Nightmare at the Grocery Store.

After all the stories about returning Vietnam Veterans having to endure verbal assaults accusing them of being baby killers and being spit on, I got my dose today, 43 years after my return.

Fortunately for me, when I left out-processing in Oakland, California, I was only one of hundreds who had just been told to be on the lookout for that kind of thing. I found it pretty hard to return home from Vietnam and Cambodia only to be warned that we could be assaulted by the skin heads and sheet wearers at the airport on the very day of my return. Under normal circumstances, that would have been a hard punch to the stomach but there are circumstances that changed all that.

I was only one of a plane load of roughly 200 guys that would be going to the airport. Within that group, there were some rock hard combat veterans who had just come out of the jungle and a year of combat in the bush. They made it clear what would happen if anybody decided to spit on them.

These were hard core grunts who had just come out of a year long tour of duty in a horrible war zone and they had no intention of being spit on or hassled by anyone. Needless to say, I picked my seat close to theirs when we loaded up on the bus and left for the airport. It proved to be a great decision on my part.

When we arrived at the front of the terminal, I noticed a group of sheet wearing, bell ringing skin heads. I immediately began to gather my bag and prepared to hit the exit door right behind the guy that said: "I hope one of them spits on me". I figured that would have been the best place to position myself for an excellent right hand, round house punch to some body's face.

I don't know if it was lucky for them or lucky for us but I believe the look that the sheet wearers saw in the eyes of the combat vets was enough for them to completely shut down their dancing and chanting and effectively, shut up until we were in the building. Nothing happened except maybe a few soiled sheets on the part of the skin heads.

I don't know what I might have done if the spitting had started but I do know that I was already in a perfect position to deliver a guaranteed knock out punch to whichever idiot needed it the most.

Forty three years later, I find myself in the check out line at the Albertson's Grocery Store where I've shopped for years. When the guy in  front of me was gathering his groceries and putting away his credit card, he heard the cashier greet me.

Since I knew everybody there, most of them knew about the medical situation I've been dealing with. It was nothing unusual to be asked how I was doing and when she did so, she said: "Hello Mr. Butler, how's the treatment for Agent Orange going"? That's where the trouble began.

Before I could answer, loud mouth turned around with a smirk on his face and said: " I used to work for DuPont and we drank that stuff during break time...ha ha  ha. We thought it was orange juice".

That's when it hit me. At that exact moment in time I had a million visions of what I wanted to do to Mr. Bigmouth. I wanted to say something like: "I can tell you're not a Veteran because real men don't say shit like that".

As the seconds ticked off, he turned and walked away. While he was walking, my mind was going a million miles an  hour. I knew that I couldn't attack him and expose myself to even the slightest hit in the head, especially the right side of my head where the brain surgery took place.

Despite that, I wanted to scream out at him and tell him that if  he said that in a crowd of Vietnam Vets, he would get his ass handed to him along with a trip to the hospital. Despite all those feelings, I did the right thing by not allowing my passion to overcome my principles. I said nothing and did nothing. I just stood there at the check out stand and watched him walk away, fully exposing his back to me, my favorite target area.

As I turned back toward the cashier she looked at me and said: "I found absolutely nothing humorous about that". I'm not exactly sure what I said to her but I hurriedly paid my bill, grabbed my groceries and went out the door.

I knew he'd gotten away and that it would be fruitless to get a plate number or try to follow him home and write down his address. I just got in my car and began thinking about all of my friends who  have suffered  horribly from Agent Orange and especially, Johnny Newberry, who I helped bury a year ago. Johnny was at Khe Sahn and suffered from Agent Orange until it put him down forever. I don't even want to get into the many things I thought about so let's just say that I went  home and was one hell of a wreck when I got there. I couldn't let it go and still can't. I only WISH things had been different and more conducive to a response by Veterans who were in better shape than me.

I thought about taking out an ad in the newspaper that was addressed: "TO THE MAN IN ALBERTSONS WHO MADE FUN OF AGENT ORANGE". I thought about what I would say and then realized that it would serve no meaningful purpose and  he probably wouldn't have seen it anyway.

I sent an email to Roger at the VA and told him to make note of the incident for further conversations about it. I'll see him day after tomorrow so I won't have to wait long.

In any event, I came home and as luck would have it, a buddy of mine from high school days came by. He knows the deal and has been through hell himself. I took my meds and we visited until about 9 pm when he was comfortable enough to leave. Thanks Dupe.

To summarize this, especially since it has occurred during a number of PTSD Editorials I've been writing on the Air Cav Troop site, let me say that many will read this account and, I'm sure, either be astounded that I didn't spit on this guy or throw a grocery cart at him, or they'll be amazed that I didn't say a single word.

I hope to see him in the store again. That will be interesting but the last 7 hours has not. Thanks for the ear.

PTSD. Disorder or Order

In view of the fact that there is really no active debate over PTSD, I thought I'd start one. I've been stimulated to do so by a recent article stating that Veterans are considered as a somewhat dangerous group, especially those who are classified as "suffering" from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

As a primary step, I would like to familiarize those of you who have no military service by outlining the terms that have been used throughout history to describe the effects of war on man. George Carlin did this years ago when he said that MAN has complicated the situation by changing the phrases used to describe it.

It began as a two syllable phrase called "Shell Shock" but that changed after World War 1. During the Second World War, it became a 4 syllable phrase: "Combat Fatigue".  The term used today has 8 syllables: "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder".

I will attempt to address these things with a simple question that addresses Order or Disorder.

Is it DISORDER to watch your brothers die in combat and remember it?  Is it DISORDER to kill another human and remember it?  After you consider those two questions, ask yourself if the recollection of the horrors of war is something that the mind puts into proper ORDER by classifying it as Traumatic? I say: "Hell yes, it is in perfect ORDER when you classify it as Traumatic".

I say that all of those recollections are in their proper order and that those who do not do so, those who simply dismiss it as nothing, are the ones suffering some kind of DISORDER.

If you have no combat experience, have never killed anyone or watched your buddy die, ask yourself this: Why didn't the civilians who watched the victims of the attack on the Twin Towers as they jumped out of the windows to their death on 9/11, forget that picture and act as if nothing happened?

One of my comrades states that the definition of Disorder has a component part to it that describes it as "A disturbance of normal functioning".  Thanks to Mark for that one.

I'll buy into every bit of that and totally agree that war and it's effects on man and his normal function in life, is definitely disturbed when he goes to war. Despite that, let's look at the origin. Shouldn't the cause and effect issue be discussed?

I was in college when I went 1A in the draft. I had surgery during finals and the "Incomplete" grade that came with "not even taking finals", took me out of the grade point requirements to maintain my student deferment. FWIW, I'm not looking for the guy that broke my nose. He wasn't the reason I was drafted and went to Vietnam. The guy that started the war isn't on my list, either. The way I see it, I think the guy that involved the Armed Forces of the United States is the one that needs to answer a question or two.

Some say that turning down my appointment to attend West Point, was crazy. Some say that volunteering for flight school to fly  helicopters in a helicopter war, was even more crazy. I say that it was the most logical thing for me to do.

I was in the Army and even though I was drafted into service, I accepted that and started to do everything I could do to get on board with my service and do the best I could do to find a home in the Army and operate from an area that I dearly loved. I'd always wanted to be a pilot and to me, it was a perfect fit. Did that thought process mean that I had some kind of DISORDER?

Did the draft dodgers possess some kind or ORDER by hauling ass to Canada and escaping the draft? In either of those questions my answer is simple. "I don't think so".

With all the years that have passed, some say that the draft dodgers were visionaries and that they knew that going to Vietnam was crazy. I agree that it was crazy but I don't agree that going to Canada was the right thing to do or the proper way to address the situation.

 Draft Dodging didn't seem to reflect anything to me except the fact that there were many who simply refused to accept their duty to their Country, right, wrong or indifferent. We didn't get to make the rules. We only had to make a choice as to whether we would live by them or not.

Under the circumstances, I completely accept the amnesty given to all those who ran away. What I don't accept is this: They were given amnesty but they were never treated differently than those who did the right thing and served their Country. I think the guilty should have been subjected to a "Draft Dodger's Tax" and pay a higher rate that would specifically been ear marked as a FUND to help pay for the expenses to address the "service connected issues" of all of those who served.

Is that thought process ORDER or is it DISORDER? I think they should pay and I think that I can substantiate the logic of that by reciting an old saying. "You do the crime, you pay the time".

I guess I'll have to take a break here as I have to go to the VA to help a Vietnam Veteran buddy of mine who is undergoing chemo therapy. I guess I can leave a question for you to ponder while I'm gone. "How many Draft Dodgers suffer from any of the cancers that came from Agent Orange?".

More later. Thanks to Mark, hello to Bernie and friends.

They Said: "Death to the 9th Roman Legion"

They said "Death to the 9th Roman Legion"
The toughest of all in the Region
But the Romans were killed
And Britannia was thrilled
As they took their vengeance that season.

Has no one studied their History?
It appears that way to me.
The dictators keep lying
The people keep dying
And it appears that's the way it will be.

There's a new one that runs North Korea
Seems he's caught the Black Gonnareah
He uses rockets as his phallic symbol
Cause his brain is as small as a thimble.

He thinks his dad was Caesar
But he was just a ole geezer
Had lots of hoes, too
Didn't know what to do
Cause his prod was as small as a tweezer.

From the Romans to North Korea
It appears that they all have diarrhea
From the mountains to the sand
They want all the land
And now it includes South Korea.

It's time to get off our ass
Cause behind every blade of grass
There are Veterans by the million
Who aren't afraid of the billion
That try to take out our class.

Now I have a plan for you
Seems a simple thing to do
If we send their ass home
They might leave us alone
But we may have much more to do.

It may require us to send rebukes
In the form of really big nukes
Turn it all into glass
Remove every ass
And go back to what we do.

America is the land of the free
And the tyrants don't want that to be
So we'll stand our ground
Kick their ass out of town
And that's just the way it must be.

We must then remove immigration
That they use as a tool for invasion
We'll send them all home
They can leave us alone
And then we'll take back our Nation.

If this never comes to pass
They'll continue killing our ass
So it may get real tuff
When we deliver our stuff
That we hold in the palm of our hand.

If this is too rough to digest
Count up the dead of our best
Let's stop messing around
Kick their ass out of town
And get on with life with the best.

God bless America.

Cancer Free, Brain Damage and NO Chemo Neuropathy

Is that how you spell Neuropathy? In any event, I found out that the chemo neuorpathy hypothesis was inaccurate and I do not have it. My catscan also showed that the cancer has not returned and apparently has been blasted to smithereens. As I understand it, all I am suffering from is brain damage..............or is that Drain Bamage?

Any way you cut it, the chemo thing is good news. I had a really neat consult with the Chief of Staff from Oncology after the catscan and was quite thrilled to hear that I only have the brain damage thing to deal with. Losing an eye and learning about radiation and brain surgery damage might seem to be a really serious knock out punch but it isn't to me. I've learned to play the game instead of rolling over and doing the "Woe is Me" thing.

I've had a number of consults with the docs in the "Head Shed" and I've actually learned a great deal about the brain and how it works. It's like getting a new lease on life that comes from knowing that I do have some things that I can work on and that all is not lost. I say that because I have been using a cane to counter the instability that came post surgery, chemo and radiation. Now, as I understand it, the instability is due to brain damage and not the destruction of some nerves in my feet from the chemo.

Yesterday, I announced that I would issue my brain orders to stop the bullshit with the feet and to re-route the cerebral information to some other area of the brain instead of sending it to the normal areas that process balance and all the other inputs that allow us to walk without falling down and busting our asses.

I wish ya'll could have been in the clinic when I announced that. The computer key board that's used to input things I say was literally being hammered with the information that I was spewing forth. The saving grace in all of that comes from the fact that I had ordered similar things when I was in my "3 months to live" time frame. Some of you who have been following this from the beginning will recall things I said and did during radiation but for those who have not, I'll explain it now so you may understand how a brain damaged patient can get the attention of the entire staff when he talks about ordering his brain to do something.

When I was in radiation, I could hear the shots they were taking at my brain. It was like an x-ray that you can hear but not feel. When they would shoot, I would move my right and left index finger just like I was pulling a trigger. They stopped the treatments to ask if my hands were okay and when I told them I was fine they asked what the deal was with my fingers moving every time they gave me the shot.

I told them that every time they took a shot of radiation, I was taking shots at the malignant cells with my mini gun. I added: "If you guys are killing them with radiation, I'm killing them with my mini gun except I'm shooting them in the back.........cause that's my favorite way". You may well imagine their reactions to that and try to visualize what it must have sounded like to the entire crew. They left their lead lined room, came into the radiation room where I was being bombarded and checked me out to see if I had lost my mind.

After that, they went back to the safety of the lead lined room and continued to shoot the right side of my brain where all the damage was. When the machine finished the right side, it continued to move along it's circular path, made it to the back of my head and then repositioned itself to the left side of my brain.

When that was done, the machine began it's uphill climb on the left side of my body and when it hit the right spot, they began shooting again. That's when I quit using my index fingers and started using my thumbs.

Waylon, Lisa and Cathy stopped shooting, called me on the speakers and asked if my thumbs were hurting. When I told him "no", he asked what I was doing with my thumbs. I told him that the 50 caliber used thumb switches instead of a conventional trigger switch and that it was located on the left side of the Huey. They either figured that I was tripping or that I was doing a mind thing. I commented that they were serial killers of malignant cancer cells and that their weapon of choice was radiation. When I explained that my weapon of choice was the mini gun and 50 caliber and that my favorite way was shooting them in the back, the procedure continued until it was time to quit.

I can understand how all of the staff members in the radiation department might have felt at that time but as word spread throughout the rumor mill, my method of killing cancer cells brought about alot of attention and I began to see lots of appointments with the neuro surgery department as well as the Chief of Staff from the Psychiatric Department. Man, was it fun explaining all of that.

He brought out a cut away model of the human brain, showed me where the audio visual receptors were, where the right temporal lobe was located and how all the information flowed from there to various parts of the brain and then to the nerve system down the spinal chord. From that, many other conversations were had where I explained how I visualized the malignant cells and the picture I had of me making gun runs on them, killing them with the mini and the 50 caliber.

In any event, yesterday's statement about me ordering my brain to re-direct the information of instability to other parts of my brain, did not go un-noticed and Roger walked me to my car from his 10th floor office as I had already stopped using the cane. It was a long walk and I'm sure that he wanted to see how I was going to make it without my cane. Worked like a charm.

That will be it for today except to welcome and say hello to Donna. If you remember "Shot in the Head Fred", that's the girl he married when he came back from Vietnam.

More later as my experiment continues. Tim