Tag Archives: The VA

Veterans, The Least of These?

9 Nov

A scripture exerpt: Then they themselves also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not take care of You?’ “Then He will answer them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.’ ~Matthew 25

 

*Personal Disclaimer: My mind is full of so many details and directions. I will attempt to briefly lay out the gist and hope for a cohesive presence.

It is inconceivable to me that our veteran’s suffer at the hands of a medical system inadequately established to care for the men and women who offer their body, mind and often times spirit in sacrifice for the rest of us. Why are the powers-that-be not reorganizing this health care system to better accommodate the needs at hand? I exhale loudly as I contemplate the complexity of the question. The profound respire of frustration.

You see I sat with my son for each and every appointment he had at the VA. There were many and at various locations–Los Angeles, Long Beach, Laguna Niguel. Hoped for Palo Alto, but denied. Looked into La Jolla, denied. We would bring our own lunch cooler, games and the best patience we could muster. Neurology, for example: After the 3 to 4 hour wait, we would meet with a resident doctor from the local University California system. The resident would take notes. Another hour and then the specialist would enter the room. Despite the notes from the resident, the same questions would fly. And result? Nothing. “Sorry but I don’t think the VA will approve that treatment. I’ll submit the request but it is doubtful. I’ll see you back here in another month.” And commonly the appointment is re-scheduled because the speciliast has to travel to teach.  What in the world is the VA doing using military veterans as tools for the educational system? The UC system is impacted in and of itself, let alone sharing it’s depletion with the VA. …it boils my blood.

I am getting closer to sharing Cole’s story, or at least pulling back the veil in snipets. His story is complex and well layered. He was on the front lines in Afghanistan with a malignant brain tumor, but was told he had mental illness. Three Army hospitals failed to extend the proper diagnostics to catch the tumor early on. In fact it was Cole who sensed the issue, but only after grappling for months with what the Marine Corps was telling him–that he was subpar. And of course they would think that, the Army hospitals were confirming as much. His tumor was discovered here in our home hospital, only after Cole insisted in the ER that he would not leave without a CT scan. End scene.

This morning my husband asked the most unusual question, “Would you want to hike up to the flag pole with me today?” Now if you know me, you know that I LOVE to hike. You would also know that Brian (my other half) does not. So when he asked me, and being I had the day off from work, I jumped at the chance and gave an emphatic, positive reply. Being that Veteran’s Day is heading toward us this week, my heart is a bit sensitive. Veteran’s Day also falls the day before our daughter’s birthday. These two dates are bitter sweet for our family. Without Cole by our side, celebrations of any kind are. And the flag pole hike is one that I have traversed with Cole alone, prior to his tumor discovery. So this morning as I was retracing steps long ago taken with my son by my side, and being the very trail is named “Patriot Trail,” additionally the flag waving atop the ridgeline was secured as an Eagle Scout project (Cole earned his Eagle Scout in January of 2009) my mind was busy in pondering. I thought of our own story, layered and well suited for a lawsuit or two. But as I think of the legal road, I can’t escape the question, “for what and to whom would that benefit?” I can sue the Army, Marine Corps and VA but that won’t bring Cole back to our family. Sure a little financial gain is a temptation, I won’t lie. Especially as expenses from the experience mount. But the gain of financial security seems pointless when Cole’s story is the unfortunate story of many of our veteran’s. No, I must hang on and invest the energy needed to “tell the tale” for the greater good–the men and women still living.

One of Cole’s best friends from the Corps is one such person. In Texas he is currently experiencing the same “run around” for a condition that should (and could) easily be remidied. When I think of my calling as a servant of The Most High, I cannot forget the living. And as such I remember the words of Jesus as written in the book of Matthew. Of course with teaching from Jesus there are multiple lessons imparted, though I am honing in on “the least of these.” Essentially Jesus is saying to those he is teaching that when considering people of lesser circumstances, you are simultaneously considering the Heavenly Father. And should you disregard those facing unfortunate pathways, you also disregard God. Thus to garner favor for the Bent family only feels wrong, when so many are presently living Cole’s story. Which brings me to my next question, “how did our military veteran’s get relegated to the category of ‘least of these’?” The idea of it sickens my soul.

This Veteran’s Day I will visit the grave of my son. I will hate every minute of it. But amidst my sorrow and longing for his return I will also seek strength. Strength to find the path of action which will lead to reform. Our military service people deserve it.

Patriot Trail San Juan Capistrano

Rivka at the Flag Pole on Patriot Trail

 

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Interior Design

23 Feb

Today is the 3rd morning after I wrote my previous post .  In that particular writing I had avowed to start my day off with prayer, before even getting out of bed.  Well I am here to tell you that today is the third day I have awoke, jumped out of bed, flew to the kitchen for a drink of water, mozied over to the coffee pot to start my brew, only to remember:  I FORGOT TO START MY DAY WITH PRAYER!  Back to my bed I run…  Run, written in the present tense because it is a present condition until a new habit is formed.

(I am tempted to interject the song, Three Days, by K.D. Lang, but I will spare you the musical interlude–just know that I am a walking jukebox and pretty much have a tune for every word, thought, and occasion)

How quickly I have adjusted to my habit of self focus, how difficult to redirect the interior of my design.  I am thankful for this blog.  It has, even in the slightest, kept me on a track I wish to follow.  By simply being a reminder to my soul of the desire of my heart.  Apparently, I need the help.  I can tell you that going back to bed and forcing myself to converse with The Almighty G-d has truly been an effective method in strengthening, me.  Now if you have been reading my musings for a bit of time, you will know that I tend to not divulge the intimate details of what transpires here at home.  Those details belong to not just myself, but my husband, son, and daughter.  Only after I feel the circumstance is “safe” will I allow myself the freedom to share beyond the ambiguous notion of the end result.  But to help illuminate, for you the reader, the ‘why and how’ of the impact of starting the day off with prayer, I must let you have a closer look into how thin my psyche has been worn.

Example: If one prays for a miracle, and then receives a yes answer to said prayer, one would think that the requester of the miracle would recognize its presence.  At least I would consider that to be true.  Except just the opposite has happened to me.

My birthday came and went like the breeze, this past January.  And on that particular day we received a call (actually my son did), from his doctor telling him that there was an area of abnormality which showed up on the routine MRI’s he had, had the previous day.  I quickly accessed the report myself and sent it off, via email, to his neurosurgeon.  Unfortunately after having spent the last two years inundated in this new world of brain tumors and 4th ventricular ependymoma, I am now educated enough in MRI reports to understand the circumstance of the abnormal reading…but only enough to be slightly dangerous to myself.  At any rate, all fingers (so to speak) pointed to disease recurrence.  And his next set of xrays, which were going to take a closer look at the area in question, were not for another week.  So we Bents, along with the neurosurgeon at the VA, our private neurosurgeon who performed the original surgery, and Cole’s many other doctors were 99% positive the cancer had returned.  Yet for some crazy reason (actually not crazy at all, but indicative of lives living by faith), we were holding onto the 1% chance…hoping for a miracle.

I am happy to report that the follow up tests showed there was no cancer, only an “artifact left over from the original surgery.”  AN ARTIFACT!!!  I can’t tell you how relieved we all are.  The neurosurgeon’s email response to me was priceless, “Whew. OMG!”  But you know what?  I had been so exhausted from the accumulation of stress upon my soul that I didn’t even consider the miracle of the news.  It was actually my brother, who was finally able to get a hold of me a few days later, who said, “well I think we’ve witnessed a miracle.”  My response? …oh yeah, wow, I guess we have.

Now that, my friend’s, is sad.  A girl living by faith, yet so bogged down that she can’t even see her Father in action!  That was my wake-up call.  My trumpet sound, my slap in the face.  A change needed to come, and I am the only person who could(can) enact it.  And that is why, three days ago I wrote the post, “Better Homes and Garbage” about beginning anew.  Redecorating my inner walls.  And why, for three mornings I have run back to my bed to honor the recognition of the doomed state from which I desire to leave.

Now can I get a witness?? 🙂

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Keeping House in Purgatory

27 Jan

I like to arrange furniture.  Actually, I like to arrange, re-arrange, and flat out design rooms for functionality, efficiency, comfort, and visual delight.  Thankfully I am married to a design junkie as well.  He not only enables my inclinations, but he is a full packaged resource when it comes to any and all of my fancies–whether it be the design or the build.  Sometimes we work together to formulate a new quadrant creation, and sometimes we work as fast as thieves to get our vision to the end product before the other spouse can override the desired change.  All in all, we have loads of fun in either situation.  And we both enjoy keeping a non-cluttered environment where we can rest from the excitement of the world outside, and welcome friends and family to the Bent life as we live it.

Note: For some reason I am really struggling to write this post in English.  My thoughts are being driven by my Spanish speaking mind and translating to the Germanic language is a challenge.  …just something for you, the reader, to keep in mind as you meander through this literary presentation.

In fact, right now I sit in my living room mentally wanting to give into the call of slumber which comes as result of the sun beaming through the window, warming the sofa making the ideal location for an afternoon nap.

my sofa

The sun drenched couch

However, the longing of the mind to rest is being thwarted by the accelerative properties of the caffeine present within the large cup-o-joe I just ingested a few moments ago.  I am also unsure of what the next hour will bring for my weary mind and body, thus the trepidation of the forthcoming is keeping me from the prone position for now.  What might the next hour bring? you ask…

Well, it could mean another trek to the hospital with my son, Cole.  My poor son has suffered so much in these past 3 years, and yet he continues this route with a frequency too consistent too feel as if he has ever caught a real break.  And with him we ride, alongside his struggles, his sufferings, and his visits to the ER.  And as much as he wishes for himself that his cycle of pain, diagnostics, and medicinal ‘Russian Roulette’ would stop, he remains quite sensitive to the infliction his course imposes upon his family.  This is not a course for the faint of heart!  And though I personally feel we are in a Purgatory-like state, he feels as if this IS Hell.  I say, not quite Hell just yet because we are inching ever closer to a proper course of treatment for a decent quality of life.  I say, let us not give up our chores of dusting the furniture and vacuuming the rugs just yet.  This temporary place of torture, I believe is drawing close to its end; But we have been keeping house in this locale for so long now, I can understand why Cole is convinced it is Hell.

Now I must go and evaluate the condition of my son, who is in his room doing his best to distract his mind from the heaviness upon his body.  But before I take my leave from my free therapy of the day, I will properly give thanks to the Roman Catholic religion for providing me with the analogous place of the interim.  Without it, I just might forget where I am and get lost in the idea that we are here, in this moment, forever.

 

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