Chris' Field Guide to the VA

Yeah, you guessed it and yes, I know there are lots of guides out there for veterans on how to deal with healthcare through the VA.  Even the VA itself puts out a guide.  But, I’m talking about down and dirty day to day dealings in making the most of your healthcare from the VA.

There’s too much complaining, and yes I realize a percentage is warranted.  But it was when I stopped complaining, stopped looking for what they were doing wrong, and started looking for ways to make the whole process easier for my husband that I started to find the VA more helpful than it had ever been.  This is based purely on my experiences over the past several years…

My first bit of information is relax.  This is not a fast process, and it’s not without its major irritants.  When I first started taking care of my husband’s healthcare, I went in guns drawn and hackles up.  I’d scoured the web for information and had started obsessing over watchdog sites and complainers.  Yes, there are things wrong, but I’ve learned that people are quick to complain publicly but not so quick to sing praises.  I’ve since smoothed my hackles and holstered my weapons.  There is one goal in all this.  That goal is to make my husband the healthiest he can be.  His doctors want the same. 

Speaking of doctors, your hands are not bound. You may request a new doctor if you don’t mesh with the primary care doctor you’ve been assigned.  It may take time.  Things are not fast in the VA.  Your hands may not be tied but those who work there are bound by red tape that does muck up the works a bit.  But don’t suffer through seeing a doctor you just don’t like.  We requested a new doctor and had one the next appointment.

Speaking of appointments, keep them and keep up with them.  Unlike in the private sector if you’re out for two years, you’ll have to start over.  They drop you from the system and you’ll be assigned a new doctor at the closest possible VA.  We are lucky in our area, we have two hospitals and a clinic between a half hour to an hour away.  My husband is often times difficult to keep on track with his healthcare.  He doesn’t like leaving the house, so he was dropped from the more convenient clinic down by the ocean.  That’s our fault.  His doctor was assigned a new veteran in his place, and that soldier needed care that my husband was not utilizing.  It would have been so easy to get angry over this -and I did for a moment -, to convince myself that it was unfair, but who’s fault really?  Ours.

If you can’t make an appointment, call.  We’ve gotten in earlier due to cancelations.  When needed, but not a life threatening emergency, getting in a week or two earlier might make all the difference in the world to a brother or sister.  Be at your appointments or cancel them.

Speaking of making appointments, I go back to my original bit of advice.  Relax.  You’re calling a call center.  It’s going to take at the very least a half hour.  Sit yourself down with a piece of paper, a cup of coffee or wine depending, and expect to be on hold for a while.  If you’ve got a speaker phone, use it.  You can do other things while waiting to get through.  When you do, be kind.  The person on the other end of the phone is likely a veteran, and regardless they’re just doing their job.

I’m going to stop here and talk only to the veterans.  If just cannot do this, if you cannot deal with the process, ask for help.  You were never alone on the battlefield.  Why would you insist on being alone on the home front?  Ask a loved one, ask a trusted friend.  Ask for help so you can get the help you need.  There’s no such thing as a weak warrior.

Rocks and Hard Places

I have become an unpleasant person to be around.  Don’t get me wrong, I laugh a lot, but I do it to cover up the fact I can’t, or worse, won’t concentrate during socializing among peers and friends.  This bothers me, especially now that I’m painfully aware of it.

There is such a thing as caregiver’s fatigue, compassion fatigue, or what has been coined lately as secondary PTSD.  They’re wide terms that basically point to a lengthy list of symptoms including insomnia, anger, and depression.  I don’t think any of those are what I have going however.  No mine feels all too voluntary.

Last week my husband and I attended a convention in Las Vegas for a freelance job of mine.  Normally I work exclusively from home, but this one week we go SEMA.  It’s hard on my husband.  Crowds are a bitch.  But it’s a car show and my husband is the biggest petrol-head I have ever known.  This show is closed to only industry and I’m lucky enough to have an in.  It’s something car guys dream about going to every year.  Hell, they’ll go to Vegas just to stand outside it and see the cars on display in the lots around the convention center.  So, I go and my husband takes a deep breath, fights his anxiety, and like holding his breath through a smoke filled room, he endures what must be horrible just to be a part of something he’s wanted to see since he was a young man.

I love this man, but I’m unpleasant.  I really noticed it these past few days.  I cannot enjoy anything that might leave us in a place where Chris will be caught up in an episode.  My chest is tight when I notice crowds gathering.  I jump at any noise then look to him make sure he’s okay.

As we walked through the Venetian, which is an amazing hotel, I caught a glimpse of my expression in one of the many mirrored surfaces.  I wore a scowl, those two lines between my eyebrows drawn so tight they touched.  I saw the old woman I’d become because I’ve tried so hard to grab all of his sorrow and anxiety and swallow it myself.  My breathing is shallow and I’m aging myself with worry.  I’m so afraid something will happen away from home.  So afraid people will see and he’ll be embarrassed.

I’ve become one of those people friends are concerned about at first but then avoid.  I cry a lot but I’ve also noticed an overall numbing.  I feel heavy, clouded, and I hurt all over.  I don’t think I have caregiver’s fatigue, I can sleep just fine.  I’m not having panic attacks.  I don’t resent my husband and I still have this deep down need to protect him from anything that might be a trigger.  I’m not sure what’s going on, but I hesitate to tell my husband because I don’t want to upset him.

I feel stuck between a rock and a hard place.  And it seems to be getting harder.

No Sleep 'Til

Another guest post from my husband...


I haven't been sleeping lately.  I've been up all night, every night for days now.  I'll get a few hours sleep here and there but it's hardly what you'd call "good" sleep.  I think it's getting to me a little bit.  More so than it has in a while, my trigger is set to "hair" and my mood shifts more than semi-truck going uphill.

I've been stewing over stupid things as well as having to deal with an unwarranted sense of guilt over things that are not under my control. I've also been getting paranoid and anxious.

I decided I should try to lay down tonight and sleep. Mind you, I've had all of about 9 hours sleep in the last four nights. So, I lay there, my mind kicks into overdrive and immediately I began to get all worked up over some bullshit going on with my kid.

Oh well...  What's another night without sleep right?  I got up and got dressed and headed out to the kitchen.  I grabbed a Mountain Dew and went out to the garage with my iPad to smoke a cigarette and surf the net.

I turn on the TV only to find about a thousand channels with nothing worth watching.  Pissed, I threw the remote onto the workbench as I glanced down at my iPad and caught a glimpse of my Facebook page.

The red mist descended upon me, my jaw line sharpened quickly and I felt my chest heave outward.  I felt the tension in my internal trigger of the hammer moving back slightly, getting ready to click forward and fire.    

I was just about to melt down "nuclear style" on Facebook about all the political bullshit that is flowing over the page like diarrhea, mucking up my feed, soaking in and stinking up the place. I had written out a nice long rant that fingered everyone involved labeling them as retarded when it hit me.

Earlier, the wife and I had a conversation about school. We had both agreed, "if the whole class is failing, it's usually the teacher -BUT- if you're the only one in class getting F's, it's you".

Amidst all of the irrational, "kill all humans", "scream over nothing", "cry like a pansy", "get pissed and throw something" notions, a rational voice chimed in repeating the conversation the wife and I just had.

I damned near got light headed. The finger came off the trigger without sending that round down range.

"Oh God... It's me"

I got a flash of heat across my face and a deep burning sensation of self loathing and embarrassment over the way I've been acting up to know. I set here for a good ten minutes before it started letting up.

What followed this discovery was this calm rationalization. The likes of which was more refreshing than the ocean breeze blowing across your face.

For that moment of discovery, that rational voice was the normal "before I had PTSD" me. In that instance, I was thinking like the old me. There, for a moment I was centered, squared away and even keeled. As I narrated the "school" conversation in my head my voice was temperate and calm.

I then realized, In between all of the problems, issues, damage and general lunacy, The old me is still in there. Oh sure, most of the time he's trapped inside with a raving fucking lunatic, not even being able to scream but, once in a while he shines through.

You know, it's funny. A long time ago, I told the doctor that I was afraid that I was crazy.  He said, "People who are truly crazy don't care if they're crazy or not".

This explanation always comes to the surface when I have these calm, self correcting epiphanies. But tonight, it was just what exactly what I needed to hear.

Maybe, since this time I identified that I was about to act out in anger, I'm not crazy. It makes me feel like I haven't fully lost my grip. It feels like there's hope yet.

I'm going to bed.