You have to be kidding me

The Veterans Affairs at one point was championing the idea of Service Dogs for help with PTSD.  Here is the latest.

Full article here:
http://www.stripes.com/va-says-no-service-dogs-benefits-warranted-for-ptsd-sufferers-1.188166

The Department of Veterans Affairs will pay service-dog benefits to veterans with vision, hearing or mobility-related injuries but not to veterans suffering only with post-traumatic-stress-disorder and other mental health disabilities.

A 67-page, final draft of rules concerning veterans in need of service dogs was published today in the Federal Register and will become final in 30 days. In justifying its decision, the VA cited “nationally established” and “widely accepted” training protocols for sight, hearing and mobility-assistance dogs and the lack of similar training protocols for mental health service dogs.

In addition, because there is little clinical research on mental health service dogs, the “VA has not yet been able to determine that these dogs provide medical benefit to veterans with mental illness.”

“Until such determination can be made, VA cannot justify providing benefits for mental health service dogs,” according to a pre-released copy of the rules obtained by The Palm Beach Post on Tuesday.

Veterans with service dogs were baffled by the rule.

“You get doctors and people telling you that you’re not disabled enough,” said Jim Stanek, an infantryman in the U.S. Army who served three tours of combat duty in Iraq. Stanek, who has been diagnosed with PTSD and traumatic brain injury, helped found Paws and Stripes, a non-profit group in Albuquerque, New Mexico, that provides service dogs and training to veterans with PTSD and mental health disabilities.

“What do I have to do? Have my leg amputated?” Stanek asked. “Is that what I need to do to get what I need to recover?”

Service dogs are individually trained to perform tasks for a specific person. Some of the tasks performed to assist veterans with PTSD include surveying darkened rooms, turning on lights, re-orienting their owner during nightmares or flashbacks, navigating through crowds, sensing anxiety, enforcing boundaries for personal space and retrieving a cellphone, said Sally Chester, secretary of Genesis Assistance Dogs Inc. of West Palm Beach.

The only thing I can think of is that the VA has to save money so the govt can take better care of illegals.  "Screw the guy who was born here, fought for us, and now is to sick to live alone or support himself.  We need to care for that random guy who isn't supposed to be here in the first place."

United Airlines Employees Abuse Disabled Veteran and His Service Dog

Not my work so I cant take credit for it.  I am going to post it here though in hopes that every single American sees this.  Jim is asking for nothing more than people to be aware.  I would personally be out for blood.  Jim is clearly further in his coping skills than I am.

PTSD/TBI Veteran's service dog kicked TWICE while traveling with US Airways.
Full story

I want to echo his words....   Tell everyone!!!  Share it on FB, Twitter, your blogs, heck send smoke signals until every single American sees his story!!!!!!

Sad but True

It is a well known fact that America’s armed forces can and will deploy anywhere in the world at a moment’s notice.  Whether it be to Iraq, Somalia, Japan, Iwo Jima or Haiti; American men and women are ready to go boots dry against any force human or nature.  The American people know this and accept it as their way of life.  Sure there are protesters and fanatics, even scholars that have their own two cents to offer. Generally speaking though, the country accepts it as how we are.  American leaders know it too, and have no issues sending these men and woman to take on dictators and catastrophes sometimes again insurmountable odds.  For a while we all wave our flags and shout “Go USA!”  Then where does everyone go?

During WWII Americans saved cans and changed production in factories across the country.  People bought War Bonds to help fund our mission.  Then the war finish and the nation partied.  What happened after 11% of the nation fought to win the war?  What happened after the 12 years that 4.3% of Americans fought tooth and nail in the jungles of Vietnam?  You don’t hear stories of them after they came home.  Most don’t even think about it again unless it’s brought up in conversation.  Today, .45% of American men and women have shouldered wars on two fronts, offered emergency aid to numerous nations in need such as Japan and Haiti, policed the borders for drug runners, and even fought off pirates.... simultaneously!  For the first time in history so few are doing so much.  What happens to them now?  We got Sadam and Bin Laden.  The president has ordered the troops home.  Where will these veterans go?

They are the men and women sitting on the train, or getting movie tickets in front of you.  You don’t know it because as Americans, we tend to forget about those people.  They did their job, we won, now let’s talk about other people.  The WWII vets are dying off now and suffered for years with what many of the Vietnam vets have decided being homeless is better than.  Inadequate care is what they all got.  To make matters worse, they didn’t get enough of that care, and they had to battle to get what they did get.  I watched a WWII pilot on his electric scooter run out of air before he could be seen and fitted for new glasses.  I am proud to be part of that .45% and would do it again in a heartbeat.  But I am appalled with the way America takes care of her protectors.  How can a nation as ready to send their forces into harm’s way, be so quick to neglect those same men and women.  As if things aren’t bad enough, doctors are misdiagnosing patients just so save bureaucratic dollars.  Washington talks on a regular basis about cutting funds to care for those very same people.

Right now there is an epidemic of veterans coming home with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  There are private practices trying innovative new ways to actually treat the problem and having success.  What does this country do?  They feed drugs in large quantity to affected vets not to treat the sickness, but to put them in a walking coma until they quit complaining.  “Oh you can’t sleep?  Here are some narcotics to knock you out.”  “Can’t leave your house because you are so afraid of what might happen?  Good, then you can’t come here and ask for more help.”

“That just sounds insane.”
“It can’t be the truth.”
“No way would the greatest nation in the world mistreat people so badly.”
“Surely it only seems that way.”

Like I said before I served as part of that less than half of one percent.  I also came home sick like so many of my brothers and sisters.  Like them I was a hero that everyone cheered on.  Like them I did what was asked to preserve our way of life.  And like them, I now barely exist.  We are drugged up to the point we don’t know what’s going.  If the meds don’t numb us, the sickness pushes it away from us.  So many have already chosen death over an existence where things like Thanksgiving dinner are nothing but a nightmare of what used be.  We can tell you the movements of every threat around us, but can’t remember what day our kids were born.  We sit in our houses, unable to hold a job, constantly checking the locks and keeping everyone and everything at a safe distance.  For far too many, the war rages on inside of us.  You can’t see these war wounds.  You can’t watch these disabled on the Special Olympics.  They are the silent wounded.

What is this great nation doing about these people?  The same as every other vet of course.  They are sweeping them to the side.  They are getting the same inadequate help, but can’t even sit there long enough for their air tanks to run out.  They can’t even walk into the building.  If they do manage to pull together the courage to get in and demand the help they deserve, then “take a number” like everyone else.  When their number gets called they are railroaded by doctor after doctor who sole purpose in life is to discount the severity of their sickness.  Time after time, they are made to relive the events that made them so sick.  They are pushed beyond their limits so that those doctors get paid.  The same money going to pay all of these doctors could pay for much better treatment, but in the grand scheme the government saves money having these cynical quacks.  Even if you have been diagnosed by a VA doctor as having PTSD and are being treated, you still get to go be judged by someone whose very job is to say “You are making it up” or “Oh you’re not as bad as you think.”

What is going to happen when American boys and girls stop joining?  When they see what the future holds for them and they “say no way”, then who will fight?  “A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life wrote a blank check made payable to ‘The United States of America’ for an amount of ‘up to and including my life.’”  Maybe it’s time for The United States of America to write a check payable to its veterans for an amount of whatever it takes to thank you for our freedom.

Interviewed by Friends

I thought maybe it would be worth while to do a sort of Q&A type post so I asked some of my friends to list off questions they had about PTSD and how it has affected me.


• How did you know there was a problem? What were the symptoms?

I guess it all started to take shape in my mind when I would get mad at my daughter for doing normal kid things.  Around the same time I started getting really paranoid about my co-workers.  Before that I was very security minded about the house and kept a pistol by the bed, but that seemed normal to me.  The screaming at the kids for things I couldn’t explain seemed odd.  I had developed a serious irritability issue.  I had pushed any thoughts of me being sick or different in any way out of my head by telling myself it was from not sleeping well and issues at work.  As I type this, I am looking at myself in hind sight and the signs are all there.

• How did you find out what it was?

I actually went to the doctor to get help with my anxiety and anger.  I had moved to Canada where it was peaceful and serene.  I married a girl who was best friend.  Everything should have been great.  Instead I was angry and irritable.  I actually went to the doctor for the sole reason that I was afraid for my wife’s well being.  By this time, we all were assuming that I had some kind of PTSD, but didn’t think it was all that bad.

• Did the military prepare you for your return to civilian life?  How?

The navy has what they call TAP classes.  It stands for transition assistance program.  It was a pretty decent help for shifting to civilian life on a professional level.  I got some great information on writing resumes and interviewing for jobs.  I got an idea of some of the rights I had earned and was told what documents to keep track of to entitle me to those rights.  Unfortunately by the time I was getting out of the Navy, the damage was done.  There wasn’t anything that could prepare me for a life like this.  There wasn’t even any way of describing the change of pace.  Military life is very high speed low drag.  Maybe the shift to the slow boring lifestyle of being a civilian is what the most notable difference is.  I keep looking for something to excite me and nothing seems to do it.

• What is the most problematic symptom from your point of view?

The worst part for me is knowing that I get to deal with this the rest of my life.  The thought of living another 30, 40, maybe even 50 years constantly looking over my shoulder and choking down pills is indescribable.  There are times I don’t know how I am going to get through the day.  If I have those days one a week, I’m doing pretty well lately.  To think of having to deal with another 2500 of those days is reason enough to want to tap out.  I was talking to one of my support crew about an experimental treatment that could cure the disease in as little as 5 minutes and a single shot to the neck.  I told her that at this point, it’s either the needle or the gun.  The medications I am on, the way I feel all the time, the inability to keep people close to me, and the side effects of my illness is just too much for anyone to handle for such a long period of time.  I am tired of it all now.

• How has this changed your everyday life?

I wish I could think of an aspect that hasn’t been affected by my illness.  Every day home life is mostly the same.  I can do anything a normal person can around the house, but I have extra precautions I take.  I require a quieter home than I think most do.  I couldn’t live in Manhattan for example.  Part of the need for quiet is so that I can keep track of my surroundings.  I take note if a car goes by or a neighbor closes car door.  To me, there is nothing that just makes noise.  I have to investigate everything that goes bump in the night.  In the back of my mind, the tree branch is hitting the window because someone is climbing the tree.
There are things that I simply can’t handle.  These things lead to instant panic attacks and disrupt my whole state of being.  I mentioned before that when children play it gets to me.  My mother has two small dogs.  Small dogs tend to yap for no reason.  This gets me twice.  First, it’s a distraction from my surroundings and a weak spot to my security.  It is the kind of distraction that someone watching me would set off just before making their attack so my guard would be down.  Second, working with my service dog means that I am keyed to the dog’s reactions to the world.  If my service dog starts barking at something, I need to check it out.  I can’t turn that off.  It’s not something I can sit there and tell myself “that dog is mental, just pay attention to yours.”  I am also very sensitive to the emotional tension in my surroundings.  If two family members are fighting for example, I get tense.  The paranoia sets in and all of a sudden they are fighting over me or something I have done.  Between being tense and paranoid, I have to retreat to try and settle down.  Because that fight was over something I had done, calming down will normally mean that I get upset with myself for everything in my life that isn’t how I want it.  Something as simple as a couple arguing over what was for dinner three nights ago sets off a chain reaction in me that ends in depression that can last for days.

• What types of things are you unable to do because of your symptoms and problems from PTSD?

This is something that PTSD vets really struggle with.  The natural course of the illness is to shut off the outside world and hide away.  I have a service dog that I am training myself.  That forces me to go out to places I otherwise would avoid.  Now I find that I can do some of the things I couldn’t do before, but with limitations.  I can now go shopping for example.  I am not able to wait in lines and I need to either go to smaller stores or go when there is less of a crowd.  I can’t handle public transit yet, and I refuse to even try a movie theatre.  I injured myself last summer and needed to be taken to the hospital for treatment.  I had actually cut from halfway up my forehead down the bridge of my nose and my nostril with a chainsaw.  The labyrinth of rooms and constant distractions at the hospital had me convinced I could deal with my injuries on my own.  I had to get out of there.  The doctors actually had to put me out to even assess the damage.

• What helps you most getting through the day?

I have a service dog that helps more than I could ever describe.  At home he is the best friend anyone could ever ask for.  He will never judge me or create chaos.  He will listen to anything I have to say and even laying there petting him alleviates massive amounts of stress.  We play ball outside or tug of war inside.  Sometimes he will run around like a fool and I can’t help but laugh.  He really does bring a positive energy to my life.  Having him makes me go out in public like I mentioned earlier.  That works both ways though.  Having him there also means I can go all those places.  He is still a puppy and the training will be on going for quite some time.  Right now, he is my eyes and ears for new people within close proximity.  When he is ready, he will be able to maintain a certain safety zone around me as well as remove me if need be from harmful situations.  I use his instinctive ability to judge people implicitly.  You could be the nicest person since Jesus Christ, but if my dog doesn’t trust you than neither do I.

• Are there any new things you enjoy doing that you might not have found if you weren’t sick?

I do have a few new passions in life.  I have always liked dogs, but I highly doubt that I would have gotten this involved with the training of them.  I can read what dogs are thinking and have been lucky enough to share a bond far beyond that of a pet and owner relationship.  I have also recently taken to writing.  I wouldn’t say it’s a passion of mine, but I am enjoying being able to tell my story.  Even if no one reads this, I have still put it out there.

• Does the PTSD cause any physical issues, in addition to the mental ones?

The initial physical symptom that I had was Irritable Bowl Syndrome.  I would get stressed out and my inside would revolt.  Thankfully, the medication seems to have taken care of that.  Of all the things I wish the medications would help me with, at least I don’t have to poop as often.  HAHAHA  The prolonged stress and anxiety level has developed into what the doctors believe is Fibromyalgia.  My understanding is that my brain is so overwhelmed by everything that it now thinks it feels things that aren’t really there.  The pain is very real, but there is no reason for it.  All of a sudden it will feel like I am stepping onto the point of a knife for example.  I haven’t, but that sharp fiery pain is there.


• What are the side effects of the medication?

The side effects I have had come and go.  I have gained a bunch of weight and for the first time in my life I have cholesterol problems.  But I get this feeling of gagging on my tongue from time to time.  All of a sudden I will get nauseous or have the dry heaves.  The worst is if I miss a dose.  Sometimes it’s as if my teeth are trying to bite through each other.  I had one medication they tried me on that caused internal bleeding.

• Do you think us as Americans can appreciate what you experienced to cause this?

No.  I don’t think the general American public has any idea for the actual suffering of this war.  If you weren’t in the military or closely related to those who were, this war has had no affect on you what so ever.  Sure there are the people out there who wave their flags or put stickers on their car, but they have no idea what people like my mother have suffered.  They don’t see my daughter who lives with her grandmother because her Daddy isn’t mentally capable of dealing with her.  They may hear PTSD on the news, but they don’t see how it really affects people.  To them it's a catch phrase to use during a political conversation.  Long story short, they can’t and won’t be bothered to even read this blog.

Old Writings

 These are old writings from the point of view of Story, one of my service dogs.  The bond between a service dog and its handler is something I cant explain.  Maybe this will shed some light on it.


Dear Momma Sarah,

I have missed you sooooooo much. But Sean is taking me everywhere! I have had so much fun. When we left home, I was said, but I like riding in the truck so I decided to lay down. It was a little bit of a while before we got to my new home. Sean let me out of the truck and Jayne's man friend was there to say hi. I wasn't too sure about him at first but Sean seemed to think he was ok so I said hi. Then he took me to his back yard. I thought my eyes were fooling me. I couldn't believe how big it was. They have a special spot with rocks that are nice and round to pee and poop on. Its nice because then I can run everywhere else without having to dodge piles.

Next he took me inside. I could smell other dogs but I couldnt see them. I heard them too, but they weren't any where near me that I could tell. I found out later where they were. Jayne had them in a room. Sean sat in a big chair and asked me to lay down by his feet. I did and then Jayne brought each of the dogs out to meet me. Momma, did you know that Gail Force is here? Dont worry, she would make you proud. So I met all the dogs then got to explore a little bit. I was just being me, but Sean kept telling me how good I am. Its like he hasnt met me before.

Then we went to tim hortons. I could have bitten Sean. There were sooooo many good sniffs and tastey smells there. That meany didnt let me sniff around, and didnt get me anything to eat. Oh well. He was there to meet some friends so we hung out for a while. Dont tell him, but when he was feeling ok I might have snuck a quick nap in there. Everyone there was telling Sean how pretty I am and that I'm big. Sean must have some really observant friends.  It was fun though. I can finally go everywhere like Mali can. We went home after that and Sean built my crate so I would have my very own bed room. He said when he could trust the other dogs not to bug me, he will take the door out so I can go in and out as I please. For now I was just happy to have something from you.

I woke mr sleepy head up this morning. I tell ya, this guy needs me. I know he said that Shelby (thats what he calls gail) took care of him in public, but he needed someone to watch him at home too. Anyway, so he came outside with me this morning. We were out there nice and quiet having some one on one time, and all of a sudden Gail came running out. Then the rest of the pack. I guess Sean's wife and Jayne let the dogs out without looking to see if we were out there. I was a little concerned when Gail and the stupid german were playing, but I figured out they were just having fun.

Then we went to see a doctor for Sean, and a store for dog food. The people and dogs I met were so different. Sean kept telling me that I was making him proud. I guess he really has no clue who I am. Hey, if he's happy then thats all that counts.

We went home and I got to finally have some run around time with Gail. Man is she fast! And the yard is so big. I was awfully tired from trying to keep up with her. Damn youngins.

I then got to go to pet store for treats, a pet supply store, a tractor store, and a store where they sell stuff for horses. I didnt even know of these places existed. And Sean has put a bunch of stuff in a big bag and told me we are going on a trip. I'm typing this while waiting for him to eat. OHHHH I almost forgot. Momma they have this meatloaf stuff for us dogs that is to die for! It is so good!!!!! Anyway. I love you and miss you, but wanted to tell you that I am having so much fun! Sean is always giving me hugs and scratches. It's like I've hit the lottery and have my own people servant to do my bidding. I cant wait to see you again, but thank you so much for letting me do this. I truly believe that God sent me to take good care of Sean. I guess he knew Sean couldnt do it himself.


_____________________________________________________________________________________________________



this guy is nuts!!!!! He was at a gas station trying to pick out a drink for him and he couldnt make up his mind. So he asks me. Obviously he couldnt possibly want me to pick for him so I stood there and made sure he was safe. He finally picks one and then ask what good I am if I cant make up his mind. REALLY???? So the next store I stopped at the drink cooler to pick one for him, and the whack job didnt even want one. Silly humans!

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________



Today was a lazy day. Sean spent the morning laying in bed, then he laid on one couch till dinner, then laid on another couch till bed time. It was nice. I laid right in front him on the couches and he spent all kinds of time petting me and scratching behind my ears. Let me just tell you, this guy has some magic fingers!!!! I really like going to all these new places, but it was nice to just relax.

Last night we went to a shopping mall. I was so proud of Sean for going to such a busy place. He showed me all kinds of new things. We saw stairs that move, invisible walls, and a thing called a food court. I had to try extra hard to behave with all the smells in there. When we were walking through, I could tell Sean was trying really hard to behave too. Some teen aged kid came walking towards us asking "can I pet him" with his hand out. I guess Sean scared the kid or something. He said quietly but definitely meaning business "No" and the kid went away faster than he was coming to us. But even though it was hard for him, he still was very patient with me and showed me the new things. We didn't go on the moving stairs because they aren't safe for me, and I wasn't about to let him go on alone. But we did go up the regular stairs. There was a narrow section of floor that was very high up. I kept trying to steer Sean to the middle. He caught on to what I was doing. Well, don't you know it, instead of listening he stopped and walked right to the edge. That's when he knelt down and tapped the invisible wall and told me it was ok. Once I knew that was there, I could stand next to it and see everything going on downstairs. It was neat. I still wasn't comfortable walking next to it, but to stand there and look was ok. I cant imagine where our travels will take us next, but I love learning new things and taking care of Sean.

Nobody Truly Understands

 I started this with the hopes that others would learn the complexity and seriousness of PTSD.  My writings come as close as I can get to describing how I feel and yet they are lacking.  There are parts of my life and suffering I haven’t mentioned yet.  I either haven’t found anything to write about to cover those angles, or they are so engrained into my life that I don’t even notice that they are different from everyone else.  Some of my closest loved ones read the first couple entries.  Reading it all at once was overwhelming to them.  They were fearful for my life, and cried for my pain.  All of a sudden the gravity of my illness dropped on them like a ton of bricks.  For the first time they saw the big picture.  I had shown them each individual piece and they accepted them.  Now I had shown them how they all fit together.  Instead of seeing a slide, a barrel, and a spring, they saw the gun.

The people I share my life with often do things without realizing how much different I am.  There are countless examples, but even the simplest of things make a world of difference.  I used to drive around with a family member who was extremely supportive of me.  Even they, having not been in my shoes, would do things like park the car in the wrong direction.  Think about it for a second.  When was the last time you were doing circles in the parking lot looking for a spot?  We have all been there and all of us can relate to it.  How many of you when circling were calculating people’s movement and possible attack angles so you could park prepared for them?

I spent a night at my mother’s house not to very long ago.  I got there in the early morning.  My mother is an extremely family oriented person.  She has family that comes over all the time with a “don’t call, just come on over” policy.  My arrival to town after months of being away brings about a certain level of “let’s go see him” and the door may as well revolve.  To any normal person, this is a welcomed family response.  In my mind I know each person, but it is chaos and excitement and a distraction from my vigilance.  My nieces and nephew playing with my daughter turns from watching the kids have fun into “I need to find a quiet place to watch over everything.”  The gun range roughly a mile away should just be background noise.  Instead its cover for other gun shots that I need to be very concerned about.  Sitting at the family dining table having dinner with everyone is supposed to be a happy everyone talks and enjoys a good meal.  I used to thrive on this.  It was one of my favorite things to do.  Now I can’t find a good enough defensive seat.  The numerous different conversations that I can’t keep track of, means that I can’t listen for other things like the door slowly opening.  This visit ended with my mother in tears telling me she is sorry and that she doesn’t know how to help me.  MY sickness made HER sorry for living her life the way she has always loved.  How is that fair in any way?  The end result is that my mother walks on egg shells around me because she is afraid to take a wrong step.  Let me rephrase that a little bit.  When I am there, my mother is afraid to live her life.

Solo Mission to the Eye Doctor

 Today was a rough day.  I had an appointment at the eye doctor.  Now for me that means I have to go to the only VA hospital around, through the labyrinth that all hospitals are set up in, up to the 8th floor in a box filled with people I don’t know to the Dr’s office.  Did I mention there is no easy and fast means of getting the heck out of there?  I knew it was going to be a bit taxing on me so I decided to leave Boss at home.  He isn’t ready to pull me out of those situations.  So I’m on my solo mission into the heart of the optometrist’s office.   I get called in quickly so the waiting room trap I narrowly avoid.  I know for sure that sitting in that room with umpteen million different things going on would set my fuze to BOOM.  I get in the first lab room and all goes well.  I get carted to a second waiting room which was small enough that I could handle, then into a second evaluation room to see the doctor.  I’m starting to get a bit uneasy about the journey it will take to get me out of a situation…  you know , the kind normal people know will never come.  Doctor finishes and now my eyes are numb and dialated.  To say my vision was off is an understatement.  Here comes the fun part.  I have to pull a number like at the deli and then wait my turn to be called.
“Excuse me, what is the wait time looking like?”
“At the very least an hour.”
At this point I am stuck between going home, and getting the glasses the doctor just told me I need.  So I do what anyone with that much time and a filthy habit would do.  I went outside to smoke.  Now, any military member knows about the designated smoke decks.  If you find room on any of them, then it’s probably closed.  Just my luck, everyone is in there nut to butt.  The difference is that this is a VA hospital and not a military base.  So you get jammed between people on scooters, being pushed in wheel chairs, carrying oxygen (yes I know the irony) or pulling their heart monitor around.  How do you make a chaotic smoke deck worse?  Add chaotic equipment.  The good news is that it’s a VA hospital not a military base.  See, I am no longer in the military.  I am a disabled veteran a.k.a. someone who no longer has to listen to higher ups.  So I grab my little stick of calm down and walk the parking lot to my ride who is waiting to drive my blinded by the light self home.  I take advantage of the time and have not but two smokes… think of it as a pregame warm up only I’m trying to cool off.
The time to head back into the hospital comes, and I lower my head and push on.  I get upstairs to the waiting area(s) and try to assess the situation a bit.  Here is the low down.  There are three small waiting rooms for glasses.  Each looks like they just put chairs in a restroom.  I’m not kidding either.  The sinks were still in there and marks on the floor where the trash can use to be.  Each of these waiting rooms has 4-7 people in them.  Just imagine that next time you go into a public restroom!  Needless to say that is not an option.  There is a 10ft hall that connects these rooms to the main lobby.  There are 3 people waiting in the hall talking about fishing.  Ask me why I know this.  It’s sad the detail I can go into.  Ok, those are all out of the question.  I guess my best bet is to stand in the main lobby.  There is a wall I can put my back to and lots of room for me to maneuver should I end up in that doomsday scenario that my mind keeps telling me is going to happen.  For right now this is the best option.
Time goes by for a bit, and people come and go.  What I haven’t pointed out yet is that this main lobby is where everyone checks in to see the doctor, waits to be called for the doctor, checks in for glasses, waits for glasses, complains to the guy handing out numbers about how long they have waited, nurses bull shit about their vacations…..  I think you are starting to get the picture.  Now the check in guy is parallel parking scooter driving patients on my safe wall.  Its officially time for me to move.  But where to?  Let’s recheck the areas.  Damn!  Just as packed as before.  Now my heart starts picking up a bit more than usual.  I glance at the number sign.  “Now serving way too damn low a number you’re officially doomed to wait forever.”   I can feel my pulse in my hands.  That heart thing that was kinda beating at first?  It’s at overload speed now.  So now I am in a bad place, in bad shape, can’t leave, and the more I realize it the worse it gets.  OK Sean, start walking (read pacing) and try to get control of your heart rate.  My heart rate continues to increase and now there is an all out fiery rage is building inside.  Keep walking Sean.  Take deep breaths Sean.  Why is everyone looking at me?  Don’t just stare at me, help me out here.  Why aren’t they trying to help me?  I have to keep moving.  Take deep breaths and keep walking.
“Number 222?!?”
“That’s me.”
“Come on in and have a seat.”
Ok, this is it.  I can finish this and get the hell out of Dodge.  I can almost get out of this hell.  Almost there, just keep taking deep breaths.  I know, fidget with your I.D.
“Sit down, relax.”
Buddy if I could relax I would.  As of right now the only thing between a normal day and d-day in this place is my self control, and I’m not sure how long that will last.  I’ll sit just to shut you up.
“You can pick any frame on that wall”
I glance at the wall pick two frames and try them on.  One looks better than the other, so it’s the winner.  I don’t have time for queer eye to help with this straight guy’s selection.
“These are fine.”
Rico not so suave bangs on his keyboard a bit…  “Ok your all set”
“Thanks”
Like that I am free to leave.  It’s only been about 4 hours, but I can leave.  I head to the elevators.  I get in and somehow I am the only one.  Remember how I said I was on the 8th floor?  That elevator stopped at every single floor on the way down.  By the time we were at the 5th floor the elevator had enough people to form a baseball team.  Still more came on.  I am stuck in the back corner, unable to move, evaluating everyone for the one who will start the war.  Ding, first floor.  Everyone pours out of the overcrowded elevator like sand out of a dump truck.  I hesitate just long enough to give myself room to react.  Sweet freedom will have to wait.  Now I am fighting my way through a crowd of pissed off vets bitching about their level of care but making it so that mine doesn’t matter anymore.  Everyone is clamouring to get on or off the only 4 elevators in the world.  I think I saw that somewhere.  Sean, just hold it together a little bit longer.  Keep taking those deep breaths.  SHIT!!!!!  What way is the exit from this bottle neck?  Take deep breaths and just pick a way.
I finally get out and to the vehicle where my father and nephew are waiting.  Now the shame begins.  I can’t stop shaking.  My leg is bouncing so fast my shorts aren’t moving.  My heart keeps pounding, and I am sure someone can hear it because its beating so hard.  I keep taking deep breaths but I want to puke.
“Uncle Sean…….”  I have no clue what he said
“How did it go?”
 I know it was my dad, but I couldn’t think straight enough to answer.  An hour and half later I get home, head straight to the medicine cabinet, and down some more drugs.  It wasn’t for a full 3 hours after taking the drugs that my heart slows enough to consider it normal.
Today all those people went on their normal lives.  They will never know how they affected me.  They will never know how close I came to losing control.  All they see is a 30yo who needed glasses.  If they only knew that one person asking me if I was ok could have avoided everything.  They won’t see it.  They can’t see it.  There is no wheelchair that can carry my wounds.  Even in a place that sees more PTSD than any other hospital, I suffer to myself.

Suicide Note

 I wrote this to say good bye to anyone who cared to read it.  A furry friend saved me that day.  I keep it because it shows 

how I truly feel.  It shows how deep the hurt goes.

I fought for a flag and what it stood for

I came back home a hero

But now I need that flag

And to them I’m a zero

I gave my life years ago

But my body didn’t know to lay down and die

The torment in my life

Makes me mad, sad, scared and makes me cry

There are demons inside me now

And I fight them every way I know how

With each battle I think I win

A new battle inside will begin

Im tired of all the fighting

The meds, the feelings and the hiding

I cant let them win and take control

But slowly I fall into that hole

I can see now they will never quit

So I’ll lash out with one final hit

One more move to kill them all

And yes I know my body will fall

Dont feel bad

There is nothing you could do

Don’t get mad

I’ve thought this through

I died long ago

Your love has been my life support

But im tired now

And can not defend the fort

So love me now

Like you showed me how.

Give me one last hug

And let me pull the plug.

A start to explaining my life's ups and downs

 A quick bit about me.  I am an OIF/OEF vet with PTSD.  I stumbled upon service dogs as a joke at first, but that quickly became a reality.  When I was looking for organizations to train a dog for me, I couldn't find one that would work for my needs and truly make me feel better.  After some consideration and talking to my mother in law at the time, we decided to try and train our own service dogs above and beyond what the others were producing.  The first thing we did differently was use a different breed.  We chose to work with ISSR Shiloh Shepherds because they offer a size and noble presence that no other dog could.  If the whole point of these dogs is to keep people away from me while I cope with life, that presence is golden. They are also larger and smarter than their German counterparts.  All three of the dogs I have trained or am training have been this same breed, and have been given the same problems to solve, but each has solved them their own way.  I have not told any of them how to help me.  They learn much needed commands, but I allow them to use their human like intelligence. Each dog has done it their own way and not for treats or praise like a traditional training method.  They all do it out of a genuine desire to help me.

My first service dog was Shelby (Story's daughter) and she was great.  She showed me how dogs can overcome my obstacles for me.  I started learning how to watch her and trust her.  If my own senses were going hay wire, I could put my life into her paws, and her senses wouldn't fail me.  For the first time I could lay in the grass and just enjoy the sun.  I could walk down Main Street and not have to worry.  I had her about 90% trained, and passed her back to her rightful owner (my mother in law) who needed her more than I did. 

I then started working with Story.  Instantly, I could fly with her by my side.  My PTSD couldn't hurt me anymore, she wouldn't let it.  My loved ones describe that period of time as me being free.  We went for trips to new places, and ran on the beach with new friends.  With her help I was able to rejoin the work force, and even do my own shopping.  It was as if I wasn't sick, and just had an amazing friend that never left my side. Sadly, due to reasons bigger than her and me combined (she weighed about 125lbs), I had to give her back to the breeder for re-homing.  I was devastated.  Since then I have slipped into a deeper hole than I have ever been in.  It has cost me my marriage and left me with nothing.... but a new puppy. 

There have been times I had checked out of this life and just needed to pull the trigger.  That puppy is the one and only reason I am able to type this.  Boss is 5 months now and progressing wonderfully.  He isn’t ready for work yet, but already helps more than I can explain.  Boss now fits in his (formerly Story and Shelby's) service dog vest. I have it adjusted to the same spot Shelby had when she was 13 months or so. His withers come to the crotch of my pants when he blocks in front of me, and he is strong as a mule as well. I was playing tug with him and he literally pulled the two legs of the chair off the ground.

He is also well beyond his age in wisdom. I went to the airport to pick someone up yesterday. That's a huge deal for me, and I almost didn't take him because I didn't want him to see me freak out and then think that's what he should do. I did anyway because there is SOOOOO much at an airport for him to see. So we get there and I suit him up. We walk in and this airport has a mall right as we walk in. No matter, that's why we are here. So I go to the men's room and use the urinal. Sounds weird but that's one of the main places for him to be working. He automatically stood right behind me and let me know when someone else walked in. Perfect execution! The entire time we were there, my little man was spot on! I bought a soda from the store and had to wait in line. He watched and listened to the entire goings on of the store, and turned around and took a half step forward (to my rear) when someone else got in line. PERFECT!!!! We were sitting on some benches set up for people waiting on loved ones. He laid at my feet watching the hall of sorts where the mall and restaurants are. A person came running down the way to the security check that we were 50 feet from and he popped his ears and head up in full alert. Any time he goes into alert, I know. It's the human training side of things. When that person turned, he resumed his position lying at my feet. The entire trip was filled with perfection from him. I know he is still young and has WAYS to grow, but I am so proud of the little guy.

Fitting in the vest is a far cry from filling it like the two before him, but he assures me that he can fill it and then some. I'm just holding the leash and letting them shine in their own ways.