Notice to the Reader

Copyright NoticeAll fiction and poetry are the y use of the works are prohibited without permission. However, sharing or linking of post is acceptable, and my heart's greatest desire, providing you create a link back to: http://debralecomptepoetry.blogspot.com
Thank you so much for coming to my page! Communication whether spoken, written, signed, or expressed in the art forms, is the essence of the human existence.

All fiction and poetry are the sole copyright Debra LeCompte. Any use of the works are prohibited without permission. However, sharing or linking of post is acceptable, and my heart's greatest desire, providing you create a link back to: http://debralecomptepoetry.blogspot.com
Thank you so much for coming to my page! Communication whether spoken, written, signed, or expressed in the art forms, is the essence of the human existence.

A Call From a Soldier

I know from experience with my husband just how frustrating dealing with the Veteran's Administration can be.  There are those who have come home from war with, wounds both visible and invisible, who must rely on the V.A. to meet their continuing need for medical care.  Unless you have experienced the trial of trying to obtain services from the V.A., you can't imagine how frustrating the process can be.  I truly believe it is purposely designed that way in order to cause some of those looking for services to give up, and to stop seeking the help they need.  The goal being of course, to trim the expenses of providing care to these men and women who have given so much in service to our country.  Some of the stress upon those who have served when seeking needed medical care can be due to individuals who are employed by the V.A. who seem to make obtaining benefits difficult.  In fact it can appear that they almost enjoy the power they wield over the service members.  No matter what the reason, this added frustration and stress should not exist for those who have borne the burdens of the present conflict, or any of the other service that has been given. 

I wrote this poem after receiving a call from a Soldier who had served in the very heat of battle in Iraq during his two tours.  He was the kind of Soldier who was required to serve at "the tip of the spear."  In other words, it was his duty to kick in doors, to fire his weapon at other human beings, sometimes taking their lives, while trying to stay alive himself, and protect too those he served along side of.  He saw many of those he served with suffer grave injuries, and some of those who fought beside him lost their lives.  

He can recall being involved in at least eighteen "roll overs," a term in this case referring to hitting an IED (roadside bomb,) in a heavy duty armored up military vehicle,  and that vehicle rolling from the power of the blast.  That would amount to the equivalent of a ride in the drum of one of those big cement trucks. He has already had to undergo one back surgery, yet he is having trouble proving to the VA that he sustained a traumatic brain injury.  Most reasonable persons would assume that type of injury to be present for anyone who had sustained even one such experience, much less eighteen.  However proving his injury was not his only obstacle to the needed care.  First, he had to prove that he had served the second tour of duty in Iraq, because the Army had lost his entire record of this duty, they just had a gaping hole in his records for that time period.  

The Soldier had been given forms, and the last know addresses and phone numbers of four men who he told them had served along side of him and experienced, or observed the roll overs.  He was to provide the forms to these Soldiers so that they could make a sworn statement to the fact that the Soldier had been involved in the roll over incidents after hitting the road side bombs while serving in Iraq.

That, to me, is in itself unthinkable, and responsibility which never should have been assigned this Soldier.  What he encountered before calling me as he attempted to "prove" his injuries sent anger surging through me.  As this man who served so honorably at duty I cannot comprehend made the required calls, he systematically found that three of those four Soldiers he had been given contact information for, had later been killed in combat at various times since he had served along side of them in Iraq.  The fourth Soldier had hung up on him as soon as he heard the request because he suffered so intensely with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome that it had cost him his marriage and his family, and he was completely disabled by this condition.  His own anger, and frustration at being contacted, I am certain was a "trigger point" for him.  

When someone suffers from PTSD, they have these triggers, or things which can hurl them deeply into overwhelming thoughts and feelings.  It might be words, images, smells, or any number of "triggering" thoughts or stimulus which is connected for them with the experiences which caused the brain reactions of PTSD.  In these periods of the manifestations of their disease process, they suffer intensely.  The young Soldier who called me that day had also long been diagnosed with this condition, and the V.A. worker who had sent him to retrieve the "proof" of his service on the battle field had known of his diagnosis.

I was so incensed myself, and in shocked wonder, as I tried to find words of comfort for this Warrior who had borne the battle, followed the orders he had been given, and endured unthinkable experiences for the sake of our country. He had done so believing it to be necessary in order to preserve the freedom and welfare of our nation, because our nation had told him it was necessary to do so.

As I struggled with words, tried to help any way I could with what was now being required of him, I could not restrain myself from expressing my own anger and contempt for such an organization as the one which had so callously sent this young man out on yet another mission. Poetry always helps me to arrange my thinking about a matter into words that are reasonable, perhaps because I write using rhyme.  The use of rhyme requires discipline in expression, and a conciseness of words.  My thoughts and words needed discipline concerning the reality that this young man is living in his quest for medical services for the unseen wounds he sustained in battle in the War on Terror.  I know that I have nothing in my own experience which can compare to the struggle I knew was the man's who had called me, so for quite some time after I placed the phone back in its' cradle, I sat at my desk staring at it, until I sought out discipline and order for my thoughts.  The following poem represents my emotions and reactions brought into some bit of reason by the words I found.


Call From A Soldier

I received a call from a man who served my country as a Soldier today.
He was struggling and once again had found himself in dismay.

As I listened sadness swept over me, many times for these brave I have made defense,
Sometimes the way we treat our Soldiers just does not to me make any sense.

We ask so much, take so much, and then profess great care.
But when it comes down to it, the burdens they alone have to bear.

We make them wade through paperwork and bureaucracy without end.
We appoint them an advocate, but really for themselves they must fend.

“Jump through this hoop, sign here, and go to that corner and stand.”
There are so many requirements, rules, and so many demands.

Everyone knows that to these valiant warriors we all surely owe,
How is it then that the government which called them becomes the foe?

They return home, and there they reach the brink of what they can shoulder,
It becomes easier to give up, walk away, as their resentments begin to smolder.

I wonder often as I observe, if the system is not of such a design,
As to discourage the returning Warrior so that they give up in time.

When the enemies of this land stand sinister and dark at the door,
The whole world looks to these men and women and they implore.

Then their leadership with lofty words and promises sends them out,
Their mission is clearly stated as the enemies of freedom to rout.

Without doubt, of all the debts that the people of any nation can share,
Is there one like we owe to these men and women that can compare?

I received a call from a man who served my country as a Soldier today,
He was struggling and once again had found himself in dismay.

Dedicated to Jared Campbell and all those who have so nobly served with him, may 
this nation always remember and respect what they have given.  March 2011.






No comments:

Post a Comment