Stanley Robinson, Update. Corrective Action at the Tampa VA Hospital

Hello my faithful friends and dedicated readers.  I’m glad you’re here today.  I’ve got a story to update you on.

If you read my previous blog than it’s no secret what happened to me when I went to my appointment on Tuesday, June 14, 2011, at the Dermatology Clinic at the James A Haley VA Hospital in Tampa.  If you haven’t read that blog, you should do that now before reading any further.  For the rest of you, here is what I hope is the “rest of the story”.

When I got home on Tuesday, I had a migraine that didn’t finally go away until I woke up this morning.  It took a dose of imitrex on Wednesday night to finally be rid of it.  It was no doubt brought upon by my encounter with Stanley Robinson, LPN.  My Dermatology appointment had been rescheduled for yesterday at 1:40 and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t frightened just thinking about it.  I dreaded going back there just knowing there was the chance that I’d run into Stanley Robinson, LPN, once again.  I knew I was obsessing but I couldn’t help myself.  I kept replaying the events of Tuesday over and over in my head.  Could I have avoided that situation somehow?  Was there something different I should have done?  What did I do wrong?  I was getting more and more anxious as the morning wore on.

There was a phone call.  Isn’t there always?  The phone rang at 9:47 yesterday.  I know the exact time because I checked my call history.  Thank goodness for modern technology, right?  It was Patient Advocate Patty calling to ask me to meet her and the “Director of Nursing” before my Dermatology appointment.  She said that the “Director” was anxious to meet me to discuss what had happened on Tuesday.  My regular followers know that I no longer drive due to the number of medications I’m on.  Couple that with the fact that concentration is a huge problem for me.  I have the concentration of a two year old.  If I told you how long it’s taken me to write just these few paragraphs you probably wouldn’t believe me.  That makes me a HUGE road hazard.  I told Patty that my wife was driving me to the hospital that afternoon and I wasn’t sure when she would be getting home from work or what time we’d be leaving our house.  We agreed it was best to meet after I saw the doctor.

Oh yes … you read it right, my friends.  Terri took the afternoon off to take me to the VA Hospital.  All I can say is thank goodness for my wife.  She is truly a blessing in my life.  You’ve never met my wife, have you?  For starters, Terri and I both grew up in Chicago.  Okay.  That’s not entirely true.  Terri calls herself a Chicagoan.  Have you ever heard of Mount Prospect, Illinois?  You have if you are familiar with Chicago suburbs.  For the rest of you, unless you know someone who lives there or you’re from there, it’s a bet I’m willing to take that most of you have never heard of Mount Prospect.  For all intents and purposes, most Chicago suburbanites will say they are “Chicagoans”.  I am a true Chicagoan.  I was conceived there, born there, raised there and stayed there until that day on October 5, 1976, when I boarded the plane to leave for Fort McClellan, Alabama, for WAC basic training.  BUT … this is about Terri, not me.  I just felt obligated to explain the difference between a “real” Chicagoan versus a “faux” Chicagoan.  (Terri is going to kill me when she reads this “explanation” …. she WAS born in the city of Chicago.)

Terri is protective when it comes to those she loves and cares about.  She was furious when she heard what happened to me on Tuesday.  I was almost relieved that she wasn’t there.  If she had seen how I was treated by Stanley Robinson, LPN, I have no doubt she’d have attempted to tear him to pieces.  Seriously.  Terri hates a bully.  Stanley Robinson, LPN, is a schoolyard bully.  That’s the best way I can think of to describe him.  On the other hand, I knew that between Rocco and Terri, no one was going to hurt me yesterday.  Rocco doesn’t bite but Terri does.  I’m glad Terri is on my side.  Still as the morning wore on, I was getting more and more anxious.  Terri got home from work, changed into civilian clothes (she works for the Pasco County Fire Department) and off we went with Rocco at my side.

We arrived early for my appointment (it’s a habit of mine developed in the Army) and when I checked in to the Dermatology Clinic I noticed an immediate change in attitude.  The same woman who checked me in Tuesday, checked me in on Thursday but her demeanor was completely different.  She actually smiled at me and looked me directly in the eyes.  When I said to her, “Please mark my chart “No males”, she immediately responded with, “Yes, no problemo!”.  Okay, I can handle the Spanish.  I understand simple Spanish.  I told her we’d be waiting outside and she said, “Yes, yes” and out the door we walked.  A couple minutes later, a female nurse walked outside and told us that “Robin” (the PA I was there to see) had just started her 1:20 appointment and would be with us next.  Terri and I just looked at each other.  I told Terri I’d never been treated this well before.  It was apparent that someone had actually talked to the staff in this clinic about my complaint.  I was pleasantly surprised.

Ten minutes later, another female nurse came out to get me and escorted Terri and I back to the exam room to see PA Robin.  PA Robin was, as always, amazing.  She brought in Dr Baldwin (a female) to consult and together they took care of my issue like the professionals they are.  I’ve never had a problem with PA Robin.  She’s always taken spectacular care of me and Rocco likes her, too.

After I was seen and treated, we were escorted to the front desk to make a follow-up appointment.  I was shocked at the VIP treatment.  This was the first time I been treated with such respect by all the staff in the Dermatology Clinic.  Once that was completed, we were escorted to the conference room where our meeting was to take place with the Patient Advocate.

Terri and I walked in and I was a little taken aback to see three women in the room.  I was expecting Patty the Patient Advocate and the “Director of Nursing”.  I was introduced to Loreen Doloresco, MN, RN, NEA-BC, Associate Director, Patient Care/Nursing Services and Pamela H. Smith, MSN, ARNP, Women Veterans Program Manager.  I introduced them to Terri, “my wife” and none of them blinked an eye.  They welcomed her like a long lost friend.  

Once again I was asked to tell the story of what happened to me on Tuesday and I did that.  Yes, it was upsetting but I had Terri with me and the ever present Rocco at my side.  They got to see first hand how Rocco responds to me when I get upset.  Rocco jumped up in my lap and began to kiss away my tears and lick my face as if to say, “It’s okay, Mom.  I’m here for you.”  They asked Terri what he was doing because I had stopped speaking and Terri explained it to them.

I can’t tell you how much time Terri and I spent with those three women but I assure you it was quality time and it was productive.  They didn’t just hear me.  They listened.  They were interested in what I had to say.  Not only that, they were interested in what my wife had to say.  Terri told them that the kind of day I have at the hospital effects her, too, and she’s right.  She doesn’t know which Wendi she is coming home to after I’ve been to the VA Hospital.  If I’ve had a “good” day, she’s going to have a good night.  If I’ve had a day like Tuesday, she’s going to spend the next few days trying to calm me down, pull me out of a hole, she’s going to try to reach into my darkness to try to find me, she’s going to stand by with a box of kleenex.  She knows she can’t touch me when I get like that because I can’t tolerate it.  The slightest touch and I’m jumping clear out of my skin.  She has to speak before coming up behind me so I’m not screaming in fear.

They promised me that corrective action would be taken and judging from the way I was treated when I walked in the door of the Dermatology Clinic, I believe them.  They seemed sincere in wanting to rectify the situation.  For that they have my thanks and gratitude.  It may just start in one clinic but hopefully, with expanded training, it will spread throughout not just “my” VA Hospital, but other VA Hospitals across the Country.  No Veteran should suffer the humiliation that I did last Tuesday be they male or female.

The Women Veterans Program Manager told me about lunchtime seminars she is trying to get started at the Tampa VA Hospital.  I’ve promised her that I will help her spread the word.  Her goal is to get 100 female Vets to show up for the seminars.  I’ll start attending.  Will you?  Let’s show her there are 100 women Vets in the Tampa area willing to listen and learn about programs that can help and educate us.  Stay tuned to this blog for further updates.  I believe the next one will be held in August or September.  I’ll announce it here and on the new VAWATCHDOG Facebook page.

Let me tell you about the power behind those three women.  When we met, they repeatedly mentioned that they’d read my blog.  I had given the Patient Advocate, Patty, one of my business cards and it lists the URL’s to this blog and to VA Watchdog Today dot Org.  I was impressed that they had taken the time to read what I had written.  How many of my blogs they have read I can’t say, but they’ve definitely read the blog prior to this.  AND … they took action for me.

Do you remember my rant about the cancellation of all my psychology appointments?  Someone with the power to change things at the VA read it.  I got a phone call this week regarding those cancellations.  I now have appointments with my psychologist scheduled every week through the end of October.  In my heart I know that came from my meeting with those three incredible women.  Thanks to all of you for making that happen.  You’ve probably saved my life.  I am sincerely grateful to you for making that happen.

I’ve learned some valuable lessons from all this, my friends.  In my case the system worked.  I had a dear friend with me on Tuesday who witnessed my humiliation.  She refused to let the offender get away with it and forced me to go see the Patient Advocate.  I had the good sense to get the offenders name.  Without that, there’s nothing the Patient Advocate can do for you.  The next time you have a run-in with a VA employee, it’s okay to get angry.  Don’t scream and yell.  That won’t do any good.  As difficult as it is, do your very best to remain as outwardly calm as you can.  I was in a barely controlled rage, I admit it, but somehow managed to hang in there long enough to get his name.  Stanley Robinson, LPN.  Take that name and go straight to the Patient Advocate.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect $200.  Don’t scream at the Patient Advocates.  They are there to help you.  The more information you can provide to the Patient Advocate, the better off you are.  If you are complaining to the Patient Advocates at the Tampa VA Hospital than you are damn lucky.  They care.  They really do.  Just look at how quickly they acted on my case.  Look how quickly changes were made.  Look how quickly I got all those psychology appointments.  Yes, they care, Friends, they really do.  They went to bat for me and I got help.  Does the Patient Advocate help in all places and in all cases?  Probably not.  I’m sure you all have your “horror” stories to tell me.  Where are those of you with success stories?  I know you’re out there.  I can’t be the only person in the history of the VA that the Patient Advocates have helped.  Speak up.  Let me hear from others the Patient Advocates have helped.  Let’s give these hard working folks some credit that I know they deserve.  Email your stories to me and I’ll publish them here in this blog.

I’m also blessed to have a wife who stands by me no matter what.  Thank you, Terri.  You are my angel and I love you.  I don’t tell you that enough.  For those of you out there lucky enough to have a spouse or significant other as wonderful as mine, take the time to say “thank you” and “I love you”.  I don’t do that often enough.  Through thick and thin, Terri is always there for me.  It hasn’t been easy for her.  Those of you with PTSD know how difficult we can make it for our spouses.  If you’re a spouse, you know first hand how rough it is living with one of “us”.  I owe a lot to Terri and every day that she stands at my side is another day that I am grateful for.  Even though I have my days that I can’t stand to be touched; I don’t want to be next to her; or she frightens me just by walking up behind me, I know that she loves me and she’s here to support me through the best of times and the worst of times.  I am loved.

Until the next time …..

I’m in a rage today. Stanley Robinson you pissed me off.

Today started out like any other day that I have to get up and go into Tampa for an appointment at the VA Hospital.  The alarm went off at 5:00 a.m.   Rocco, my service dog, began pawing at me to make sure I didn’t roll over and go back to sleep.  He is trained to do that.  He keeps me from laying in bed, day after day, when my depression and PTSD gets the best of me.  Rocco won’t let me hide in my bed.  He paws at me until I get out of my bed.  When you have an 80 pound Doberman pawing at you, you respond … especially when he doesn’t stop pawing at you UNLESS and UNTIL you respond to his “request”.

I had two appointments this morning at the VA Hospital in Tampa.  The first one was uneventful.  A nurse by the name of Charlie (short for Charlotte) in the Specialty Clinic gave me an IV infusion of Reclast.  She did a great job and I barely felt the stick of the needle as she hooked me up.  Thirty minutes later I was done and out of there.  Thanks, Charlie for making my appointment quick and painless.

My next appointment didn’t go quite as well.  That was where I met Stanley Robinson.  I didn’t meet him right away nor did I know his name until after my encounter with him.  I went to the Dermatology Clinic and checked in early for my appointment.  Like I always do, I told the clerk that “I don’t see male healthcare providers”.  This one particular clerk in the Derm Clinic, (sorry, I can’t remember her name) has checked me in before.  She always looks at me like I’m nuts (and yes I am) when I tell her I won’t see male healthcare providers, but she always puts a note on my chart after she makes me repeat myself two or three times.  I sometimes wonder if it’s a language thing.

The waiting area was packed with male Veterans, something that makes me very uneasy, so I told the clerk I would be waiting outside.  Rocco and I turned around and went outside to wait in the heat and the sunshine.  Oh, I didn’t mention I had Rocco with me?  Oh yes.  He goes everywhere with me these days.  Like American Express, I never leave home without him.  He is my constant companion.  He keeps me steady on my feet, he keeps me from falling when my knee goes out, and he calms me when anxiety, panic or PTSD rage kicks in.  He also “blocks” and keeps people from getting in my space.

I had been waiting outside for maybe 15 or 20 minutes when a man in blue scrubs came outside and called my name.  I immediately went on the defensive.  Why did a man have my chart?  He wasn’t supposed to have my chart.  It was marked “females only” and this man was clearly NOT a woman. He may have been a woman in a previous life, but in this rendition he was all male.  I was having none of that.  I said, “I’m Wendi Goodman.”  He told me, “You’re seeing Dr. ‘X’ today”.  I asked him if the doctor was a female because my consult was for a woman doctor.  Apparently he had read my history and knew why I was there because he said to me, “No, the doctor is a male.  We have two males on today.”   I told him, “I don’t see male doctors.”  In that instant, that split second, I felt myself slip from MST Survivor to MST victim.  I let him intimidate me back into the victim role.  Friends, this was the Dermatology Clinic but I had a gyn/derm issue I was being seen for.  He was trying to get into my personal space and Rocco immediately jumped in front of me to “block” him.  Every time I stepped back, that jackass took one step forward towards me to intimidate me.  It was working.  Once again, I felt like a MST victim.  I wished that Rocco was an aggressive dog.  I would’ve loved for Rocco to have taken a chunk out of that SOB, but a good service dog isn’t aggressive nor do they bite.

Our “Hero” then said the one thing that caused me to almost completely lose control.  He said, “there are male gyn doctors and female gyn doctors, there are male derm doctors and female derm doctors.  A doctor is a doctor and it doesn’t matter who you see.”  That was when I felt the switch flip.  Those of you with PTSD know that switch.  You feel the rage come on instantly.  You can hardly control it.  One minute you’re annoyed and the next you’re in a full blown rage.  Rocco knew it.  He leaned into me and I felt his body tense up.  He started nudging me with his nose as if to say, “Come back, Mom, come back”.  I took a very deep breath, unrolled my fingers which were already rolled into fists, and told this idiot, “Look, I’m trying very hard not to get angry and I’m not having much success.  You need to understand something.  I was molested by an Army doctor.  Do you know what that means?  I don’t see male doctors.  Doctors aren’t doctors and I am not seeing a male doctor.” 

He turned around and walked back inside mumbling something about getting me rescheduled.  I was beyond angry at that point.  I was in a rage and barely in control.  Thank goodness I had my friend, Donna, with me.  Between Donna and Rocco I knew I was going to get through the rescheduling process.  After I rescheduled the appointment WITH A WOMAN DOCTOR, I inquired about the man who’d been out to talk to me.  I asked the clerk who he was and she replied, “Rob”.  She was copping an attitude with me, too.  I wanted to scream but I also wanted to get his information and not get thrown off campus.  I asked for his full name and she gave it to me.  Stanley Robinson.  I asked, “Aren’t VA employees required to wear ID badges with their job titles on them?”  The clerk wouldn’t give me a straight answer.  It was obvious she didn’t want to get her buddy in trouble.  She just kept repeating, “I’m wearing mine.”  She was. It was turned around so that I couldn’t see her name.  Then I asked her what his position was.  She replied, “He’s a nurse.”  “What kind of nurse,” I asked, “LPN or RN?”  She told me he’s an “LPN”.  Finally I got at least one straight answer from her.

Armed with all the information I needed, Donna, Rocco and I headed straight up to the Patient Advocate’s office.  If you ever have a complaint about someone or something at the Tampa VA Hospital, go see Patty.  She was kind and compassionate and listened carefully to everything Donna and I told her about Stanley Robinson.  She assured me that she would be contacting the Chief of Dermatology with my complaint about Stanley Robinson.  As I spoke she took very detailed notes.  She was pleased that I had his name.  She told me part of the problem is that they get a lot of complaints about staff, but patients often don’t have the offenders’ name.

One interesting thing she told me is that she doesn’t get many complaints from female Veterans about patient care.  I told her that I could’ve reported many male employees over the last four years with this same type complaint but I’ve never done it because of the intimidation factor.  In fact, had it not been for Donna’s encouragement and support,  I would’ve been a victim again today.  I never would’ve reported it had I been there by myself.  I would’ve just let it go and chalked it up to being a victim again.  Thanks for being there, Donna.  I told her that across the United States that’s a common theme with women Veterans.

I have to go back to that clinic on Thursday.  Am I afraid to go back there?  You’re damn right I am.  I stood outside and announced to everyone within earshot that I was assaulted by an Army doctor.  I told it to Stanley Robinson.  I’m almost positive he got a good laugh out of that one.  I don’t expect to be coddled but for cryin’ out loud, when they put on my record that I don’t see male healthcare providers, I don’t expect to be questioned or told that “a doctor is a doctor”.  There’s something called “patient rights” and I will see ONLY the providers I want to see.  If that means I see only female nurses and doctors, that’s my choice and who the hell is Stanley Robinson to tell me “a doctor is a doctor”.  Just walking in that hospital is a trigger for me.  What happened to me today … well, it didn’t help any, that’s for damn sure.  And what happens if I see Stanley on Thursday?  I think I’ll just drug myself up on anxiety meds and hope for the best.  Wish me luck.

In the meantime, FUCK YOU, Stanley Robinson.  I hope you get what you deserve.  (Pardon my french to those who might be offended by it).

AND THEN I COME HOME TO READ THE FOLLOWING:

Marine: Tie psych treatment to disability pay – Army News | News from Afghanistan & Iraq – Army Times

A Marine combat veteran who suffered a mental breakdown as a result of war-related trauma said he might have received earlier help if his disability pay had been contingent upon his getting treatment.

Daniel J. Hanson, 27, who said he spent his disability checks on “booze and strip clubs,” said he needed a push from the Veterans Affairs Department to get help that never came until he attempted suicide and ended up in a faith-based program called Minnesota Teen Challenge.

Testifying on Tuesday before the House Veterans’ Affairs Committee, Hanson said he never asked for help in the Marine Corps, and VA’s help wasn’t enough. In the Marines, Hanson said the fact he was an administrative specialist surrounded by infantrymen made him reluctant to speak up. “In a battalion of 1,000 Marines, I didn’t think anyone wanted to hear my complaining,” he said.

  CLICK ON THE LINK ABOVE TO READ THE REST OF THE STORY

 I’m not yet service connected for PTSD but I am service connected for major depressive disorder.  This Marine thinks our disability checks should be tied to getting help from the VA?  That’s CRAP if you ask me.  Pure, unadulterated crap.  He’s obviously never tried to get on a regular schedule with my psychologist at the Brooksville Community Based Outpatient Clinic.  I had an appointment last week with my psychologist.  She wants to see me every two weeks and has been trying to get me set up on that kind of schedule.  It took a long time to do it but she finally managed it.  I was scheduled for every two weeks in a new clinic they set up for her patients.  Well, guess what.  They cancelled that clinic and along with that, they cancelled all my appointments.  When I got the call that my appointments had been cancelled I asked, “so when is my next appointment?”  I was told, July 22nd.  I was told this at the end of May.  I screamed at the clerk, “I can’t wait that long to see my doctor.  I’ll kill myself!”  In that moment, I meant what I was saying.  I was in a very depressed state and needed to talk.  I must’ve scared the scheduling clerk.  She gave me back all the appointments she’d cancelled but at different times.  A few days later I was back at the VA Hospital (yes, I practically live there) and I received an updated appointment list.  Once again, all my psych appointments in Brooksville had been cancelled.  It turns out that the clerk had put me in at times that the doctor wasn’t available!  No one had called to tell me my appointments had been cancelled.  Again.  I only found out because I’d gotten an updated appointment list.

When I read the article about disability pay being tied to VA healthcare/psych treatment, all I could think about was how difficult a time that I have getting in to see my psychologist.  What kind of demands would they put on us for treatment?  How often would we have to see our doctors?  Would they require inpatient treatment?  That brings up an entirely different subject … at least for me it does.  I can’t go to an inpatient program in Tampa.  They don’t have an all womens program or an all womens floor.  It’s well documented in my records that I’m terrified of men.  I have told my doctors I will go to the women’s inpatient program out in California at the VA there but they won’t spend the funds to send me.  They won’t fee basis me to a local women’s program either.  Too expensive.  Every time they’ve talked to me about admitting me to the Tampa VA Hospital, I’ve had a complete meltdown.  They won’t let me bring Rocco and they can’t promise me that I’ll be placed in a room with a lock on the door.  And that’s supposed to make me feel safe?  Yeah.  Right.  Tying treatment to my disability check?  What a freaking joke.  We were soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines and coasties.  We were responsible for millions of dollars of equipment.  We were responsible for the lives of our buddies.  Now we’re Veterans but we still have that discipline that was drilled into us when we served.  I believe that we should each take responsibility for our own care.  It isn’t up to the doctors or the VA to push us into care.  WE applied for disability pay because WE knew we had a disability.  No one twisted my arm to file a claim.  How about you?  Did you think that meant take the money and run?  Did you think you weren’t, at some point, going to be called back in for a re-exam of your disability(ies)?  Think again.  The VA doesn’t want to keep paying you.  They want you to get better.  They will do anything to stop paying us.  We all know that.  So go to treatment.  If you happen to improve over time and stabilize, expect your disability rating to decrease, especially if you’re fool enough to apply for an increase when you’ve gotten better.  If you don’t get better, if you get worse, than apply for an increase.  Just … go… for… treatment.  I believe it’s our responsibility to ourselves.  Just because some of you choose to take your money and drink it away doesn’t mean the rest of us should suffer for your mistakes.  Am I wrong here?  What do you all think?  Am I blowing this out of proportion?  

The final thing that has me pissed is this.  I have an old friend.  We’ve been friends for over 30 years now.  We met while we were both stationed at Fort Leonard Wood back in ’79.  This woman is one of the kindest, gentle women I’ve ever met.  She never asks for anything and would give you the shirt off her back or her last buck if she thought you needed it more than she did.  When we were young troops back in the day, we rented a three bedroom apartment in Buckhorn, Missouri, just off I44 a few miles from Ft Wood.  We paid $125 each month to live in WWII barracks that had been converted into apartments.  They had no insulation.  We roasted in the summer and froze in the winter.  We survived on hot dogs, bolgna and mac & cheese.  We lived off post and we were in paradise.  It was a struggle but we made it through some really hard times; financial, emotional and physical.  I PCS’d to Germany in December ’81 and my friend PCS’d six months later.  She was stationed in Landstuhl and I was in Vilseck.  It was a short drive so we were able to see each other often.  

Over the years our lives took different twists and turns but we’ve always been there for one another.  We’ve been there for each other through countless relationships both good and bad, illnesses, the deaths of family and friends.  Whenever there was news to share, good or bad, we both knew who to call for a sympathetic ear without judgement.  We had each others friendship since 1979.  No questions, no judgement.  Just a sympathetic ear.  I remember driving home to Chicago from New Mexico in 1993.  I was going back to Chicago on emergency leave.  My mother had just been diagnosed with a brain tumor and was going in the hospital for brain surgery.  I was desperate to get to Chicago before my mother went into surgery.  I was going to be driving right by my friend’s house on the way to Chicago so I called her from the road to tell her I was on my way.  I was tired and I needed a shower and a couch to sleep on for a couple of hours.

When I arrived at my friends house and walked in the front door I smelled something familiar.  It was the smell of chicken and dumplings, one of the favorite things she used to make for me.  She knew me well enough to know that I was frantic to get to Chicago and hadn’t stopped to eat while I was on the road.  After I called her from the road, she had put on a pot of chicken and dumplings just for me.  She fed me when I arrived, sent me to take a hot shower and then put me in her bed while she and her husband slept on the couch.  That’s a true friend.

My friend called me this past Saturday morning at 8:00.  I didn’t know it because I was still asleep.  I get my best sleep starting 4:00 a.m.  By then, I’ve been awake most of the night and I pass out from exhaustion.  During the week, Rocco wakes me by 8:00.  On the weekends, my wife wakes up first and she takes Rocco out of the bedroom so that I can sleep in.  That’s why I missed my friends first call.  My wife didn’t want to wake me at 8:00.  She doesn’t know my friend as well as I do and didn’t understand that a call from her at 8:00 a.m. meant she was reaching out for help.

I called my friend back and the first thing I asked was, “What’s wrong?”.  She told me.  I won’t relay the whole sordid story.  My friend, even though she will remain nameless, deserves to keep the story between us.  What I will tell you is that for the first time in all the years I’ve known her, she asked me for help.  She got into a financial bind and needs help.  She didn’t ask me for a dime.  She would never do that.  She asked me to help her find a Veterans program that would help her out.  She’s 100% disabled and draws SSDI so that knocks her out of traditional cash assistance programs.  I started digging and found there really isn’t a whole lot out there for Vets to get immediate cash assistance on a one time basis.  

As an Army Vet, she does qualify to go through the Army Emergency Relief fund to apply for help.  That’s one route we’re trying.  I hope it works for her.  But this is what pisses me off.  This all happened on Saturday, 11 June.  I’m writing this blog on 14 June.  On Saturday I composed an email and sent it out to the VFW, the American Legion and the DAV.  I explained her situation in great detail and told them all she needs is cash assistance to get her through just this month.  A grant would be great, a loan is acceptable.  I gave them my phone number and asked them to call me if they had further questions.  Thank you for your time, blah, blah, blah.  As of this morning, I hadn’t received a single response from any of the organizations.

Was I surprised I hadn’t gotten any responses?  No.  Everyone told me I was wasting my time.  Everyone told me that unless I was a card carrying, dues paying member, none of those organizations would give me the time of day.  After checking email this morning, I was ready to admit the naysayers were right and I had wasted my time.  I was pissed.  They send us emails, they solicit us on Facebook, they advertise everywhere you can think of to try to get our money; to try to get us to become members.  Yet I tried to get help for one Veteran and none of them had the balls to even tell me to go to hell.  Yeah, I was pissed.  I was all set to sit down and write a blog about how rotten all of them were and how they all ignore the plight of needy Veterans.

This afternoon something happened to change my mind about ONE of those organizations.  I got a phone call from the VFW in Iowa which is where my friend lives.  The gentleman who called me, Mr. Stark, normally deals with family members of deployed service members.  The State AG passed my email on to him rather than a service officer, he said, because he’s got more time than the service officers.  He’d made some phone calls before he contacted me and they were going to do their best to assist my friend.  He said my email was detailed enough that he knew what he needed to get assistance going for her.  

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing!  After the shit I’d gone through at the Dermatology Clinic with Stanley Robinson, and then having to retell the tale to the Patient Advocate, I needed something good like this to bring me back to reality.  My friend was going to get some help.  I don’t know how much help, but she’s going to get SOME help and it’s coming from the VFW in her home town.  I couldn’t thank Mr. Stark enough times.  I called my friend and I could hear the relief in her voice when I gave her the news.

I still haven’t heard back from the DAV or the American Legion.  I don’t expect to.  They can kiss my ass.  Having said that …. I now say this.  Thank you so much to the VFW in the State of Iowa for helping my old friend.  It means a lot to both of us. 

Now that I have all that off my chest I think I can finally say this:

Until the next time, my friends …….