“Come Monday…” is a weekly series that will
involve a review of (or commentary about) websites, movies, documentaries,
television shows, sports, music, and whatever else may tickle my fancy at the
time. Be assured that these reviews will
be generally positive, as in accordance to the Jimmy Buffett song “Come
Monday.” This is subject to change,
however. In fact, I would be most
derelict in my duties to neglect going on a rant every once in a while. For rants promote change, and change can be
good—right? Therefore, since good is
generally considered as being a positive force in 99.3% of the parallel
universes that I am aware of, even a rant could be considered as being
something positive, and a genuine hissy-fit would be even better (so I’m told).
Unless you have
been stuck without any access to an outside news source for the last couple of
weeks or so, you have probably already seen at least some of the splatter from
the “stuff” hitting the proverbial fan over how much time some veterans have
been having to wait to receive medical care at some [VA medical facilities]. Having to wait 5-6 months to see a doctor is
indeed outrageous, but how good is the care after they finally receive
it? I sincerely doubt that it is really
all that good.
All I have to go on
is what happened to my dad years ago, and in all fairness, the quality of care
at VA medical facilities may have greatly improved since. On the hand, my dad’s experiences display a
pattern of conduct that the current scandal seems to be proving is still being
maintained.
Since it was before
the [VA] was officially established, my dad’s first experience with the agency
may not count, but it sure is telling about what was to come. For it happened after Germany surrendered in
1945, and my dad was one of thousands of G.I.s in France, who desperately wanted
to go home to their families. When my
dad’s turn came up, he was asked to sign a waiver that released the United
States government from any liabilities due to the wounds he received during the
beginning of the [Battle of the Bulge] or face having to wait maybe another six
months before being given a berth on a transport ship back to the States. What would you do if you were 25 years-old
and already greatly concerned about your very young daughter after receiving a
letter from her mother that said that she wanted a divorce on the grounds of your
abandonment of them to go off to war? Oh
yeah, my dad signed the release, but his first wife still got her divorce.
My dad’s next
experience with the VA (at least for the purpose of this piece) happened 35
years later, in 1980. I think it was
sometime in September when I took my dad down to the VA Hospital in Fayetteville,
Arkansas after he started feeling extra poorly.
The doctor he saw there told him that he was just getting older. When I took him to the VA Hospital in Kansas
City, Missouri a couple of months later, the doctor he saw up there gave him
around two months to live after diagnosing him with lung cancer. When asked, the Kansas City VA doctor
confirmed that his cancer would have been quite easy to see to anyone who
bothered to look when he went to the Fayetteville VA Hospital. He went on to also say that the kind of
cancer my dad had was rapidly-moving, and that if it had of been detected in
Fayetteville, much could have been done to stop its growth. Yeah, “stuff” happens—right?
By the way, when
you see a movie depiction of an old, run-down medical facility, with
patients wandering around with their [I.V. stand] in tow, you are seeing what I
remember of the Fayetteville VA Hospital.
The Kansas City facility was much better in appearance, but I only
remember being up there once.
Alas, my dad raised
me to be a hardcore political conservative, who believes that the federal
government has no business doing anything but maintaining a strong defense of
the country and good trading relations with “good” countries, but our Heavenly
Father has shown me where all levels of government are meant to provide good
service in all sorts of capacities to all citizens—especially to those in need. At least the hardcore conservatives are generally
much more honest than their bleeding-heart liberal counterparts. For liberal politicians generally love to
talk real big about using government programs to do all sorts of good, but they
are loathed to make sure that those programs are really doing what they should
and not just wasting an enormous amount of tax-payer dollars. The VA stands as a corroded example of
such—regardless of which political philosophy may be in a position of greater power
at a given time.
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I believe both political parties are guilty of exploiting the military for their own purposes, while failing to protect and expand the programs that would ensure the health of our veterans. It's a crime. Fifty congressional attempts to repeal Obamacare yet every bill designed to expand or fund additional care for our vets is blocked? Shameful.
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping by, my dear Stephen!!! It is, indeed.
ReplyDeleteSad story.
ReplyDeleteEx servicemen here also suffer, and always have, from lack of aid after their time. More is being done than before but too many men in jail are ex-servicemen.
Thanks for stopping by, my dear Adullamite!!! I have not been given a clear answer to why there appears to be so much more mental problems with military personnel returning from combat now than in the past--even in comparison to those who saw action in Korean and Vietnam, which were both very messed up situations. In any event, their treatment has been generally appalling.
ReplyDeleteit's a shame that we live in a country that gives better treatment to illegal aliens than to our countries heroes
ReplyDeleteI think ex-servicemen and women suffer everywhere, but slowly, gradually things are changing; not before time. For too long no one understood the mental problems they were suffering...long term problems that need to be taken seriously.
ReplyDeleteI could not agree more!
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping by, my dear Ann!!! Have you been watching too much FOX News again?
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping by, my dear Lee!!! I hope it will get much, much better for them much, much sooner than later.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry, I ain't rubbing your feet, my love.
ReplyDeleteMy dad was also at the Bulge. I remembering him talking about signing something and they would him hang around longer but he signed. He was so shell shocked that his brother had to take care of him as soon as he landed. He wanted VA helped but the image already was there back 15 years ago or more that it was a nursing home with no care.
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping by, my dear L.D.!!! I suppose it could be argued that my dad was wounded just before the Battle of the Bulge actually started. For his squad was ordered to go out on a night patrol, and the lead scout set off a tank mine that had been also rigged as an anti-personnel device. With my dad being the second scout, his injuries were quite severe, but they may have saved his life (naturally-speaking, of course). For when he woke up in a Paris hospital several days later, his first sergeant was in a bed across from him. When my dad asked him what was going on, he was told that they were the only survivors from their company, with many of the men dying from being run over by a German tank as they rolled directly through their position in one of the first German attempts to break through the Allied lines.
ReplyDeleteOne of my most vivid memories from my childhood is of my dad begging my mom to not want him to go down to see if he could help after two cars had a head-on collision one night in 1967(?) on the Central Crossing Bridge over Table Rock Lake, around 250 yards from our home near Shell Knob, Missouri. He told her that he had already seen more spilled blood than anyone should ever have to, but she insisted that it was his Christian duty to go see if there anything he could do. He was white as a ghost when he came back, and he refused to say what he had seen. Later on, we heard from another source that both drivers of the cars were killed instantly, and that there were no other occupants in the cars.