PTSD IV

 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?

PTSD III

 After a while, the enlisted members of the Psychiatric Department were transferred from the Hospital to a MASH unit in support of the clinic.

We arrived late at night, and found out we had to assemble our own bunks, find wall lockers, and get set up. It was very disorganized.

Next thing we knew soneone was running thru the barracks yelling about PT. We had no idea there was PT in the morning, but we got up, jumped into our fatigues and went out to endure our morning wake-up.

All five of the enlisted people went out at the same time. Later a message was posted on the bulletin board that one of us was on report for being late. It was Ernie, the only black in our group.

All five of us went to the First sergeants office to enquire. We asked why, when all five of us whent out  at exactly the same time, only Ernie got put on report. The first sergeant blustered and stammered, as we asked if he might be prejudiced against black people. He threw a giant fit and threw us out of his office, but Ernies name got taken off the report.

We went back to our bay in the barracks and finished up getting out gear straightened away, when I recived a request to report to the office, I go in and in the center of his desk is my Personnel folder. There on the front cover was stamped in bright red letters 1AO. He started by calling me names and trying to humiliate me for being a Consciencious Objector. He told me that somegow he was going to personally going to make sure i went to jail. I just told him to be ery careful, because he didn't know who he was dealing with. We spent the rest of my time on Okinawa with hi writing me up for an article 15, and me advising him exactly why it would not be a good idea to proceed. As an example, one Sunday I was in my bunk taking a nap when he came by my bunk and ordered me to clean the barracks. I told him i declined, so he ran down to the office and wrote me up for disobeying an order. they called me down to thee COs office and there in the center of his desk was an article 15, which they ordered me to sign.

I of course declined, but added that they were aware that I was a 1AO and that regulation chapter verse and sentence prohibited them from making me work on my religious holidays, and that if I was forces to sign it, my next move would be to go to the JAG office and enter a complaint against them. They looked up the regs ad realized that they had made a mistake. So they tore up the article 15 and tole me to get the **** out of the office. They had no way of knowing that where I say in the reception arera there was a full set of the Regs, which I had been studying in my spare time. Nothing petty tyrants hate worse than a barracks lawyer,

There was a requirement from the Hospital at Camp Kue for a Liason NCO for the locked Psychiatric Ward. So although my work area war in the Hospital, my Barracks was in Sukiran, which meant getting a taxi every morning. No big deal.

Working with psychotics every day was not my ideal. the patients had all been locked up for doing outrageous things.

One morning as I unlocked the ward, the doof was banged open and left me laying on the floor looking at the ceiling. I looke down the hallway to see a little bitty Asian lady staggering down the hall as fast as she could go. II jumped up and ran her down. It was like trying to control a mad dog, but help arrived and we gor her back to the ward.

When we got back to the ward I asked what the heck was going on. They told me she had been admitted the night before. She had drowned her three children in the bathtub, and was out of control psychotic. They had medicated her with 500mg of thorazine, which was enough to medicate an elephant, but barely slowed her down.. I felt so sorry ffor her, being so out of touch with reality that she drowned her three kids.

Another time we had an Air Force enlisted dued admitted. I was never gotten all the details of what he had done, but from what I understood, he had been a discipline problem in his unit so their punishment was to have him do perimiter patrol at night on the airfield. The "voices" had convinced him that there were infiltrators in the jungle so he started unloading rounds. There may have been a B52 involved.

He had been on the ward a couple of days, and he was OK to talk to, so I was getting to know him to assess hs mental state.

One morning he came to me and said he wanted to go play pool in the hospital day room. I replied that I didn't think he was ready to be allowed that much freedom. He picked up a trash can and threw it across the ward and said "Now can I go play pool?" I replied "That king of behavior will not get you what you want" So he picked up a chair and threw it through a window. "NOW CAN I GO PLAY POOL? II told him if he didn't clean his act up, he would end up in restraints.

He ran to the back of the ward and came back with a 12" diving knife and demanded to be allowed to go play pool. AT that moment I left the ward and called the "Goon Squad" which was a group that was supposed to handle anything violent on the ward. They came in and peeked around the corner and saw this big crazy dude with a knife, and turned around and left.

The three enlisted guys left looked at each other and the airman in the group said "Well, we got it to do, so how are we going to handle it. I suggested we go onto the ward and get a mattress of of one of the beds and rush him. we needed to figure out who was going to do what, The Airman took the right end of the matress. His jib was to get behind hin after we got him coralled against the wall. I was in the middle and my job was to make sure he remained under control and pinned to the wall. The third guy was to get control of the knife and make sure he couldn't hurt anyone. It worked very well although there were seeral moments when things were dicey. We had him under control and were yelling "Trank him, get your asses over here and Trank him" which eventually happened.

During my time with the Psych department I learned a couple of behaviors that have never left me.

When entering a room, make sure you know where all the etrnces and exits are.

Never turn your back unless you know everyone present and feel comfortable with them

Always be prepared to go into action in an instant, as you are not in control.

The perversity of the universe tends towards the maximum.