Saturday, December 3, 2011

If my head wasn't attached...03 December 2011

It is another horrible triggered anniversary time for me. I would say that it was just one date, but it is not this whole time from about September until about April, ok, yea, it's a long time. But there were so many things that happened one after another and so I begin to spiral around this time. It's even worse thanks to the VA.

It was 2007 or 2008 and this guy had broken into our house, into my daughter's room she was about 13 and he stated to the cops that he had just "fallen though the screen" into her room. I had my car window smashed in and my purse taken out while I was just running into the church for a second. I did not have it even on the seat, it was buried in the back. So I was not doing well and told this to my VA social worker. Because of the clinic that I was near they did not have a pharmacy so it would be seven days for a new prescription, and if that did not work then it would be another seven days at the least to get another. I was anxious and not functioning really at all.  So my social worker's idea is to go to the Waco VA hospital and be there for a day or two to see what med combination will work.

I get there and it seems ok. They know that I am just there to have a medication adjustment. So my husband leaves while I am taken up to the floor to be checked into the ward. I get there and I am told that I have to strip, that I need to take everything off except my underwear and a see-through gown is waiting for me. After I put it on and about froze I asked for another. The next one they gave me had a blood stain on it on the chest when you closed it. So there was a lady who gave me the gown, but she is gone and this guy comes in and I am escorted to a locked down mental ward...yes, you are reading this correctly. Not only is this a lock down unit, there are no women in there, except me. There are no other women patients, there are no women staff! I am locked up with about four other patients. My room cannot be locked and neither can my bathroom. The view of the staff does not include the bathroom, even on the monitors so if I was attacked in there I would have to just defend myself.

As I sat in the middle of the ward not wanting to move, in comes a police officer who had another patient, this patient is a huge male, with chains from his handcuffs to his ankle cuffs, that go through the metal loops on his leather belt. He is not happy about being there and tells them all when he is let out of his cuffs he's going to kill someone. So what do they do? The let him out of his cuffs and leave the ward.

I quickly went over to the closed in staff area and got the attention of one of the guys and asked if I could use the phone. I called my husband who was on his way home and told him to turn around and get me the heck out of there. I did not say it loud and I was more cryptic because I did not want anyone to know what I was up to at the time. I had just described the all male unit and there was another patient that had just arrived in cuffs and was let go. I smiled at the staff and handed back the phone, went back to the table and continued to write in my journal to keep my mind off what was happening to me. I was disassociating, I blocked where I was, I was not mentally there and I did not respond to my surroundings. My husband arrived and on his way into the building he came across a Chaplin, who he befriended and told him that he needed to get his wife out of there, now. So with him working on the other side and me on the inside and in an interview where I was telling them that I felt much better and that I think my meds had not kicked in when I arrived. I talked long enough that a phone call came and it was the Chaplin and I was finally released a few hours later.

As I got into the car I lost it, I sobbed uncontrollably and just shook. This was the VA's help to a person who was having a medication adjustment for anxiety because of her PTSD from MILITARY SEXUAL TRAUMA!!!! That was what was on my file. That was what I had told the intake person. That I was there to adjust meds from being triggered from my PTSD due to MST. So now when I get to the time where I cannot remember things, cannot concentrate, it is back to the time when I was in the middle of it in the military. I freak out. I do not want to ask for help because help was just another trauma added to what I have already been through thanks to the military.

This is what I go through. I do not ever get to forget what happened, I get reminded ever time I go into the VA clinic. I get reminded every time they ask if I was sexually assaulted and then check it on the check list they ask, year after year after year. I have medical problems which when I am discussing them I have to think back to Saudi back to the last assault that happened to me, back to the horrific torture and the murder of my unborn child, all on purpose, all caused by "my brother in arms." I get exams to figure out what is wrong with me (Gulf War syndrome) and then the questions come. Every time I go in for a "women's clinic" annual, or see someone differently I am asked how many times I have been pregnant, and how many of those were "live births"? Many women have had miscarriages and that is a trauma all it's own. Mine was not spontaneous it was forced by my superior and commander.

When I became pregnant, my commander would not accept the urine test, I was made to have 5, one of them with someone standing over me while I peed, like a drug test. He disregarded my physical wavier that is Air Force Regulations when someone is pregnant. I was posted out where the entire area was surrounded by permanent cross bones and skull signs with writing in Arabic (the Saudi government had put them up long before the Air Force decided it was a good idea to put our bomb dump, and for SP's to be posted there). I was attacked, I was forced to work and when I threw up and was coughing up blood I was told that if I went to the hospital that it would just delay me getting out of the country. I was still in the country 13 days after my squadron had been told that I needed to be sent back to the states.

When I went into the tent hospital because of bleeding, I was visited by my supervisor who thought at the time I had had a miscarriage who stated that he was glad he "killed the bastard." While I was on complete bed rest and fighting for the life of my unborn child my commander came in and gave me paperwork for nonjudicial punishment. And when I stated that I was on complete bed rest, the only phone in the hospital was all the way across the tent hospital and that ADC was in Rihad, I was told that was my problem. My first sergeant actually had the gall when he came in to announce that my commander was coming in, that because of my condition I would not be required to stand at attention by my cot, but that I instead would have to sit at attention until I was given permission to be at ease.

By the way, my commander thought it so necessary to make sure that I was given the paperwork for nonjudicial punishment, and the "crime" was so bad, that it was the 15th of January 1991, the day the President had given as a final date. The day that the whole place went into lock down ready for war mode. He took the time away from presumptive war to give me the paperwork. So what was this crime that I was accused of? Not watering and cleaning my dogs side of the kennel on or about 11 January 1991 (I was admitted into the hospital the early morning of 11 January 1991!). Yea, and yes, even though I had witnesses that one was with me when I did it, and the other happened to be a guard who was by the gate and also gave a written statement, and I gave about a dozen names of others who could account for all the days from the time that my dog moved into that kennel, none of them were called in and asked any questions. Even though the commander, Lt Col Sandy Edge put in his statement of my rebuttal to the Article 15, that he had personally called in every witness and talked with them. He lied. He lied on a official document and I had two of my witnesses write up notarized statements saying that they were never talked to from anyone about me watering or cleaning my dogs side of the kennel. He got away with lying and he got away with murder! The Air Force discharged me, he got to retire with full benefits and move into other supervisory positions of grandor. This man, this perpetrator who when i first arrived stated in a guard mount briefing that all women and reservists needed to stay in the states where they belonged. This jerk who was so arrogant that he demanded that he be saluted when our compound sat with buildings which were under construction, full sight of the entire compound, while he wore shinny rank on his desert cammies, and his shinny rank targeted right on his head.

Of course I also that when I was released from the hospital and they had murdered my unborn child, I stated that I did not want to carry a weapon. I was not afraid that I would kill them, I was afraid that I would shoot someone who was innocent. I was very homosidal and he (because I said that I wasn't going to carry a weapon) ordered me to carry one! But the look on my face after he said that, he changed his mind about me being armed. The one intelligent decision that he made. But I would come in and report to him for the decision on the nonjudical punishment on my only day of convelesent leave. When I did, I gave a little speach and then demanded a court-martial. So he called in the first sergeant, they talked and the first sergent took me to the JAG office where he and the JAG officer kept me there and said that I was not going to leave until I signed for the Article 15 and not court martial. I was sick, I was dizzy, I was not able to make any of those decisions at the time. I had to use the restroom to throw up (I should have just threw up on the JAG's desk). But was told once I signed that I would be able to use the restroom, but not until. I was more or less ordered to sign, I did, went to the rest room and threw-up and about passed out. I should have been in bed. I should have been recoperating from all the blood loss, and the blood that I was still continually loosing. But no, I had to be there. JAG lied to me and stated that if I truely did not do what was charged that I could appeal it and that a third party would look it over, and if I did not do it then that third party would overturn the Article 15.

Yea I was more than a little upset when i rebutted the Article 15 and the letter that the JAG wrote that went along with it was that the Article 15 was not a consideration, that when a commander decides that the offence is committed that all that can be appealed is the punishment. All this I told IG when I got back to my base, state side and I was told that those were Social Action concerns.

So when I get to this point that I cannot not seem to not think about it and my body begins to feel as though I am there, and I begin to have the symptoms again, I cannot even go for help at the VA, I am not about to get put into another lock down facility with a bunch of men while I have only on my underware and a see-through gown, I am left to myself. Left to deal with the crying spells, the intrusive thoughts, all of it.

That is what it is like inside MST.

 

Friday, November 25, 2011

I live in a different physical world. 25 November 2011

My husband always tells me how wonderful he feels when he goes outside and works the land and get all sweaty, or when he works out, period. I hear so many others say the same thing, and also going onto Anger Management websites you get bunches of ways which include working out, walking, etc. Now I do not understand myself. I am ok if i just walk, take a little stroll and just talk (yes out loud, but nobody is around). But if I actually break a sweat I go from the calm walk to being angry. It's even more intense when I actually do work out, or do something which requires my muscles to actually work...I get ticked off. My mind begins to race down a deep dark thought process of angry then evil thoughts, where I can actually have the built up anger to hurt someone. I feel terrible after, like it's "coming down" from whatever my chemical imbalance has put me through. There is not even a level of exercise, any. Walking to me is not what I consider exercise because my breathing stays the same, my heart beat does not increase. My husband tells me all the time that I am "different," and I know that to be true. I use to love to exercise, love to run around to work on stuff, all of that. I loved doing that before the military, and up until I came back from Saudi Arabia, that is when I noticed that I no longer liked to do what use to be so euphoric to me.

So I have emailed someone in the Saudi Arabia government, off one of their websites, and asked them about the chemicals which were being used out at the bomb dump which I was posted. The bomb dump was right next to a plant nursery and there was run-off into this "pool." All around the area the Saudi Arabian government posted  permanent cross bones and skull signs. The Air Force figured it was a great place to put bombs, but someone has to watch and protect them until they are used, and that was one of the postings that I did. I got dumped into that pool and it was terrible. I go so sick, coughing up blood and other such stuff, but of course when you are LE, you suck up all pain. Complaining is for wimps and that is what you are not only taught from your peers but from up the chain of command. If you are sick you still work, it doesn't matter what you are coughing up. Even if you actually do go to the clinic (which for us was a house where these two medics were), you were back out working with aspirin and a serious stern look from the others. Noe that all these problems are coming back, and the Air Force has lost most of my medical records from Saudi, well I am told that it's just me, you know...all in the head. I'll tell you, my rashes are not in my head, the GI problems are not in the head, it's not just there, it's all through my entire body. And I just wish that the Air Force would tell me what it was that I was exposed to (well at least that pool stuff), so I can have somewhere to start. After that I would like the Air Force to tell me all about the other medications that they had me taking, the malaria pills, the other pills, the shots, the insect repellant that could take paint off a vehicle, the dip that we used to keep the parasites off our MWD's, that I was also dipped into. Just tell me all of it and I will then have somewhere to start!

Sure I have been through about five homeopathic detoxifications, nothing seems to work. The VA just gives me more pills, creams, powders, and that only causes serious side-effects. This all adds on top of having PTSD from combat and MST.

But I shall continue to seek out information about all of it, I will continue to demand the Air Force to tell me what I was exposed to. I will continue to seek out ways to figure out what I was exposed to. I am not about to allow the Air Force to use me as a guinea pig and then dump me off, nope. I want answers and I will not stop until I get them.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Another day 25 Oct 2011

I got a headache. The headache went into a migraine and no meds that I had would take care
of it so off to the ER and two shots later (and some serious med prescriptions)
I was out of there and back home. It took four days of just drugs to keep the
migraine away, but the headache did not, so it was to the VA and to stock up on
more Imatrex. Of course I never have just one issue going on, so while the
others are still having appointments with specialists, my two had this ooze and
puffed up. I don't know what I did to it, but it must have been something. I
felt more tired that normal, having to actually sit down after sweeping part of
the floor. Even walking to the couch from the table was exhaustive. Something is
wrong and I feel off. There is a normal sick for me and this was not it, it was
something else. So I go to the walk in clinic and when I am seen by the nurse
she asks if I called my PCP nurse first. No, why would I do that? Then I am told
that this is the new policy to call the nurse and speak to her about what is
going on and I might not have to come in and be seen. Ok, I can understand this
for certain issues, but I had been soaking the foot, it was getting worse, what
the hey. Also I needed to talk to see if there was something other than Imatrex,
since that only worked sometimes and it only helped reduced the migraines to
headaches, I wanted something to take it all away and not be drugged for four
days to get that result.

I like my doctor, and I like my nurse, because they know me. They know that I
hate being at the VA and if I am there, there is a serious problem. This nurse
is acting like this is just a stubbed toe and just get another prescription for
Imatrex. So she goes and talks with a doctor and comes back. I have two options,
come back at 3 (it's 11 and I was there at 9 for the walk-in), or I can be given
a list of things that could help my headache. What? Really? Like I don't have
access to the same information about my headache? Like in the past 20 years I
don't know all the ways that can help, and haven't tried them until I walked in
there? So as she gets the book out I say that I'm coming back at 3. She asks
"really?" I am thinking, yea, if that really was not an option way was it given?
She then tells me that since the ooze is clear that there isn't really anything
wrong, it's not infectable, it's a good ooze. What? I know about any of you, but
when any part of my body is leaking when it's not supposed to, that is a
problem, and since it had been going on for awhile (I am already on a daily
anti-biotic), there IS something wrong. Then I get the "ok" that says "you are
just wasting our time and it's not that bad." This always makes me want to
scream "do you know how much pain that I go through every day just to stay
functionable? Do you realize the meds I do not take because of not just the
side-effects but taking them makes me a zombie? Do you realize that some of the
meds that I take, their side effects cause the same service connected symptoms
disability? That I would rather be anywhere but here? And that I did not ask or
do anything that caused the disabilities that I have, they were done to me?" Oh
I could go on and on.

So I go back and I actually see my doctor, unusual on a walkin, but I am happy.
We gets more ideas for meds for the headaches/migraines, we get another
prescription in for Imatrx, and I get a prescription for a "harder" across the
board antibiotic. My doctor sees something very wrong with my toe oozing clear
or not, especially when I am already taking an antibiotic, along with the other
systems of still having a headache and being exhausted. We talk about how to
deal with the toe and if it does not start to get better I should come back in
for more tests.

So I go home and my throat begins to hurt, in the back of my throat there are
little white bumps, that grow over the night and red, and strep or whatever, so
I call and talk with my doctor's nurse and ask if the new med will help whatever
it is that I have and she says she will talk to the doctor and if I need to come
back in she will call, no call (YEA! Can't stand being in the VA).

So I backtrack, where could I have picked this up at? Nobody in my house is
sick? I don't go anywhere. Ok, the only place that I have been that would
coincide with the ER trip, I go in with a migraine, come out with strep, what my
luck.

So now dealing with bunches of stuff, but my head only tingles, not really a
pain, and I am not holding it and wanted to slam it into the wall to stop the
pain.

I am optimistic, I will recover from this to move onto another problem, totally
optimistic. There is some new information about another possible help for the
migraines and also the headaches, so I will be talking that over with my doctor
when some other thing happens and I am back at the VA.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

The Story Part 2 My Duty Station

My first duty station was Dyess AFB, Texas. For anyone in the Air Force before SAC bases went away, you might understand a little about a SAC base, even if you were never on one. SAC, Strategic Air Command Bases were not the top of the line, but I would prefer a "show base." Where your dress and attire (for SPs) was beyond any other base that I visited or even heard about. Even though I was K-9 and my boots were a favorite chew toy of my MWD, Killer, I was to have them spit shinny by guardmount, with my uniform clean and pressed, pressed with those hard to do creases when you cannot get them permanently sewn in, and washing a uniform and then pressing it before every shift was impossible, unless that it all that I did. So in Guardmount while I stood by other SP's who were in pretty blues, got in and out of cars or were on gates or desks, I was in BDU (which I loved) but had kennel duties every day I took out my dog. That meant going out to the kennel area and cleaning out cages of my dog as well as others. Spraying and scraping poop down the open gutters until it went down the whole kennel and off like the other debris. Water, dirt, my dog, scraping, cleaning, feeding, these things are not something you do in blues, they are dirty work. This does not account for training, catching another dog with your arm as he jumps on you with his paws, running through fields, through filthy hanger buildings, laying on the ground pretending to hide. This is what I did. Since I was the lowest ranking K-9 Handler to come to that flight (there were about 8-9 handlers on our base), (two handlers on my flight), I got the low person on the totem pole jobs. (Before someone says anything about PC, I am totally not and you should get over it, if you do not like that well I also happen to have Choctaw blood running though these veins, you wouldn't notice it being blond hair, blue eyes and can't keep a tan, but don't judge me by my skin color, I am).

So next to guys who did not get out of their cars except for chow and the occasional traffic stop, and my uniform was being compared to theirs. It did not help when the other K-9 Handler moved to another flight and in came an NCO, where now I did all the duties. I also stood, not by my choice, next to elite gate guards with their bough glass coated do not need to polish boots, their pressed blues which they only waved on cars and wrote vehicle passes. It was not that I felt that I was somehow above any of them, but my job was very different. K-9 Handlers are required to do sector checks during their shifts. These are not in some nice warm building during the winter, or cool place during the Texas humid heated summers, no they are way out in the middle of nowhere, and getting to two of them requires going off the pavement and onto dirt roads, just to get there. One sector check, around the Whiskey area. There was a huge fence and then sensors and then just grass and dirt (oh and fire ants, serious mosquitoes, when it rained there was always a marsh, you literally were walking in the woods. So yes, my uniform did not look like the others, but it did look better than the other K-9 Handlers and I thought that would be enough, nope, not for a woman, better is never enough, you must be perfect!

So everybody gets a supervisor, one who is suppose to show you how it's done, right? The one who was assigned to me I never met, he was on medical hold prior to me coming to the base and stayed on it the whole time that he was my supervisor (if he actually knew they assigned someone to him). The three other airman who came in at the same time that I did had supervisors that were there, and they were taken on ride-alongs (when not working gates) to help their training.  Since I was a K-9 Handler I went directly to patrol, not gates, plus nobody wanted to ride with K-9, are dogs were very hairy and it got "into our blues." So there I was without anyone who was helping me know what to do, without a supervisor, out on patrols, given the responsibilities of much higher ranking persons (even when the others went on patrol, they had partners, usually their supervisors). I had been handed these CDCs told to read them, take the quizzes and after I completed them all there would be a test, also to study my job description and the regulations for it. I was K-9, that meant I had K-9 regulations, I had Law Enforcement regulations and I had Security Specialist regulations. The others with me had LE regs and a few for "emergency" when it came to SS. They did not have to know a thing about K-9, at that level.

So I was going along thinking I was doing a pretty good job, every now and then the Flight Chief would comment on my boots, normally not my uniform because that was easy to take care of, but it's hard to rub out fresh teeth marks for the next shift. I was doing good on my CDCs and it seemed that everything was going well. But slowly I began to hear rumors around the dorms (where I lived with the other hundreds of SPs) that I was doing this and that. At first I didn't care because the rumors were total lies, I even "did things on the job" when I was not working, or better yet when I was not even on the base. I let them go thinking nobody with any real brain could believe these, little did I know that the Air Force, as most militarizes does not require a working brain to join. I has some NCO, some guy I had never met before stop me one night while I was walking into the LE squadron, where the LE desk was. He asked how things were going with me. I told him fine that I was working on my CDCs and felt I was doing pretty good with the regs too. I knew he was in the SPs because of his patch. He asked if I wanted to give him a post briefing, I said I did not know what that was. He asked me to call my supervisor to where we were, I told him that my supervisor was on medical and I actually had never met the guy.

Well my flight chief got the end of that conversation. I do not know how it went but my postings changed from being random around the base, to what everyone hated, the outlined flight area, it was dead there and you did not leave your area unless called. I was called in and questioned why I hadn't said anything about my supervisor being on medical. In my mind I wondered why I would have to bring it up, he knew, he knew all the supervisors, he was the Flight Chief. So then I got my first in the flesh supervisor, the Flight Chief. (There are only about 12 or so members on a LE flight at Dyess, so it was not he did not know, he just wanted to blame someone other than himself of his mistake, something I would learn over and over. I started actual "training," well I was handed some more information to memorize (the post briefings and more) then let go again by myself. The Flight Chief had the newest nicest car and there was no way he was going to allow a K-9 dog, or even a K-9 handler into that car when they had been near dogs. So off I went with more to learn by myself, and learn I did. I questioned everyone that I came in contact with at work. I tried not to pester them with too many questions, but I wanted to be the best that I could.

I am out posted on a patrol in the side far area (where nobody goes after like 5pm) and it's about 1am and I see lights, so I try the sneak up to see what you are doing routine, did not work. The other car was 4 wheel drive and it had rained and we were on the back dirt roads, I got stuck. A call to my location came in and I stopped the car to answer it, going into the mud and getting stuck. I called in the description of the vehicle and told them where I was. I tried to get the car, unsuccessfully, out of the mud putting boards under the back tire. In about 10 minutes my flight chief was out there with his overheads on looking for me. The other vehicle, a truck, it headed out and was gone. When the Flight Chief's car could not go any further without getting stuck I told him that I am still a road over, guess I was a better driver than he was, I made it that far without getting stuck. I thought someone else would catch the truck, I did not know there was nobody looking for it.

It takes two other vehicles, one other truck gets stuck where I had made it fine, then I get pulled out and questioned. The only other woman on the flight happens to be riding that night with the Flight Chief, and he actually makes it sound as though I was out there "muddin'." I don't care to be out in the mud, and who does that with a Kcar? Four door, front wheel drive, has no power. Oh and by the way, I did not know that the car was a front wheel drive, or I would not have put the boards behind the back wheels. I did know the piece of junk that I drove would never be an option for me if I wanted to go "play" on the back roads, I would have gone to the SS section and got one of them to take me out there and do that, which I had already been offered and refused. Work was not for goofing off, it was to work and I was very serious (at that point) about my job. I am sure that she gave the Flight Chief an ear full about how I was trying to get over on him. One thing that I hated about LE, it seemed that the women did not stick together. I had come to a base where women were being singled out and kicked out, so in saving themselves the others were pointing fingers first before they were pointed at them. There were only four women in the LE section when I arrived, two months in there were three.

So I completely explain to the Flight Chief what happened, and does he really think that I would be out there playing in the mud? It did not dawn on me that I did not know what anyone thought that I was really doing. I was always by myself on patrol, I put down that I did sector checks and other items, but there was nobody in my sectors. I had never rode with the Flight Chief, I had never rode with anyone on patrol except Killer. Since I usually saw the Flight Chief once during our shifts, at Guardmount, he really did not know me, but then nobody else did either. I had the occasional gate until it closed at 3 or 4 depending on the gate, alone, then off to patrol alone. Since two of the sector checks are in the SS areas, well I knew them, and they knew I did not play around. So my first APR (Annual Performance Report) comes around, I cannot wait. Out of a possible 9 I am rated an 8, above all my peers and even above some of the NCOs. My Flight Chief writes that I have taken on the responsibility normally given to a person with more rank and do well, that I need little supervisor, like I had any, and it is back with the endorser. Totally outstanding!

It's been over a week since the stuck in the mud incident, sure there was a picture posted where the posting for the squadron are put pointing out what I did. I had to not only clean the Kcar but also the other trucks, the one that got stuck and the other one. I did not complain but I did wonder why, hey if the guy could not get to me in a truck without getting stuck that's his fault. I already had my first letter of appreciation in my file and thought life could not be better. One of the B1Bs has blown up and the debris went into some field off base, first it seemed all of SP was out there, then it went down to one guard and K-9s. So I was out at the site and my Flight Chief comes out with this LOR (Letter of Reprimand) over the vehicle getting stuck in the mud. He had just days before given me one of the highest scores for my APR so I just stared at him. I read it over and he asked if I had any questions. I would further learn that questioning at that time did nothing. So I did, I asked why it stated this, a lie (yes, I used the word, I know), why it stated that, another lie, and why was I getting it when it had been just an accident. I was following procedures, I was doing my job. His manner was odd and I could not figure it out. It was as if he was being made to give me what he knew was lies, but I know it did not help when I pointed them out as lies.

I was leaving for a TDY to Panama in a week so I just dropped it. Not that I knew anything about taking it to Social Actions or anything. It was wrong to give me an LOR for the reasons that were listed. Had they been truthful, that I was out doing my job and accidentally got a vehicle stuck in the mud, I would have accepted it, I did get it stuck, what I did not do was play around, it wasn't some game for me to be out there. I was "patrolling" my area, and that was my area. Had I thought the car would get stuck, I would not have gone on that road, it was that simple. It wasn't a mistake, it was an accident. I would have gotten through to the harder road area had I not stopped just at that spot, right when I was radioed, my luck, just in the wrong spot at the wrong time, and doing everything right. I could have been off like the others were into dorms talking with people, talking with guys like they were talking with their girlfriends, or pulled off the road just enough so that you could see when someone was coming and reading a book, like another K-9 Handler often did, or sleeping, like another did, or whatever, no I was actually doing my duty and I was not about to apologize for doing it, or stop doing it (then).

Christmas came and while others were doing the present opening and food thing, I was packing because at 0600 hours on 26 Dec 1988 I was at the kennel section with two other handlers off on a TDY (that I did not want to go to, but was told that I was going), to Howard AFB, Panama.

If you want to read more before I post it, I have put most of it in my first book...Crossing the Blue Code, by Miette Walker (maiden name). The next book is Beyond The Blue Code, the "completion" of the story. I saw most because there is still things I will not put on paper, I am still afraid for my life on certain incidences, and I am not about to let the AF come back and state that what I told was Secret information and I'm off to Leavenworth, believe me, my luck.

Another day, another migraine...23 Oct 2011

I had such high hopes. I volunteer at my husband's job, it's a youth center type organization. I usually only stay for a few hours, 2 at the most, but this day (last Wednesday) I was asked to stay longer. My husband, Doug, would be out doing errands for the upcoming yard sale for the transition center, and for kids (young adults too) to be in the building there needs to be two staff there, so I said that I would stay. It was about 4 that a headache started and when 5 came around and I had already taken the maximum amount of acetaminophen, I knew it was going to be a migraine. This one came slow, and by 6 I was feeling sick, lights and sounds were bothering me as well as the aura. I waited then took IB, nothing, again I waited and then hydro, still nothing. It was morning (way early for me) by the time that I could try something else so it was off to the ER, I had nothing stronger. I have yet to find something that takes all the pain away.

So I get my daughter to take me to the ER. There I sit at the intake desk, shaking, with my bed buddy (bowl) in lap to throw up into if needs be again, in serious pain, with sunglasses on (even though the sun had not come up, the lights in the ER kills - fluorescents) and I can barely sign my name. I tell them what I took and know what the reaction is going to be when I say Hydro, and it was. I have no medical insurance, no company wants me on their plan that I could ever afford. So I am looked at as some junky who needs a fix. I have mix match PJs on, my hair unbrushed, did not have any sleep the night before, curled up as little as I could. Then there is my daughter who does not look the bit concerned that I look so bad, like this is a normal for me. I get the tell all questions, "what do I normally get when in this condition." I answer Imatrex works sometimes. All of a sudden the demeanor of both the nurses changes to concern, I do have a migraine. I wanted to say Oxycontin or Vicaden, but I am in too much pain to care if they do think that I am some junkie, I want the pain to just go away, I want to stop shaking, to stop throwing up. If they would have gave me the option of nothing or something to put me out of my misery, I would have taken the latter, just stop the pain!

So I get the first shot and it just takes the pain down a few notches. I absolutely HATE needles, but accept the second shot, of what? I did not care to ask, just shoot me! So this second shot about knocks me out, it's difficult to even keep my eyes open. I can still feel the pain, but hope that if it puts me to sleep then I will not feel anything. It makes me completely sick and trying to get up and walk out I stumble to the wall then back to a chair and loose what ever acids I had left in my stomach. We called for a wheelchair and I was helped into the back seat (laying down) for my trip to the pharmacy. My daughter who sees me sick often just opens the back door then goes to the driver's side, even when I was falling to the floor she just looked at me, as if to say mom, get up we are supposed to go. I think when others are not sick all the time they forget what it is like to not feel good and that would be my children (and Doug). I have been sick so often and still push through and do things, when I get to the point that I cannot they just wait a day or two then I'm pushing back through the pain. It is something I discuss with Doug often, but he does not have a bedside manner, he's not by the bed but out doing something with the kids, leaving me alone. Sure I push through a lot of pain, but there are times when I cannot push any further and would appreciate them to jump in and help, even if it's not toward me but to the house. My children (2; girl and boy - teenagers!) get sick maybe once a year (if that), and their sick has always been a touch of sickness. They do not feel good, they might have stuffy noses, and possibly a low fever, but neither of them have ever been sick sick. Just as I was as a child, they have gotten nothing, I think that my daughter did actually throw up once, my son maybe too but I cannot recall, that's how often they are sick, and at 17 and 15 I don't see it changing much. Doug also get sick maybe twice a year. With me it's a weekly thing. If something hasn't hit me in a week I am lucky.

So, unfortunately the pharmacies in the area do not open for another hour and my daughter wants to get off to work. I feel bad that she had to call and tell them she would be late taking me to the ER, so she drops me off at the house without meds and off to her work she goes. Doug has already left and my son's off to school, I am alone. I sleep for about 4 hours then am woken up by that migraine, the meds wore off. In my attempt to not be a "burden" I thought I just might have an old prescription that would help until someone gets back to get my prescription filled. I fumble though the mounds of bottles of meds that I don't ever toss out (you never know when you might need one), but only find suppositories for  nausea, but nothing for the pain. I call Doug who is "busy" but says that he'll be home in a little while to get them for me. Four hours later he hands me substitutions for what was written for me. I am so angry. When I get substitutions and not just generics they usually do not work, but I am in pain and take them. I fall back asleep to be up again in a little over 5 hours and with the pain, this goes on and on for two days. Finally on Saturday morning I awake to a mild headache that I can bare to take just IB.

I had paid to have a booth to sell jewelry at the local festival Yamboree, but I paid for Saturday and I still have a headache. I actually think about just suffering through it and do the 10 hours there so that I can bring in a little money to the house. I take a shower, part standing up, the rest on the bottom of the shower floor, then get somewhat dressed and look at myself in the mirror. The black circles around my eyes make it appear that I have black eyes, something I can deal with, with more makeup, but it dawns on me there will be people who smoke there, I cannot handle smoke - it causes headaches at the least and I already had one. I had to just accept that I could not do the sale and that I would just loose out on the deposit. I hate it. I had the whole week planned. There I would volunteer a few hours (only 2) at Doug's work, then the next two days help out the center with it's yard sale, then off on Saturday to 10 hours in a booth next to a friend of mine, talking and selling and just being "normal." One little over step and I am out for the next four days.

I had my first meal since Wednesday's lunch, it was 1/4 cup mild chicken rice, and four grapes. I do not call the crackers that I take with medications to make sure they stay down a meal, since they are mini crackers and I get about 1 1/2 regular ones down before my stomach begins to hurt. I am off to the bathroom about 15 times before lunch, and it isn't pleasant. I am so hungry that my mind just wonders over things that it would like to have. They are not sweets, no, vegetable soup, potatoes and gravy, steamed broccoli, oh I need to stop. But I know that it would just be painful to eat, and since the acid took my taste buds away for awhile everything tastes off and bitter.

On top of all of this we are having problems with our 15 year old son, anger issues. He does not want to do anything around the house, does not want to attend any church functions and says that I am just "faking it." I have never cared that anyone in my life thought I was faking it, just annoyed by their stupidity, but this is different. All that I do for him, all that I do for the family, and I'm "faking it?" Just because most of the conditions are internal where some do not even produce understandable pain to many (depression), he sees me as faking it. I have worked years, dealt with the VA (that alone should have been enough) so that I could get the 100% percent service connection that I have suffered with years before it was awarded, with all the check ups and the C&Ps that I must go to to keep the status, with all the paperwork, the years fighting in appeals, trying to get some VA doctor to state what was wrong, knowing some of the most vital military medical records never made it back to my base from my deployment site ("they are lost"), trying to prove injuries that I sustained, fighting over just the wording of one doctor's opinion to another, keeping it together as much as I possible could, to get the 100% to keep the 100% for who? Really for my family. So that my family can have medical coverage, because we could not even begin to afford coverage for just me with the conditions given to me by the military. So that my children can have a little boost in college and when I die that a little bit of money will still go to my children until a certain age, and to my husband unless he marries again.

I pushed forward with my education to a Ph.D. and with the skills that I have should be pulling down a good $100,000 a year at least job, but I get only $3000 and something (extra for dependents). That I feel as though I am not pulling my weight because not only can I be counted on to hold a job, but even to be functioning that day. The year before I was awarded my 100%, I was working at a starting position making $2500 plus perks a month, that was over 11 years ago. My husband has not been able to take certain job positions because it did not give the freedom that he needs when the children were younger and someone needed to take care of them being I could not that day, as well as someone taking care of me. I know it has been difficult for him, but how do you think I feel? The one who feels as though at times I am just a burden to this family, and at the same time feel taken advantage of by the same people, that I am not faking this, I really wish that I was, then I could just say "sorry I faked it" and moved on, moved onto a life that there was such possibilities for when I was 17 (when I joined the Air Force). If I knew then what I do now, I would not have enlisted. Most of the painful debilitating conditions are not from some foreign enemy, no that shot healed, no it was from the very people who said they had my back, who I trusted with my life, and my life they tried to take, leaving just a shell after.
 

Saturday, October 15, 2011

15 October 2011 MST does not happen in a vacuum

If it was just the PTSD from MST that I had to deal with on a daily basis, I might be able to do that without any problem; however, nothing happens in a vacuum. The military not only gave me the MST and all the symptoms of PTSD, but also toss in a little PTSD from combat, some unknown illnesses from the Gulf War, a few head injuries and other injuries. My health is terrible compared to before I entered the military. When I was young I did not have the usual illnesses, I did not have chicken pocks, I did not get measles, I actually remember only being sick once. I did have an ear drum rupture from pressure after swimming and getting some foreign object lodged into my ear, but I had not know what a headache was. I was a "late bloomer" and did not have PMS or even really cramps. I felt fine, and although my childhood was not some after school special, I was excited about life, about the possibilities of my life.

But with all the other illnesses that I now have just seriously is annoying. I get migraines, headaches, the gamete of illnesses with are listed with Gulf War Syndrome and  back pain, neck pain, knee pain. At times I feel as though my body is 40 years older than it should be. As I increase in age and normal age related issues come up, I have already been dealing with them for 20 years, so now it's something more than just the normal age related issues.

I have a problem with concentration, and memory, to a level that I cannot do a lot of things because I will forget that i am doing them. I have forgotten that i was cooking something, until the alarm goes off. i have left the water running almost everywhere in the house. I forget to take my medications on a daily basis and cannot recall at times if I actually did take them. I have woken up, looked over to my sleeping husband and freaked out wondering who in the heck is he. I have been lost from the house many times (I like the gps, it gets me home). On top of it all I used to have a great memory. I could recall serious detail. Not a photographic memory but a really good memory. I could tell a person where we met, when we met, what they were wearing, what the conversation was, and so many other details. I used that memory to my advantage in the military in Law Enforcement.

So when thinking about the issue of PTSD and a friend, or yourself, know that you are the sum of your experiences and that almost means that along with one mental illness you can have so much more from your military service, something that many non-veterans would not understand, especially when it comes to illnesses from exposure to toxic substances (including medications the military ordered you to take). Strange illnesses which many doctor look at you with the "it's in your head" look because there does not seem to be any reason for the symptoms.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Don't care 10 October 2011

I don't like these days, days that I just don't seem to care. Nothing is exciting, nothing seems like I should be doing it, or that I even want to do it. My pills count (medications the VA has me on, well the ones that I am actually taking) is about 5 twice a day. That does not account for the vitamins and other stuff that I need, but if it was up to the VA I would be downing about 10 pills three times a day. That's the difficulty, do I take the meds and not deal with the symptoms but am able to watch TV, and pretty much nothing else. Or deal with the pain and other symptoms and be able to somewhat concentrate. At times it just feels better to just want to take them all and not feel, not think, not deal with life, but that's not me. I want to be productive, I want to add to this life, I want to have my children think more of me than just someone who is just there. But then today I really don't care.

Sure it makes no sense, most of my emotions do not make much sense, they do not logically go along with anything that happens during the day. I did painting today, why? I did not think of anything else to do, well I really did not care to do anything else, I actually did not care to paint, but it was to not get splinters when I walk up the stairs, not really something neat, just practical.

I could make some jewelry, could do some more painting on the great room ceiling, I could take pictures of the trim that i need to put up on Etsy, I could write on the books that I have going. There is so much that I could be doing, but I don't care to do any of them. It's not a depression day, one where I would just rather go back to bed and see if my life really was just a dream (oh I do wish), but nothing. I have no emotions. I do not feel sad, I do not feel happy, I really do not feel. Even if I try and put a smile on my face, watch something that I use to laugh about, I just stare and nothing. I know there are 100 things that I had on my "to do" list for the day, I got up, that pretty much was it, oh and the painting to keep from getting splinters.

Right as I got to the last three stairs to paint, one of the cats decided to run up the wet stairs. Well it was a chase and when I got to the top there were not little paw prints of paint all over, she missed all the wet stuff, but I didn't. My shoes were covered, there were huge shoe marks all the way up. I grabbed the cat and put her back into the other part of the house but nothing. I did not care that she had went up the stairs, even while I chased her and thought I would be cleaning up little paw prints of paint all over the wood floors, I was not mad, I was not upset, I just knew that was what i needed to do. i do not like days like this. If something terrible happened today it would not matter, i would not respond. I have been through days like this, and I have had people I know die, and I did not really care. I did not cry, it was more like, "that's bad." Numbness toward emotions, that's what it is. I am sure that it was triggered from something and that it is just my way of surviving through it, but I don't even care to know what the trigger is. Tomorrow could be different, I hope so because I hate not feeling. You would think it would be wonderful, to not feel all the sadness but that also means you do not feel the happiness.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

05 September 2011

I have begun a new sleeping pill. It is suppose to help sleeping (of course) but also for me not to dream. Well dream I always do. Other sleeping pills have caused serious nightmares, this one seems to not do a whole lot for my dreaming, but then I have only taken it for one night. What one of the side effects for the start (as I was told) is being tired and sleeping a lot of the time, up to 12 hours. Well I was in the bed until about noon, but I did not sleep well. I had dozens of dreams and woke up during the night more than a dozen times. It did keep me very tired which had me going back to sleep again, but to get 7 hours of actual sleep I hate "sleeping" 14 or more hours. I do not remember the last night that i went to sleep and had a whole night that I slept. I always wake up. I hope that this medication does not add to the nightmares that I already have.

I have always dreamed, and I can usually remember my dreams. Many wish they could do that, at times I wish that I could not. I not mind the dreams which are just strange, but when I feel as though I am not dreaming and it's actually happening, I do not like those. Some know that they are dreaming because of the content. I have been asleep, woke up and went to take a shower, when I got into the shower... I was still dreaming and did not know. Other times when I do wake up I see something from my dreams, I am awake but there is a residue of the dreaming world. I had woken up and went to get out of my bed and there in the doorway was someone from my dream. I freaked then blinked and he was gone.  Hate it!

Monday, October 3, 2011

Dealing with the VA 03 Oct 2011

It seems to be so easy for someone to just go to the doctor, right? It is not for me. I had an appointment with the VA today. Although it was just for a tens unit, it is so difficult for me to just walk into the VA without having a panic attack. I hate going to the VA hospitals, I hate hospitals as it is, but within the VA there is a sea of men. Depending on my appointments, there are sometimes just a few men, but mostly a lot. All I was to do is get the tens unit, put it on and then see if it would work. So I go in there with back pain and neck pain. I know that my back pain is worse, but I cannot say that. The unit is to be tried on what is more painful. To have a tens unit put on you the person has to put the patches on you. Since it's my lower back, that means the pads would go on my buttock muscles. I thought and thought and the more that I did the more I could not breath. I had to just say the neck. Although the neck did hurt, even him putting the pads on me, I flinched. It wasn't the doctor, he was nice and seemed to be interested in helping me feel better. Put that is one of my big issues, i hate for men to touch me, anywhere. I flinch and hold my breath. I know logically that this is just a doctor that wants to help, but that trust was destroyed by the military and I don't think that will ever change.

At the same time I have been trying to get an appointment with my Primary Care Physician, it's been over two weeks. I was done so I called the patient advocate. He said that he would call the administrator from the clinic and I should be hearing from him soon. Nothing, so when I had the appointment I went in to see the Patient Advocate and the administrator for the clinic is on vacation. Ok, so how do I get an appointment with my doctor? I am told that the doctor's nurse will call me after she talks to the doctor. I don't care if she talks with the doctor, I need to talk with the doctor, I need an appointment, I am in PAIN!

Most people take for granite that when they call their doctor and they are sick an appointment that day or the next is realistic. My doctor is booked until January 2012, yes that is three months out. And when I say booked, I mean totally booked. So I am told that I can go into the clinic in the morning (any weekday) between 8am-10am and will be seen by a doctor. I do not want a doctor, i want my doctor. I am not about to try and get through talking to a male doctor with the problems that I am having. I can barely go in and see one for just cold symptoms, but not at all for women issues. So I am in pain, I cannot go and see my doctor because she's booked and the nurse has not gotten me yet (she called while I was at my appointment - like that's going to help). I have gone to the patient advocate, to which I ask how am I to get to see my doctor. When I call in I need to see her then, not three - four months down the road.

I swear that the VA does this so that eventually the veteran will die before they get the proper care that we have paid for. And I mean paid with a price most people do not understand. So called free health care for veterans has never been free, we paid for it with more than just money. Yet there are people out there who have never added to society, they are leaches off the backs of the working person, and they get health care when they want it. How is this honoring our veterans?

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Inside depression, depression for no reason

I am depressed. I am not sad, I am depressed, there is a big difference. My thoughts have turned to ending it all, yes I am talking about suicide. I have had a plan and the ability to go forth with that plan for years, what keeps me from going through with it? My children. I know the emotional turmoil that my children would go through if I was to go through with it.

Let me tell you about this depression. Nothing bad happened today. It's has actually been a very nice day, sunny, not too hot, no real stress, and I have this overwhelming feeling of dread. If I allow my mind to wonder it was head down that spiral staircase into depths that darkness I do not ever want to go to again. I have been crying, at what, at nothing. There wasn't a sad story that I saw, there wasn't bad news that I had heard, out of all the external problems which can happen in life, none of them have happened to day, yet I still am depressed.

That is how you think that you are going "nuts." Inside my mind I can feel the darkness. I am not interested in doing anything. If I was to win a million dollars it would not matter today, nothing matters today. I know logically that it is just some chemical that is being under produced or over produced, what was it triggered by? Today I do not know. Today I really do not care what triggered it. As I stated before if I allowed my mind to think about it today I would slide down that slipper slope that I teeter on so often.

Maybe tomorrow will be better, maybe it will not, all I have right now is right now, and right now I am depressed. 

Friday, September 30, 2011

Why I cannot remember your name


After years I finally connected it. Twenty-two years ago (1989, in case my math is wrong), I stopped being able to remember people’s names. For the longest time (22 years) I have not connected the two. Why now? Don’t know, things just come to me at times, and I must write them down, or I know I will forget. That is why it seems I have such a great memory, I write things down, have done it for years, started in 1984 when I was given a journal from someone. When I was younger it was to just put feelings that I could not talk about to others, or did not want to. I wrote about a few boys that I had brief crushes on, when I was fighting with my best friend, the new movie that I saw at the theater and other such childhood thoughts put into a “secret place.” Now journaling is my lifeline to my past, without it I would be lost, without it I would be dead.

Back to the reasoning. It was Panama; I had been sent TDY from my permanent duty station, Dyess AFB in Texas to Howard AFB, in Panama. If you want the full story it is in my first book, Crossing the Blue Code. People died. I did not want to know their names because I did not want to know I had known them. I met bunches of people I knew all their names and I did not want to know that it was someone I met. At that point I didn’t realize that I stopped attaching people’s names to their faces. I could tell you if we met (by the face). I could say what you were wearing and a little of the conversation and at times even quote you, but that part was over. If I did not know your name, then when I saw it, or when I heard it over the net, or when I read it in a report, or in the paper, I would not have to deal with the fact that someone I knew died. Especially since it wasn’t just an accidental death, it was murder.

Journal entry for 30 Sept 2011

Inside MST Journal Entry

Today it’s been hard to think, hard to stay on task. At my daughter’s work someone put a note on her car that freaked her out. The manager called me and asked what I wanted to happen. I said call the police; have this guy attached to the note and on record. The police did not do a report (there wasn’t much to do one) but it is on the logs and the guy’s name is put to this note and a message from the police was left on the number he gave telling him that my daughter was underage, the note upset her and more or less he needed to leave her alone. I read the note at it was very obvious this guy was very much older than should be ever contacting a girl. Other parts of the note gave a little insight and this guy needs to be marked in case he does this or more to some other girl (or woman).

Dealing with these types of issues would be difficult enough, had I not been the target of a stalker and MST survivor. I found my thoughts not being able to completely form. I have forgotten what I had been doing prior to the call. I know that it was something important but it is gone. I cannot stop thinking about her, about the note, about what could happen. I know it’s normal to have thoughts during and after but these are different. My thoughts are jumbled, but they also intermix with past memories, with feelings that come in waves. When the call came in it seemed to be a normal day, then the day took a turn, this week has taken a turn. I can remember when the manager stated that an incident happened but she was ok. I thought she’d gotten hurt, fell or banged her hand. When he said that some guy put a note on her car, that was it. Without any more information I was shaking, pacing the house, on his every word. Trying not to totally lose it. I had to hold in my own feeling until the call was over. Then the panic set in. I “had” to go get her, “had” to bring her home to make sure nothing else would happen. Those were the thoughts, but I do have a support system and after a call to my husband and her father I could talk down those thoughts. To run out and make her get into my car and take her home and tell her the whole time what I was thinking and about all the times that notes were left on my door or car, or where I saw them on others and what happened from some of them would not help the issue, but hurt my relationship with her and more than likely scare her to death.

Out of all the difficulties being a parent I have to question and re-question almost all my decisions, all my thoughts, all my actions. Am I responding to the situation logically or completely emotionally, drowned in memories and feelings of the assaults? Seeing perpetrators at every turn. A simple statement from a boy who likes her as some red flag or clue that he’s thinking about raping her and trying to put me at ease so he can get her alone. I do not want my children to be naïve as I was, pretty much a walking target because I had never been warned, never been told or talked to about there being wackos out there who wanted to do me harm. I fight with myself over balancing - telling the kids about what could happen and scaring them to death.

While I type the red lines under the words appear more often than usual (and they usually are in every sentence). With having memory loss on top of everything else, the irritation seems to increase exponentially. I lose words, how to spell them, and lots of times I can give the definition but cannot remember the word. One particularly irritating time I could not think of how to spell “of.” Simple word, right? Could not for the life of me spell it. I could say the word, I knew how to use it, but nothing came to my mind. I stopped what I was writing and had to wait until I could talk with someone and ask them.

Not being able to remember every detail of every minute of my life is frightening for me. If you ask yourself what you had done right after you got to work, or five minutes into work, yesterday, many people would not know, but it would not matter to them. It matters to me. I want to remember every second. Not because of something logical, but because I rationalize if I know every second I will be able to foresee if I am in any danger. I catch myself doing the “what if’s” for the past. What if I had remembered what was said and then I would have… I look back and see what I did not see then. I tell myself that I only “see” those things as being pertinent because of the latter outcome. Had nothing happened, they would not have been relevant. I have to pull myself out of the thoughts of “what if’s” cause if I stay in them I will spiral down and end up blaming myself for it. Something I have done thousands if not more times, and it all goes back to me, to blaming me. I tell others that it is not their fault, and it is not, yet to myself I am much harder. I am my worst enemy when it comes to what I consider “my mistakes.” I know with the information I had at the time there was no way that I could see what would happen, there was no way that anyone else could predict what would happen, no one except the jerks who knew in their minds what they were thinking, what they were planning to do to me.