Reposted here from moutainfirefall's column on Newsvine
He was 'admitted' to King Veteran's Home in February of 2011. Admitted is a strange word to use as he was fully functional, healthy, vibrant actually, and required little assistance with the basic daily routine of living. He has diabetes but does not require injections of insulin. And, he has some pretty bad arthritis in his shoulders. For the most part he did fine. I know, I was his room mate for several years. So, 'admitted' sounds strange. The Home was more like a living community for those who have one thing in common, they all know the intimate details of 'war'. They've all served. They all face the physical and mental challenges associated with that service. And, they all know, intimately, the goings on at this state facility.
King's vet home is located on some very nice real estate in northern Wisconsin. On a recent visit we strolled along the lake, then sat and watched weekend frolickers boating, fishing, water skiing, and various other recreations available to those who live there, and those who vacation there. It was difficult to imagine one of his service member vets floating dead in that lake last week, but that's what now plays as part of King's history. He held his chin in his large hand and thought about that from here. Half a country away, as he left King to be room mates with me once again.
He left because he is struggling with some physical challenges, and after some careful consideration, decided that should those challenges go unresolved, living at King, without the privilege he has always enjoyed, he would feel like he was living in a prison. Those are his words, not mine. He considered this very carefully, I know, as I watched as he began the process of packing up, and leaving his friends. And these are deep friendships. Just as you imagine soldiers in that proverbial foxhole, these elder men and women take up that bond these many decades later, as if they never left. I guess getting shot at together provides a kind of relation, time can't even diminish. When an announcement, proceeded by rumors weeks before, was made that the locks on their doors would be removed, they are felt as if they'd returned to those foxholes.
As I sat and listened to them talk, smoke, joke around, it became clear that they are tired. Some are facing some serious health issues, others manage with wheelchairs, scooters are the norm, some walkers are kept mobile with canes. They laugh. I noticed that right away. They give each other such @!$%#, but they always know they're in this place together. Just as they were brotherd and sisters in war, they are brothers and sisters in what they call, 'God's Waiting Room'. So, when the discussion comes round to those removed locks, the eyes of each become fixed, many stare off into a place of hopelessness as they ponder what will be. Yeah, these elders are tired of fighting, but it seems they will not know peace quite yet.
The administration must be using that rumor mill for it's own purposes, in my honest opinion, as they seem to understand their residents energy level and for many, their isolation. Many of these men and women have no one. They are at the mercy of the kindness of strangers. And these strangers include Scott Walker and his inferior management skills, and his man, John Scocos seems willing to do his bidding regardless of how it impacts these service members, our brothers and sisters of war, who have entered their 'golden years' looking for some hard won 'peace'. The recently re-elected Scott Walker seems unwilling to offer it.
There are several elements of life at King that don't get much air. I open a window on a few of them. First, let's be honest. As the years wear on there are a few things one can look forward to, does look forward to, and one of them is breakfast, lunch and dinner. We'll get to the most important element of that in a minute. A good meal. We all know what that feels like. The part about eating that makes life 'sweet', and if not sweet, than at the very least, some nutritional value. King feeds its people from a bucket, the budget bucket. They have reduced this last great value to powered eggs, dry bread, lightly warm hard eggs that leave a puddle on the plate, and rarely does bacon grace the field. He makes it clear that his meal traveled such a distance to get to him that its sweated its life away and is dead on arrival as far as his taste buds go. He developed a taste for the oatmeal. Every morning, he ate the oatmeal. Its all he could manage an appetite for. His weight dropped as a result. Then there's lunch, one of his favorites was 'build a burger'. He calls it the 'nasty burger'. Then there's the 'beef tips', some now hardened noodles, a gravy impostor to swim in, and some 'diced' meat product. Yum. All luke warm and now diluted by that ever present pool of condensated fluid. The tunnel those food carts comes down is long. The food arrives at those tunnels by truck. This disappointing meal is not made on site, even though it could be. Only the best for our vets, right Mr. Walker?
Of course I would be remiss if I didn't mention that the folks who do the work, provide the assistance when needed, the honorable CNA's are now working the kind of overtime that kills. I was standing in his room filling a box when I heard a voice behind me. I turned to find an elderly gentleman standing at the door. He asked me if I'd seen a nursing assistant. This gentleman says there's a man trying to eat, but he can't until someone cuts his food, … he can't eat unless its cut up into small bits. I look at him and shake my head, 'nope, haven't seen one'. He says they work to long. He says there aren't enough of them. He doesn't know me. Yet, he is telling me he needs someone to help this guy, he's hungry. He says he doesn't know what to do. He looks up and down the hallway, and then back at me. I'm filling with shame as I think to myself, “Glad I'm getting my guy outta here”. Shame.. yeah, I'm feeling it.
For three days I came and went as we got him ready to go. Three days of looking for coffee. Yeah, you heard me. Coffee. Doesn't seem like a lot to ask for, does it? But, these people can't get a cup of coffee if the 'cafeteria' is closed. And if it isn't meal time, its closed. No coffee. Wait. There is coffee, but they have to buy it. They have to buy it out of a machine. Yep. It's that Vended @!$%# Coffee. These elder service members who sign away their 'income' to live here, are doled out anywhere from 45 dollars a month to whatever, have to spend some of the precious monthly allowance on coffee. $.50 a cup. How many cups do you drink a day? Now imagine having to pay for each and every cup, and never being able to make a pot when you want it. Hotels provide a two-cupper to paying guests. These vets give up their retirements, S.S, pensions, to live there, and can't even get a cup of coffee when they want one. They are not 'guests', this is their home. They earned it.
I met some great folks in those three days. Service members who served in WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, and the Gulf wars. They live there much like, I suppose, they did on bases around the world, watching out for each other, scavenging for coffee, soda, and an affordable smoke, and keeping their ears to the track for any and all fast moving rumors. The one making the rounds those three days were the CNA's who'd quit. They were already completely aware of the shortage of assistance, now they were positive things would get worse. No talk of solutions or discontent was heard. They are not energized, agents of change. They are vets. They offered their service. Hung it out there. Many are in their twilight years. They came here for some peace.
These men and women stood between us and the identified enemy. They didn't ask if the bullets were legitimate, the cause just, or if the war was sanctioned by congress. They just served. Now, in their final years, they scavenge for a cup of coffee, choke down a cold meal, wonder the halls for a bit of help here and there from an exhausted CNA, and will soon be 'trapped' in their rooms worried about their privacy, belongings, and those missing locks. The locks may not seem like a big deal, but, it was the only remnant that made it feel like a home. Those locks were a choice and choice means we fought for something, they fought for something. And that something can be locked behind a door to which they hold the key.
I think it's time Mr. Walker lose his keys to his kingdom as well. Relinquish his income and be given an allowance, and buy every cup of coffee he puts to his lips, adequately priced of course. Oh, and his little dog John Scocos too.
The vet who was found floating in the lake, committed suicide. For some, the need for peace in these times is great. After giving so much... it doesn't seem like a lot to ask for, maybe he knew that. Or, maybe after all that he'd been through, and given his years, he wasn't up to another battle. I didn't notice anyone stepping in to protect these elder soldiers from their own 'domestic' enemy.
Rest in Peace brother, we hope that peace is now yours.
For more of the 'story'....
For another side to this story, see
Staff stretched to breaking point at King Veterans Home – WI’s Largest Nursing Home