This will be the last PTSD post.
I promise.
So at the end of my servitude, when I took my separation physical, I made sure they put down on it that I had dislocated my left arm multiple timed, and it now fell out of joint all the time. The medics reaction was to book me for surgery the following Monday.
They performed what was called a modified Puttiplat. Went in and shortened all the ligaments in my shoulder. Then reattached the ligaments. Put my arm in a grenadiers sling, and told me not to use my arm.
They pulled the stiches and sent me on my way about a week before my discharge. My left arm was about as big around as a table leg and totally useless. I could not lift my arm with its own muscles, and I was down too about 150 lbs from being on potent pain killers and not eating..
When I got home I looked like a fugitive from a concentration camp. The first time my mom saw me, she got all "What have they done to my baby'.
The first thing I did was go to the VA to get an assessment. They gave me a small disability pension and sent me on my way.
The only thing I wanted was to disappear, So I packed up my stuff and went over to the family farm in Sandpoint Idaho. I spent the spring and summer working on the farm. I started out splitting kindling, then splitting firewood, and by the time summer was over I was bucking bales, although slowly and painfully.
I was a completely different person than I was when drafted. I was an Alter Boy, The Vice President of the CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) and outstanding boy of the year for 1966.
When I got out I really didn't want to be around people, because I had learned to always be alert because violence was always a possibility. I avoided large groups of people, developed no new friends and kept to myself.
I went back to school and burried myself in studies. My first semester I took 18 solid credits and had a 3.9 GPA. I also began taking amphetamines. At first it was when I was cramming for finals, but eventually it became a daily thing, although I never got addicted and controlled it pretty well. That combined with drinking put me on a pretty ragged path. I stayed on that same path for many years.
I saw various therapists over the years, and they helped me stay on the rails, but the depression kept getting worse. The fact that was on Percocet didn't help matters.
I spiraled out of control until I was peering into the ebyss, and it was beginning to be an alternative. I had gotten as far as planning exactly how I was going to go out.
It was at this point that a couple of things happened. I had asked for a stronger anti-depressant and they sent me to the Psychiatric Clinic for evaluation. They diagnosed me with PTSD. Suddenly the shit all aligned and I finally understood what was going on. Didn't hepl me, but at least I understood what was going on.
I called the VA hot line and they referred me to the local VA clinic, where I strictly by chance got there when the Psychiatrist was there, and we had a nice talk, and she pointed me towards some resources available. I wnt to a Cognitive Therapy group, various interviews and beaurocratic bullcrap.
I applied for PTSD compensation.
They can't find my records, in fact the said no evidence existed to prove that any of the things I went through happened.
They denied my claim. I am still in the appeal process, and have been for about a year. Dealing with the Government is not my idea of recreation. I really don't handle it very well.
After much searching, and help from my grandson, we have managed to locate the record for the court-martial of Earl Pleasant. The record exists, so my testimony and all the circumstances of the source of my trauma is there. Unfortunately it is in paper form. They are in the process of converting the old records to digital files, but that record has not been digitized. My grandson paid them $50.00 to get access to the file when it has been converted, and it was dumped in the queue, with no guarantees of when it would be done. The request went in in December and we still have not herad anything.
All papers and records for my appeal have to be in by August, so I am getting a little frustrated. I am so close to getting the information I need, but it is just out of reach,,
Did I mention I hate dealing with the government?
