This, my first diary, all started with a
comment I made earlier today in response to a comment someone made about our troops being treated like numbers instead of human beings. It was suggested that I make a diary out of it, so here goes...
This is just my story -- one of thousands, I'm sure -- about how I feel I have been reduced by my chain of command to nothing more than a number in the face of human tragedy.
The story may be a bit dry (hopefully not), but it is mine and I hope you'll read it and share if you know of any more like it.
Join me "below the fold," if you will...
I grew up in a small town in North Dakota. I had a Mom, a Dad, and a younger Brother. We had a basset hound named Gus. As much as I loved my family and friends, I felt a need to get out and see the world. I also didn't want my parents to have to fork out big bucks for college. In my Junior year of high school, some recruiters came to my science class and talked about a program that interested me. I decided to join the Navy. I was 17 years old.
A month after I graduated from high school I left home for what was to be a 6 year enlistment. I went through all of my training, saw different parts of the country, met all kinds of people, and ended up stationed on a ship doing my job. In January of this year, my ship left on a deployment to the Gulf in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. I had known for a while that this was coming, and while I wasn't looking forward to it, I was ready for it.
We had been out to sea for about 3 months and things had been going about as well as can be expected on deployment. We made some port calls, and I was just counting down the days until we were back, just like everyone else. Then one day in April I called home, and things changed.
My Dad had been diagnosed with esophageal cancer.
A couple of weeks went by, and my parents spent a lot of time at clinics and hospitals. Tests were done, needles were poked in, scans were made. The doctors had made a plan for treatment, and that was when I realized I had to come home.
My father had been scheduled to undergo at least 6 weeks of intense chemotherapy and radiation, followed by a major surgery involving the removal of part of the esophagus. This will require a long recovery time. The major problem is this: My parents live in a small town that does not have the facilities for my Dad's treatment. This means they will have to make a 200 mile round trip to Fargo every day for his radiation/chemo, with occasional trips to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN (1000 mile round trip). Dad started his treatment, and it has been pretty devastating. He has gone from one of the strongest, most independent men I have ever known to not being able to walk up the stairs without help in a matter of a few weeks. My Mom clearly would not be able to take this on by herself and maintain a full time job.
I knew I had to get home, and fast, or things would get even worse at home. The Navy allows for Humanitarian Transfers and Hardship Discharges in times of family distress, and other situations that are relatively clearly spelled out in the regulations. I felt that my situation qualified, so I put together the request for a discharge. I got letters from doctors, family friends, our church's pastor, my brother, my mom, and submitted the request. I knew that things could get ugly for me if I asked to go home, since we were in the Gulf. I didn't realize quite how ugly.
From the day I requested the discharge, I encountered resistance from my immediate chain of command. Not exactly active resistance, but suggestions to "not get my hopes up" and people telling me how long a discharge request takes to go up the chain of command. After a few days I decided to track the request to see how far it had gotten up the chain. After 3 days, it had been through only one person of at least a dozen that had to sign it. That was the point at which I got suspicious.
I realized that if I wanted to get out of there at all, I'd have to take a different approach. The date was fast approaching that I would not be able to leave the ship at all, since we would be out of range of any airport that could get me home. I decided to ask for emergency leave.
I soon learned that there was (what I believe to be) an active effort to delay my leaving the ship so I would be stuck there until it was too late. I was lied to, vaguely threatened with disciplinary action, and had American Red Cross messages from my family suppressed and hidden from me. I saw through the lies, refused to be intimidated, and I think they realized I was dead serious about getting home and wasn't about to give up. After several days of me fighting for it, I managed to get 10 days of emergency leave approved.
I was back in the United States within a day of the upper chain of command finding out about my situation. Since then I have found out that my discharge request has gone nowhere since the day I left the ship. My leave has expired, and I am now on the shore in the U.S. awaiting the return of my ship. So far I haven't been able to follow up on the discharge request, and I have reason to believe it is being intentionally withheld or delayed. I have no way of being sure since I am not there to personally follow up on it.
I am reduced to talking to my Mom on the phone, and telling her that, even though I am not doing anything productive for the military right now, I can't come home and help her with this fight against Dad's cancer.
She cries every day when I talk to her, and I can't stand it. I am becoming desperate, and so is she.
I know there are people put in far worse situations by this administration's decisions. People who have lost limbs and lives in this terrible occupation of Iraq. I am upset by the situation I am in, especially the blatant disregard for regulations and humanity. But I am still alive and in once piece. Others are not. Looking back on what has happened the past 5 years, maybe I should have seen something like this coming...
I, and all of my friends in uniform have become one thing to the people in power: A number.
All I am asking for is a fair shake. I want my request to go all the way up the chain of command in a timely manner, which is what the regulations call for. I have found that my immediate chain of command has the same view of the military's regulations as the Bush administration has of the Constitution: Something to be followed only when convenient. I am taking what seems to be my last resort: getting in contact with my Representative in Congress, Rep. Earl Pomeroy. Maybe he will see my situation for what it is... a human one.
That is just my ongoing story, a small chapter among thousands in the tome of injustice that is being writ against those who choose to serve their country.
Not only are people being retained in the military against their will, but the ones that are already out are treated as statistics which are expendable (along with medicare dollars, education dollars, and how many other programs...) in the face of growing deficits. The "drowning in the bathtub", if you will.
The personal and medical records of some 26 MILLION veterans were stolen from a staffer's residence, and no action has been taken by anyone.
Health care premiums for veterans have gone up. The annual percentage pay increase for active duty troops has gone down while duty has become more and more strenuous.
Yellow magnets have been placed on bumpers, and soldiers and marines are on their third and fourth tours of duty in Iraq. And don't forget about Afghanistan, as much as the traditional media would like you to. There are still troops dying there, too.
We can do better.
I hope that once I am out of the military, and my Dad has (hopefully) recovered, I can take part in making it better for those who are serving and who have served.
The troops are people, not just numbers. And I know most of the people here at DailyKos haven't forgotten that... but some people have.
Just had to vent a little...
Peace.