about the Marion situation here…
http://www.yourvabenefits.org/sessearch.php?q=marion&op=and

Peake’s condescending attitude toward those in his charge, the veterans of America, displays more arrogance than exhibited by most third-world dictators.

We also see this in testimony before Congress when the VA is called on the carpet about problems in the system.  It’s kind of like those retailers who get caught for bait-and-switch advertising, settle with the government, then say, “We didn’t do anything wrong, and we won’t do it again.” VA promises to solve the problems then goes on its merry way to offend again.  We see their lips moving, hear sounds, but know the sounds are meaningless… another form of silence because the real issues are not remedied.

Peake, in testimony before the Senate Committee on Veterans’ Affairs prior to his confirmation, said he would “do the right thing” for veterans.

Well, Mr. Secretary, it’s time to do just that.

A number of VA Watchdog dot Org readers have sent me portions of the U.S. Code that show the problems Detroit VARO employees may be facing.

TITLE 18 > PART I > CHAPTER 101 > § 2071

§ 2071. Concealment, removal, or mutilation generally

(a) Whoever willfully and unlawfully conceals, removes, mutilates, obliterates, or destroys, or attempts to do so, or, with intent to do so takes and carries away any record, proceeding, map, book, paper, document, or other thing, filed or deposited with any clerk or officer of any court of the United States, or in any public office, or with any judicial or public officer of the United States, shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than three years, or both.

(b) Whoever, having the custody of any such record, proceeding, map, book, document, paper, or other thing, willfully and unlawfully conceals, removes, mutilates, obliterates, falsifies, or destroys the same, shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than three years, or both; and shall forfeit his office and be disqualified from holding any office under the United States. As used in this subsection, the term “office” does not include the office held by any person as a retired officer of the Armed Forces of the United States.

And, then there’s this section of the Code that outlines Secretary Peake’s obligations.

TITLE 44 > CHAPTER 31 > § 3106

§ 3106. Unlawful removal, destruction of records

The head of each Federal agency shall notify the Archivist of any actual, impending, or threatened unlawful removal, defacing, alteration, or destruction of records in the custody of the agency of which he is the head that shall come to his attention, and with the assistance of the Archivist shall initiate action through the Attorney General for the recovery of records he knows or has reason to believe have been unlawfully removed from his agency, or from another Federal agency whose records have been transferred to his legal custody. In any case in which the head of the agency does not initiate an action for such recovery or other redress within a reasonable period of time after being notified of any such unlawful action, the Archivist shall request the Attorney General to initiate such an action, and shall notify the Congress when such a request has been made.

Will this be done?

Or will there be more silence from Secretary Peake and other VA officials as they try to sweep this under the rug… or call it an “isolated” incident… or try to convince us that no documents went missing or were destroyed… or…

Care to take a guess?

Shredding Our Trust in the VA by Larry Scott

This link was sent to me by my fiancee’.  It’s almost as unbelievable as it is believable.  Needless to say, I’m not really shocked.  Enjoy.

by Larry Scott

VA investigators find entire claims and other critical documents in shredding bins at Detroit Regional Office. VA official will only say, “I can’t talk about that.”

Many veterans who have filed disability claims with the Veterans’ Benefits Administration (VBA) of the Department of Veterans’ Affair (VA) will relate horror stories of misdated, misfiled or lost documents all leading to delays in processing or an outright denial of the claim. The mantra for veterans dealing with the VBA has become: “Delay, Deny and Hope that I Die.”

It has been assumed by many veterans, their Service Officers who help file claims and attorneys who specialize in veterans’ law that the VBA operates in such a way as to deliberately stall or hinder the claim process with the goal of frustrating the veteran to the point where they just forget about the claim and go away. This isn’t some grand plan to purposely hurt veterans, but rather a combination of ignorance, arrogance, incredibly bad management and non-existent oversight. While this viewpoint has been labeled cynical by some and outright paranoid by others, new information is surfacing that shows the cynics, and even the paranoids, to be correct.

What We Know

The VA’s Office of Inspector General (VAOIG) has been conducting audits, or investigations, of a number of VA Regional Offices (VAROs). There are over 50 VAROs around the country, each set up to handle the claims of veterans in a particular geographical area.

The latest series of VAOIG investigations centers on charges that VARO administrators and employees deliberately falsified “timeliness” statistics sent to the VA’s Central Office (VACO). This would be information that shows when a claim was received and how, with a documented timeline including date/time stamps, it moved through the process.

The first heads have begun to roll in this investigation. During the week of October 6, 2008, four employees at the New York VARO, including the Director, were placed on administrative leave. More accurately, they were removed from their positions awaiting the outcome of the investigation. Sources close to this investigation say that those removed, and others, were found to have been fudging the “timeliness” figures. And, there are allegations that documents, including paperwork essential to the claim process had been destroyed.

Another VARO under investigation is Detroit. On September 5, 2008, VARO employees were called to a meeting with the main topic being their poor performance levels. They were told that the Director had been called to Washington to answer questions regarding the poor performance.

At that meeting, VARO officials announced an “amnesty period” for anyone who had old claims at their desk or stashed in other places around the office, a direct procedural violation. Employees were told to turn in paperwork so they could try to get the “timeliness” numbers up. Officials also stated that a VAOIG team would be coming shortly to inspect the VARO and urged all employees “to be prepared.”

By mid-September the VAOIG team had arrived at the Detroit VARO. What they found staggers the imagination. VAOIG discovered hundreds of claims, documents critical to claims and other valuable information in the shredder bins. Those bins were removed from the shredder area and the documents were screened by upper management.

It is unclear if the VAOIG team actually “seized” any of the documents in the shredder bins. What we do know is that after the VAOIG investigators left the Detroit VARO, management continued to find more critical documents in shredder bins. A meeting was called and the Director told employees that it was known who had thrown out the documents and that they would be fired. The “amnesty period” for turning in mail kept at employee’s desks was extended in the hope of turning up all “lost” claim documentation.

On October 2, 2008, the Detroit VARO Director began a “no record mail” program. This was meant to find all mail in the offices for which there, literally, was no record. Quoting from an employee directly involved in this process: “…discovered in the thousands of pieces of ‘no record mail’ we found original applications, medical evidence for veterans’ claims that had not been included in the decisions, informal claims (that likely could affect original dates of claims), and other relevant identifiable mail items.”

On October 7, 2008, quoting again from the VA employee, “…the Director, Service Center Manager and other top management ransacked our work areas in search of mail that was being stored/stashed at individual’s desks. They sent some individuals home, and the others were told to wait in the break room until the end of their shift. I can’t attest to what they found in the work areas, but individuals were pulled aside and questioned.”

Then, on October 9, 2008, quoting again, “During a training session the Director…stated that other regional offices have already placed numerous supervisors on administrative leave in regards to ‘cheating’ on their numbers, and that with as poor as our station numbers [are]…at least we aren’t cheating on our numbers, or at least not cheating well.”

So, what is being done in the Detroit VARO to put an end to this mess? Not much. The VA employee adds with a noticeable sadness, “…They don’t seem to have any answers yet. They have juggled the supervisory staff around to different departments for some reason, and have been telling us to stand by for further training on our job functions. There are still items of mail at my desk currently that I have been told to hold on station since they don’t know the disposition of these types of mail yet [and]…they keep finding new piles of mail that date back to March of 2008 [and further] that’s had no action taken on it.”

What We Don’t Know

At this time, we don’t know how many VAROs have been caught up in this investigation or if the VAOIG teams just went out to “sample” some VAROs and hit pay dirt in New York and Detroit.

We also don’t know what VACO is going to do about this. A highly-placed VACO official, when told that this information was going public, gulped, paused, and said, “I can’t talk about that.” And, one of the VAOIG investigators who was at the Detroit VARO will not return phone calls on this matter.

The worst part is, we don’t know if any documents were actually shredded. By its very nature, shredding would eliminate the evidence of what was shredded. We may never know unless a VA employee comes forward and says that they did it or saw it done.

CYA Time

We will have to wait for the VAOIG reports before we can get a handle on how widespread this problem of “timeliness” is. Is this happening at all 50+ VAROs? A number of former VA employees have said that they believe the “timeliness” issue exists in all VAROs. They are of the opinion that there is widespread abuse of documents as they come in to the VARO. No one felt that any VARO Director would actually tell employees to hide or destroy documents, but the general feeling is that this is “winked at” and a standard way of handling the paperwork crunch at the VAROs.

Several former VA employees have postulated about how the VAOIG reports will turn out. They feel that the VA will claim that any hiding or destruction of documents was done at the lowest possible level and without the consent or knowledge of anyone above that person’s grade, then make promises that it will never happen again. A former VA attorney decided that it is impossible for such “widespread abuse to occur” without knowledge of its existence at all levels of the VARO.

We can expect statements of outrage from VA Secretary James Peake. We can expect hearings from the politicians on Capitol Hill. But, what will this really accomplish? Will any of this change the way the VAROs operate? Don’t count on it.

Shredding Our Trust

Although it is not clear at this time whether any documents related to a disability claim were shredded at any VARO, it is safe to assume that they weren’t sitting in a shredder bin waiting to be processed by a claims representative. What has been shredded is veterans’ trust in the VA.

By deliberately hiding vital documents and delaying claims, the VBA has lived up to its reputation and to the slogan so many disgruntled vets hate to say but know is true: “Delay, Deny and Hope that I Die.”

VA executives are fond of touting their agency as “non-adversarial” when it comes to the disability claim process. Prior to his confirmation as VA Secretary, Dr. James Peake promised the Senate Committee on Veterans’ Affairs that he would “do the right thing” for veterans. It appears he missed the mark.

The VA’s biggest fear is that the VAOIG investigations will open the doors to, perhaps, tens of thousands of re-filed claims from every veteran, Service Officer and attorney who has had a claim or appeal timed-out because their paperwork was “not received in a timely manner.” While that would add to the huge backlog of claims facing the VBA at this time, it may be the only solution.

The VBA has shredded veterans’ trust in the disability claim process. It’s time for them to re-earn that trust.

Oh My God… It’s over!

After 9 months my ordeal is over.  My financee’ was appointed my fiduciary and the checks came in the mail.  My life is back on track and the fight with the VA is over.  After talking to many veterans, I see that it only took a fraction of the time it normally takes to get results.  So, all the work was well worth it.  Now I can focus on getting better and not have a cloud over my head every day.

The hairy, metallic eyeball of death…

Today, I replaced the muffler on my beloved old Jeep.  I finished up and came inside for a well deserved beer.  I cleaned up, got myself a pint and plopped down on the couch to soak up the air conditioning and pleasant company of my little darlin’.

My eye started to burn.  This didn’t bother me too much because there is a nasty little virus running around the house that isn’t the cat.  My baby has been sick and I’ve had trouble with my sinuses.  I chalked it up to an effect of the sinus issues I’ve been dealing with.  So, I rubbed away at my right eye and watched a little telly.

My eye just kept burning and it felt like there was something in there.  So, I leaped from my perch and waddled to the loo.  I leaned into the mirror and pulled down my lower eyelid and gave a good hard look.  To my surprise, staring right back at me, almost bulls eye on my cornea was a bright, shiny metal shard.

My pulse raced… ‘See, I don’t mind being shot, stabbed, mauled by a pack of rabid otters or having my spleen removed through my left nostril.  But, sweet Jesus, please don’t let there be anything wrong with my eyes or my finger nails.  I guess it’s just a little phobia I have.  As a medic, I saw all sorts of eye injuries and they never bothered me.  When I saw this metal in my eye, my face got hot and flashes of cold went up and down my legs.

I called out to my little lady and bless her heart, even as sick as she was, she came running.  I asked her to verify what I had seen, hoping that I had become some sort of mineral schizophrenic and the object I had just seen was a figment of my newly formed disorder.  But alas, it was really there.

I still have all kinds of medical stuff laying around the house from my days as a medic.  So, I asked her to assist me in flushing this eye with normal saline.  I spiked the 250ml bag with an IV administration kit, attached an 18 gauge catheter and asked her to use it as a squirt gun into my eye as I squeezed the bag.  No dice.  The steel girder clung to my eye like a dingle berry on a bears arse.

Off to the ER we go.  I got the standard treatment.  The very same treatment I myself have administered over the years to soldiers with foreign objects in their eyes.  The doctor numbed my eye and looked at it through a magnifying scope and found the downed 747 and its crash site complete with debris on my cornea.

There was only one solution.  The very same solution that medieval doctors had performed.  The same procedure used in the far east as a form of torture.  A procedure so unpleasant that it makes a male chlamydia test seem pleasurable.  He had to take a needle and use it as a scoop to remove the sunken Titanic from my eye.

Pallor washed over my face as my legs turned to over cooked pasta.  I could feel myself slipping to that “white place” between the here and now and “flashback land”.  The needle inched closer to my eye and time slowed to a crawl.  I could hear my heart beating in slow motion.  Louder and louder it beat until it was almost deafening.

As the needle made contact with my eye the contents of my stomach stood on the platform waiting for the northbound train.  The vision in my eye was being manipulated by the needle with every pass the doctor made.  Almost as if he were adjusting the focus of my eye manually.  Out of the corner of my good eye, I could see my darlin’ standing there in the room.  She was the most beautiful color green I had ever seen with an expression somewhere between confusion and shear terror on her face.

In the past, I have used the expression “I would rather stick a needle in my eye than to do that”.  No, no I would not thank you very much.  It’s painfully apparent that I have to find a new catch phrase to utter when I want to get out of doing something.

The doctor removed the gantry for the Apollo 11 spacecraft from my eye with about three million swipes with his deadly instrument and unsteady hand. “I’m just gonna take one more look” he said. So, once again my chin was in the scope for him to view my eyes.  You know, when a doctor looks at something and makes a discerning sigh, one tends to feel what it must be like to exsanguinate at the hands of a vampire.

“I see a little rust ring on your cornea where the metal was” he said with an evil smile.  “I want to take a few more swipes at your eye to see if I can remove it” he said as he maniacally laughed.  “What an evil prick” I thought.  Oh sod it, just get on with it so I can go have a beer!  So once again, the razor sharp javelin made contact with the delicately soft tissue of my fragile eye.

The doctor finished up after an attempt on my part to pass out.  I guess adrenalin got the best of me and I damn near keeled over.  So, he gave me a prescription and my discharge paperwork. I grabbed my lasses arm and we ran for the safety of the parking lot.  Little did I know, the worst wasn’t over.  Once the numbing agent wore off the shredded flesh, my wounded eye (where the excavation had taken place) felt like the streets of Pompeii after the eruption of Mount Vesuvius.

And, the doctor had yet one more trick up his sleeve.  Once I got home, after we stopped at the druggists, I took one of the pain killers.  Now my guts feel as terrible as my eye.  I guess the only saving grace is that I’m higher than a kite in a hurricane.  Oh well, gonna pass out now…

Different this time…

I’ve been consumed lately dealing with the VA.  And, my posts have dealt mostly with that.  I haven’t talked much in the past weeks about my issues and nightmares.  The night before last i had a different kind of nightmare.  See, mostly when I dream, I have dreams of being back in Iraq.  I see the faces, smell the smells and hear all the noises.  Hell, I even sweat from the heat.  In the last two years my Iraq dreams have incorporated my current life.  Things and people that I had no knowledge of prior to returning from Iraq now are part of the dreams.  I’ve seen my fiancee’ laid out before me on more than one occasion with multiple amputations, blast wounds and shrapnel.  As unsettling as they have been, they have been the norm for me at night when I look at my eyelids.

Night before last however, I dreamed of all the “unlucky” ones.  All of the ones I couldn’t save.  The ones that God and I fought over.  The ones that didn’t need or deserve to die.  I was surrounded by them.  They were all there looking at me like I had stolen something from them.  All had varying looks of disgust or malice on their faces.  I turned away.  Too ashamed to face them.  I tried, but something in me tells me that I didn’t try hard enough even though I did all I could for them.  With my back toward them, I felt the chill as they came closer.  I felt the presence. I felt the pain they all harbored.

With my back still toward them I began to run.  No matter how hard I ran, I couldn’t escape them though they didn’t seem to walk or run.  They were just always closer to me.  There were no moans that one would associate with the dead.  Just whispers.  Disembodied tones that were not audible in my ears.  They seemed to speak deep inside me.  In a swift yet agonizingly slow movement, they reached out to me and engulfed me in a mass of bony, bloody hands.  I felt myself being sucked into the collective of death and could muster no  energy to escape. and the dimly lit environment of this dream was sucked into a fatal shade of black.

Chris said when she woke me up, I was still running.  It’s been 2 days since the dream and hell, I’m still running.  Nothing has shaken me like that for quite a while.  Last night as I laid my head on the pillow, I begged to whomever in my subconscious would listen to just let me have my regular dream.  I never thought I would ever make such a request.  But in this case the lesser of the two evils is definitely more alluring.