LISTEN

When I decided to start a blog, I thought I would be writing about the adversities in my life. I didn’t realize it was the pain of others, people I don’t really know, that would lead to my first entry. But it has.

We were having a busy day at work, going from one call to the next, and it seemed every other unit around us was just as busy. So, trying to help out, my officer took a call that would have gone to another truck, since we were clearing our call and around the corner from the one being dispatched. It was for a “down and out”. A “down and out” in our city is someone that is intoxicated to the point of not being able to take care of themselves, in a public place, and often intoxicated to the point of being unable to arouse. Many times, because of where we live, these people are often Native American Indians. There were already two police officers with this man, I’ll call him Steve, as we arrived. As we walked up to Steve, a native American, sitting on the steps outside a church, with a puddle of vomit in front of him, I was thinking, “OK, nothing new, our usual down and out”. Then one of the officers said, “This is Steve. He’s a vet of the war in Afghanistan, with PTSD, and he’s having a hard day.” As I turned to take a better look at him, I noticed he had a left arm amputation just below the shoulder. OK. Screeching halt. As soon as I heard that, my mind raced back to a blog written by a fellow crossfitter, AJ, also a marine, dealing with PTSD. http://www.crossfitalbuquerque.com/news/what-has-crossfit-done-for-me/   As I started to take Steve’s vital signs and we assessed him, we learned that his choice of intoxication that day was vanilla extract. He had already downed 16 oz and had another 8 oz bottle in waiting to continue to self medicate. As I started to talk to Steve, I learned that he received his injury driving in a caravan. He had his arm on the edge of his window when a RPG hit it directly, tearing through his arm, and the door, only to find his buddy that was sitting in the passenger seat. That RPG took his buddy out the other side of the vehicle and pushed Steve into the passenger seat. Steve survived, his friend didn’t. He also told me that he joined the marines intending to make it his career, he made master sergeant in four years, and he got out in 2006 due to his injury. Since 2006, he has been to the Veterans Hospital 8 to 9 times to get a prosthetic for his arm, and has been put on a list to receive help for PTSD, and still has not received help, or the prostethic. I’d like to think this wasn’t a line of bullshit. The look in his eyes was that of hopelessness and being lost, a look validating his words.

According to an article written by NBCnews.com, 1 in 8 of our solders coming home experience PTSD, and over 1500 of our solders are coming home as amputees - Huffington Post. It is no wonder Steve can’t get help. It seems that our VA system was broke before, I can only imagine the strain it is feeling now. I seriously wanted to put Steve in our truck and take him to the VA, and well, raise hell. But, how do we help? How do we as emergency responders help the hundreds coming back to our area when we come across this? Especially when we offer to take him to the VA and his response is “They haven’t listened to me yet, why would I want to go back there.”

Meanwhile, some young kid rides by on a bike and yelled out "Fucking drunk Indian!". I understand that kids frustration, I deal with it every day at work, but at that moment I just wanted to pull him off his bike and give him a verbal lashing. Ok, I really wanted the bottom of my boot to find his head. This "fucking drunk Indian" was different. This guy fought for your freedom, white college boy. This guy gave up his freedom, signing his life to the military, so you can ride around shouting derogatory statements at "down and outs".  This guy was willing to make a career out of defending your rights. Yup, boot to the head.

I wanted to take Steve to our crossfit gym, and show him all the possibilities, even for amputees. How it has changed lives of vets with PTSD, such as AJ. I wanted to find any and all support groups for PTSD and make sure he had access to them. I wanted to make sure he had all the opportunities to live, to live a life of quality. But, all I could do for Steve was talk him into giving me his last bottle of vanilla, and try to reassure him that the people transporting him to the hospital, would try and get him someone to talk to.

I'm hoping being able to listen to him that day, helped in someway.