Evil choice

The words that were used.

There have been times that I have been stuck in the investigation and understanding of what has happened to me. My thoughts were that if I only could figure out the red flags that I missed, or the “why me” I could prevent being sexually assaulted again. But that is so not true. It is yet another way to try and control the chaos that we call life. It has nothing to do with the “why” from me, it had everything to do with the “why” in his mind, and that cannot be figured out. You cannot read another mind, you cannot truly know what they are thinking, what they are scheming, or what they are planning to do.

Sure looking back some see the “red flags” they assume they missed, or they pushed out of their minds with “oh that’s not what he meant,” but is it really necessary to try and figure it all out? For keeping yourself safe, listening to what your feelings were at the time can be helpful, but sometimes there were no red flags, you look back and cannot see what “you did” that would have caused it, what “you did” that would keep it from happening again. The horror of it all is that it wasn’t what “you did,” (or did not do) you cannot make yourself completely safe. Because evil exists in this world, there truly is no “safe” place. I challenge any therapist to tell me where this “safe place” is, and I will give them a scenario that makes it not safe. But just because the world is not safe does not mean that we try and hide ourselves away from everyone hoping the less contact with others, the less possibility to be hurt. That is not healthy. We are social and made to be with one another, to help one another, to love one another, and at times while we are doing this, bad things will happen. Bad things happen to good people all the time. It is not what has happened to you, but how you perceived what happened.

I thought back to when I had been first assaulted in the military. The perp told me that I wanted what was happening to happen, that I liked it, that it was me that caused this to happen. That’s a load of bull that we need to get rid of. It is these words that were used by the perps and by others to have us wondering what it was that we did. To try and shift the blame back on us. The perps do it to get out of what they did, to rationalize to themselves, to put blame somewhere else, and even to help turn your own mind against you. Others use these words to make their seemly safe world stay that way, to block that there is true evil in this world, that another can take pleasure in the humiliation and torture of another human. That is why so many people want to associate some type of mental illness with someone who commits these acts, they do not want to really know that there is nothing mentally ill about these people; they have just chosen evil. They did not just sit back and let things happen, they acted upon the evil, they made a choice to do it. And you cannot understand the reasons why they choose that evil, it just is.

So why do we choose to use words that would give some responsibility to what happened back on us? Because we are bombarded with them. Our bodies knew what was happening, our minds just tried to rationalize something that is not rational, give meaning to something that is meaningless, find the red flags so that it does not happen again. Evil will still happen. We need to know that, accept that, and move to live in a world with that knowledge. All those words are used to protect others, not ourselves. To protect the perp from the responsibility (and rightful consequences) of their choices, to protect the rest from taking their heads out of the sand and admitting there is evil, there is not true understanding of it, we cannot put some diagnosis on it, it is not a mental illness, it was a mental choice, an evil mental choice.  

Leaving the Bubble 21 February 2012

Left my Bubble for the annual Texas Veterans Commission Summit earlier this month, and am just being able to feel my normal.

I had a table there, to set up information about MST and my books. It went well, all except having to recoup from leaving my bubble. What is my bubble? Well it is the places that I have considered, not safe, there is no where on earth that truly is safe, but where I am familiar with, I have scanned the area, I know the exits, I know the layout. Also I can get home in a reasonable amount of time if I cannot deal with the noise, smells, sounds or people. Away in Austin, there is so much to be anxious about, and I was. This was the first time that I was "public" (in person) and talking about MST to people I was not familiar with; the first time after being dumped by the National Organization of Women because I did not fit into their agenda (1992). That was a hard lesson to learn. I truly thought they wanted to help me out, to bring light to what had happened to me, what was happening to other women in the military. They knew my story and right before I got in front of the media I was asked to leave out certain parts, parts which did not politically run in line with their agenda. I did not, I was there to tell what happened, not to be censored by an organization that was supposed to care about what was happening. NOW victimized me, they betrayed me and left me. I would not use the words "fetus" and "miscarriage," that is not what happened, I used "murder" and "baby" because that was what happened. They knew my political views, they knew the story, they just wanted media for their own agenda, and it was NOT to help women, it was to further their own political presence. So I closed up, publicly, and it took years to work through that revicitimzation that they knowingly caused.
Austin was different. I was not the same person standing behind the table that had sat in front of the live cameras. Even though I am much older (and hopefully wiser) I had a new since of anxiety, than I had back in 1992. Back then I did not know that I no longer was able to comprehend and absorb information as I had done prior to my concussion.  At the time I knew there were gaps in my memory, but I had kept meticulous journals, so even without being able to mentally recall events, I had evidence they happened. As I said, I did not know this new me, I did not realize that just trying to learn something new was now going to be a chore, as it was so easy before. I have taken classes over and over on the same subjects hoping with each additional class, each additional book that I read, something would stay.  My new anxiety was forgetting what I knew. Forgetting what I had written in my book about MST. That is the worst. For the past 20 years I have been educating myself as much as possible, but my ability to keep that information is limited. I once read a quote on line, thought "that's good, I need to quote this person" only to realize the quote was from what I had written. I wanted to quote myself. Not only an annoyance, but serious anxiety when you are talking about the subject without the comfort of a manual to follow. Then there are the days that my brain just wants to stop working, where I can think for hours on how to spell the word "if." I know what it is, at least I have the feeling that I know the word, used it millions of times, but when words are gone, simple words, it's hard to answer questions when you know at any moment the conversation could change to Latin, and I don't know Latin. Not that the other person has any idea that what is coming out of their mouth seems to be %**&&^E*, but they are still talking English.

My English teachers would have a field day with me. I can go from complex psychological jargon, sentences that are the entire paragraph to first grade and "see me write," and not realize that my mind has once again misplaces a whole book full of words.

I know, I digress. Back to the bubble. So I am out of my bubble, out of the area that I know, with anxiety levels off the charts, which lowers my already compromised immune system (thank you toxic chemicals from Saudi, as well as the others that were shot into me - Air Force). After I get back, it's about a week later that I can get out of bed and do a little around the house. Two weeks later and I am back to just about where I was before I left. Now as long as nothing else attacks my immune system, and I stay away from stress (I have teenagers, this is almost an impossibility) I will function at my normal again in three weeks.

Many do not understand the toll that stress (anxiety, hypervigilance, negative thoughts - PTSD) can have on a person's ability to keep their immune system working to keep away the simplest viruses that are an everyday attack.
Back to finishing up the 200 promotional necklaces that I am doing for the next VWise program.

I don't feel my age, I feel dead

I turned, but my knee did not and now I sit thinking that life would be nice without pain. I injured myself, well was injured in the service, and those injuries are compounded on the fact that my body is older than it was. I am in an exercise program and the 70 year olds are asking if I am ok. Having been seriously active all my life, then the military, multiple injuries and life is not the same. I am not saying things could not be worse, oh they could, but I watch my 17 year old daughter, the same age that I signed up for the military, and see how she just spurts around, leaping here and there. I was like that, I had that ability. Just as I was, she has a thin frame, but very strong, and I miss it. I am waiting for her to come to my side while we are on the mat and say, "mom, maybe you need to just take it easy."
I have to laugh since my instructors now tell me that if it hurts to slow down or stop, so different from the screaming in your face if your leg isn't blown off, it better be moving. The suck it up, suck up the pain, deal with the swollen joints, the multiple bruises, the cuts, the bites, the whole lot of it and all the time thinking that I was being "strong" and "tough." At the same time that this strong and tough thought was going through my head, the damage to my body, the damage that cannot be undone was being compounded upon.
I remember the pull off the 10 foot cliff in the jungles of Panama, the log that stopped my decent and split. The rocks which were plucked out of the side of my face and forehead, the pain of my neck and knee and shoulder. The pounding in my head for days. I was taken to the ER, no x-rays, just the go back to the barracks and if you are still hurting tomorrow, come in. I had been knocked unconscious, my head was throbbing, I had little holes in the side of my face and forehead from where the rocks were plucked out by a syringe. I did go back the next day, had all the complaints (only thing they decided to list on my medical charts was my knee because it was completely swollen). So I get one day to recuperate and  back to the long hours of walking around all night, catching dogs by the arm (with a rap of course) and training, and working and thinking that I was being strong. I was told to suck it up and I had. Even when the tears began to fall, I did not return to the ER, you only are allowed there once, I already had been the next day and that was looked down on. I mean, hey I should have just sucked it all up, instead of going to the ER just took out my knife and plucked the rocks out myself, yes a little sarcastic.
So now that the curve of my neck is backwards, I have arthritis, degenerative disc disease, bulging disk, pain, pain that i am not about to suck up. Pain that I had put a claim in for, and the VA did x-rays (a few months after I was out) sure enough in the x-rays the curve going the wrong way, but a denial stating there was no record of treatment for cervical injury. You know, neck pain, that could just be about anything, like maybe the fact that I was pulled off a 10 foot cliff, hit my head on a log, my face buried into the dirt enough for rocks to get imbedded in my face, then another accident and again no x-rays, sure that's not why when I went into the military my neck was fine and now its just always in pain, different levels of pain, but pain none the less.
That is one of the frustrations being a veteran. You are told to suck it up, that you cannot go to the ER, that you need to get back out on the flightline, or in the jungle, you suck it up to be a tough solider and when you are crippled and in pain, the VA says there is no treatment for the condition. So as medical personnel they did a terrible job, doing the same thing, telling us to suck it up, only putting one listed complaint in our medical records, and now we pay again.
Constant pain has a way of making you a little irritable, and I guess this is my venting for some of it.

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.

 

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.

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.

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.