Or, as they say in the Breetish Ahrmy, "LAST POST!"

Hello, all. Hope everybody is doing well, these daze (hehe), as always. I fully anticipated completing this, my explanation for the need of the importance of maintaining your medical records, sometime way before this date. But, I have had some significant medical issues come up, which I also feel compelled to share with the "crowd" at disaboom.

In 1997, I had about 5 small lumps removed off the top of my head (be quiet, Gloria! HeHe! Gloria is the same type of person that Mrs. Cavendish was. Every night that Red Skelton completed his TV show, he would say something like, "Good night, Mrs. Cavendish, where ever you are!" So, that is why I always put Gloria into my writings. You may think I am demented, but Gloria is my blow up doll! Just kidding, get off of my back, Gloria! HeHe!) (PS-I am also available for weddings, Bar Mitzvah’s, christenings, briss’s (after the Rabbi is through with the wine, that is left in the bottle, hehe) and bachelorette parties. Sleep-overs, optional! HeHe!)

Anyway, they never shaved my head, and removed each one by making an incision, removing whatever it was, and then closing with one simple stitch. (They never told me later what they were). When I returned to have the stitches removed, they could not find the last one, and told me not to worry about it, that I would somehow find it, and then come in to get it removed.

Please read my profile so I don’t have to repeat myself, here. Three years ago, I had a case of pneumonia that lasted 11 months. Since then, I have been diagnosed with most all of that stuff I speak of in my profile.

My original reason for coming to Las Vegas, from central Nevada, 3 years ago, was to get a dental exam and cleaning, a new prescription for my contacts, and to get several lypomas (commonly referred incorrectly as tumors (probably because every time I go to the surgeon, he asks why I am there to see him, and I tell him a got "two-more," (two more is also usually what causes single occupant roll-over automobile accidents, on country roads, shortly after 2am, each Friday night)," and to also spend time with my family for the holidays.

Just for informational purposes, lypomas are now (21^st century) referred to as neoplasms. A neoplasm is kind of like the fat that is under a chicken’s skin, that you remove when you pull the skin off, prior to cooking; or, for us country folks, kind of like the fat that surrounds the kidneys on animals. Its now considered a type of cancer, meaning a blood abnormality, that is caused by an imbalance of plaza in the blood. Just like my EKG’s, which are abnormally normal for me, being that the T-Waves are upside down, so is the glucose tolerance level reading of my blood. Normal, but upside down. I am still going to the oncology clinic, who is trying to blame my abnormal blood work on my smoking, and not on anything else that I might have been exposed to, like Agent Orange. I am a certified Agent Orange veteran. When I had a heart attack, at age 31, my wife of 14 years left me, took the kids with her, and raped me in divorce court. There was no medical proof of the heart attack back then, and MRI’s did not exist to show that what I really had, was a stroke, plus other brain damage. So, instead of screaming and hollering, which I don’t do anyway, when I get to the oncology clinic for my next exam, I will listen to what they have to say about everything, and then inform them that I will cut down on my obviously self induced attempts of suicides with the 9 cigarettes a day I smoke, so that I will live a longer life. By the way, I have had more tests and exams done to me over the last 3 years, then Willard (the rat) that it is now scientific fact, that I have the heart and lungs of a 20-year-old non-smoker! That is the truth! My only problems now, are brain damage, osteo-arthritis, paralyzed left forearm and hand, and constant pain. Aside from that, I am now ready to jump out of moving airplanes, while in flight, ride horses again, and begin dreaming up new and deadly extreme sport activities. I’ve already discovered that I have no one, not ONE family member willing to care for me the next time I get sick, that I am basically on my own, and that it is time to move on and have fun, again. (That’s why I now keep a loaded revolver along side a new, unopened bottle of Johnny Walker Black, so when the time comes, I will at least be able to go out with a bang! Sorry, folks. I am not a wussie. I now know the true meaning of pain. I was married, once or twice!) A lady friend of mine, recently, even taught me a new sexual position. Know what it is? Lying down! Anyway, back to my story……

I, really, have not felt well the last 20 years or so let alone the last 3 years, since getting pneumonia. (Probably because Gloria won’t let me sleep in my PJ’s, kind of like Ruth Buzzie used to wear, with the closed feet, anymore)!

Also, because of my other medical issues, I really haven’t gotten much done over the last few years, as I really only wanted to do the things mentioned above, and then high-tail it back to BFE, where I belong.

But, either due to my condition or the meds they were literally pumping into me, I have been in a semi-conscious, foggy, cloggy, state of mind. Besides not feeling comfortable, I did not have the feelings of being safe or of being in a state of mind where I could defend myself. It is not a very nice place to be, considering that I have been a bull throughout my whole life, a person who gets things done, doesn’t count on others to do it for me, and someone who keeps any promises made, regardless of its consequences. Meaning, I will always stand up to what is right, even if it is politically incorrect.

I always fight for the little guy (little does not mean stature) and will always protect and defend anybody, should I believe their position to be the correct (right) thing to do.

Oh, my daily joke. My brother and I died recently, and when we got to heaven, we noticed that the pearly gates were locked. So, I took the initiative and started banging on them, demanding that we both wanted in. St Pete came to door, looked through his list of papers he had on his clipboard, and said, "Sorry, bubba’s. You two cowboys are outa luck!" I told him that there had to be a mistake, and that we weren’t wearing shorts, so that we knew we came to the right place, in essence, that we "belonged" there.

He did some more rummaging around his paperwork and declared that there was, in fact, an error, and not a mistake, and that we should go and cool our heals in the lazy-boy’s in the corner, and that he would get back to us, after discussing the matter, with "the" boss.

After we had our two-mores and a couple of cigarettes (yes, you can even eat all the Danishes you want, with real melted butter poured over them, in heaven), St Pete comes over and tells us that there is a problem.

He told us it was not our time, and that we needed to be sent back, but that our physical bodies would not be ready for another week, and that because the boss wanted us out of there before other decent people showed up, that he, St Pete, would send us back to earth, as anything we wanted, while we awaited the repair of our bodies.

My brother said, "Well, in that case, I want to go back as a "barrel racer," (that is the horse that cow-girls ride in the rodeos). St Pete asked why, and my brother said, "So real cowgirls could finally get to "ride" him, instead of the other way around!" St Pete was outraged, but decided that a promise was a promise, and "whoosh," my brother was gone.

Then he looks at me, obviously outraged at my brother’s decision, and asks, "So, what do you want to be?" I told him I wanted to go back as a "STUD." St Pete said, "Don’t tell me why, I don’t want to know!" "Whoosh" I was gone.

"The" boss comes by about a week later, and tells St Pete that our bodies are now ready for us, and orders him to make the switch. St Pete says, "OK, I can get the barrel-racer back in 3 seconds. But it will take three months for the other guy." God wants to know why.

St Pete says that I had the strangest request he had ever heard from anybody, and because of my request, he could not retrieve me until March or April. God wanted to know why.

And St Pete told him, that I would still be in that tire in Minnesota that he put me in, and that it wouldn’t be safe to bring me back until then!

So, anyway, about 10 days ago, I got in to see my surgeon, again. I explained that I was not there for him to whack out every lump in my body (they won’t do it all at once, anyway) and that I would only like him to take out the ones that bug me (hurt).

Oh, Oh, need to insert info here. For the last six months or so, I always had an itch on the top of my head, and every time I would scratch it, I would tear off a scab. So, that is one of the reasons for my visit. Nobody, including myself, could figure out what it was (probably the "lost" stitch from 1977?). So, I shaved my head and went in to have it examined. I told the nurse I was there to get my head examined and she told me, "You’ve come to the right place." HeHe!

He told me that I was lucky, because he would be able to do four that day and not the usual two-more at a time. So, I had a mole removed from my hip, a lypoma removed from my right forearm, a hard as rock "something" from just above my right ear (one of the nurse’s present during the procedure mentioned something like, "Will one hang lower than the other?" And of course, I made my usually inappropriate remark; appropriate for when it was made. This nurse also asked me to remove my clothing when I entered the OR, and I told her "NO!" She said, "What do you mean by no?" I said, "Not until we are properly introduced!" She told me her name and demanded that I get na-ked (not naked, na-ked) and was also asked by the surgeon to shave any hair I had next to my mole that was at least 6 inches (to the east) from my Garden of Eden. When I got home, I realized that she shaved everything from my left big toe, all the way up through my waist, including my left armpit. Now I wonder why I’ve been feeling cold, lately. We’re getting married next Tuesday! Just kidding, Gloria!) The surgeon told me, while operating, that the lypoma on my left forearm was actually sitting on top of a vein, just under my skin. He also told me that the lump on my head (which supposedly was the lost stitch from 1977) might actually be the lost stitch, but that he believed at the time, might have been something else. I could feel him "digging" through concrete while he was removing it, and he was even nice enough to ask for a new blade to complete the procedure. He told me that he removed these four items because they did not look "right." I spent 2.5 hours on the table. The only stitches he used were on the top of my head; the other incisions were closed with butterflies. The only one that gave me problems was on the hip, because the incision was done horizontally, and was inside the flap of skin that bends when you sit down.

So, I came home with 20 lbs. of gauze and duct-tape, took about 8 ounces of liquid-sedative, and went to sleep.

About 5 hours later, I awoke, startled, with a cold sensation in my right forearm. It really freaked me out! What I noticed, was that all of the pain, numbness and paralysis that was in my right hand, less than my left is, had vanished! All except for the joint pain I have in my pinky finger, due to osteo-arthritis! I was astounded!

I am sharing this info with everyone, so you will learn to ASK QUESTIONS! When I was a little roper, I used to say things to doctors, like, "Uh, huh, ok." Not knowing one darn thing about what it was that they were talking about! ALWAYS ASK QUESTIONS! It’s your body, folks, not there’s, and I’ll tell you right now, if you don’t start asking questions and demanding answers, AFTER tests, you are going to live a very unhappy life.

For 3 years, I complained about pain in my hands and feet. I was told that it was from osteo-arthritis. Great! Prove it to me! Finally, I get my feet x-rayed. Great! It is osteo-arthritis (they had previously discovered this fact from a blood work-up.) But, you know what? Because of the OA, I have no cartilage at the base of either of my big toes. What does that mean? It means that my foot-rudders aren’t working, and the complete gravitational force of the weight of my body is being put onto 4 little toes, and not the big one, like the Great Architect of the Universe designed it to be. So, now I know why my feet hurt. Plus, I also know what my limitations are. Remember, every (wo)man needs to know what their limitations are! And, never put your life into the hands of another. If you do, you’ll only blame that other person for what happens next, not yourself for allowing it to happen, against your better judgement!

The pathology reports on these 4 pieces of tissue have not yet been completed. On Monday, I go back to the clinic to get my stitches removed, and will be told then, hopefully.

Now, something else has happened to me. The stupor that I have been in for over 20 years has now vanished. My mind is no longer in the clouds. My thinking is clearer. I feel like I have awoken from a 20-year period of semi-unconsciousness. I don’t know what was on the top of my head, but I am sure that it was a foreign body, and that my body (blood cells) were doing their best to get rid of it. But, it never happened, until the foreign body was removed, surgically. Don’t EVER let a doctor leave something in your body with the excuse that your body will take care of it, unless it is one of those self-destructing stitches, designed to be eaten up by the "yours truly." I really do believe that this has caused a lot of my pain and suffering.

I am still having problems sleeping, due to my stroke. My mind will not shut off, and I can go for days without sleeping, before I force myself to, with liquid sedation, if my sleeping pills aren’t working.

I was in to see my PCP this week, and she made a correction to my sleeping pills. Sorry, they did make me sleep, even for 4 hours after I woke up. I’ll use it as a last resort, should I not have anything to do the next morning after I take it.

When I got to the clinic, my BP 128/60 and my pulse was 60. Hasn’t been that low in 3 years. The nurses wanted to know what happened to me. I told them. I also told them that I dragged my weight machine out of storage two weeks ago, and am now up to lifting one hour each day. My goal is to get back to my original 3 hours a day. I have also lost 18 lbs., and still plan on getting back to a 31.5-inch waist and a 155 lbs. Look at my photo from 2006. I now weigh about 190, and because my jeans aren’t tight, I refuse to throw a yardstick around my waist to check it out.

So, now back to the VA, your medical records and the compensation process.

When you file for disability, you complete your form and you either send it off to the Regional office, or show up in person, to sign it. Can’t remember which. The regional offices do not have access to your health records, and the computer system at the regional office is not tied into the one with the medical centers/clinics. Typical SNAFU by our government. They don’t tell you this stuff, either. So, when you are at the clinic, and scream that they have your records, they really don’t. In my case, my health records were (and still are) in Reno at the regional office, and not anywhere else.

So, let’s not get off track. And, let’s remember something I previously wrote about. I got copies of most of my health records before I left active duty, and others, could not be found. I asked for disability for every illness/injury/disease I may had or may not have received while on active duty. Remember, I served in country, where malaria, typhus and every other disease known to man was at. My reasoning for doing this, was so that I would not have to come back 40 years later, and try to explain myself, should I become ill, later in life. Remember, also, that I am not looking for money. All I want is treatment. After all, the VA is nothing more than the military’s "worker’s comp" physicians, and all I wanted was documentation, and what was "right" for my situation.

The regional office told me that they did not believe that the copies of my records were real, because they had to be requested by them, and received by them. OK, fair enough. They don’t know who I am and I don’t know whom they are, and sure enough, I would rather prove my identity to them, than to make requests without proof. Think about what I speak of in my writings. I am saying things in a certain way, so that when you go through the process, you won’t get frustrated and think they are putting the screw to you.

When you sign and hand in your application, if any disabilities are later found, this is the date that will determine when you will start receiving your compensation, date of receipt. Not from the date that they finally discover that you actually have a disability. Reread my blogs about disabilities and how zero is a number and how zero does not mean "none."

I really don’t remember how long it took for them to gather my records up, but I can tell you that it didn’t happen overnight. IT WAS AWHILE! So, if you are expecting instant money, or instant medical care, you ain’t gonna get it. Get over it. If you are really sick, call 911 and write it off on your taxes.

After they got my records, I was invited into the VA Hospital, they didn’t have nor do I know if they now do have, clinics in the Reno area, for medical evaluations. For those who might think I am now a hypochondriac, I would like to inform you that I am not. If I had gone to my yearly physical examinations, like you are supposed to, maybe they would have found my current medical problems at a reasonable pace, and not all at once, like I am now experiencing. In the 21.5 years that I was on active duty, I had only been to the infirmary/sick-call, NINE times. That doesn’t include surgical visits, hospital stays. NINE TIMES! How’s that for being healthy.

Instead of me spending an 8 to 4 visit for all of my maladies, I think it took a little over 9 months to have all of my evaluations. Some of the conditions I had, like how my right foot would drag and the tendon would not lift my foot up and down, could not be evaluated, because, "Gee, its not happening now!" But, it was noted in my records. So, I got a zero on that one. I now realize that that was the beginning of arthritis, because of broken bones in my right foot, that occurred while I was in the Army.

Now all of my exams are complete, and months later, I receive their results. A whole bunch of "So sorry, GI" and a few, "Ya, you were rights." I was outraged. Who do these clowns think they are? I’m sick. I want my compensation/treatment! And, I want it now. So I appeal the results and go to court (the hearing officer/medical board kind).

Something I didn’t know at the time. You might think you are sick, and you might be, but, that doesn’t mean you are entitled to anything. The key word, is entitled to. And, what you are entitled to is in Section 38, US Code. HeHe!

Let me give you an example. I am making up the facts, only to show the point. You get "one" of your testicles shot off in battle. Boy, are you screwed. You think that one testicle is worth at least 50%, because half of two is one, or 50%. Sorry, the "law" does not work like that. You only get 10%, and free medical care for the rest of your life, for the lost testicle that you aren’t carrying around, anymore. Duh? Yup! I hope you’re getting the picture. If you lose both, you get 100%, because you no longer have the ability to recreate. Something your neighbors might be proud of, but, by law, well worth 100%. This entitles you to free health care at the VA for any condition you may have, but, if not related to your disability, you will be required to pay a co-pay on your meds. But, still free health care. Well worth the entitlement for a pair of nylon tesa’cle implants at the ungrateful taxpayer expense.

Another example. I was told I had Meniere’s Disease, a hearing disorder. My rating for that one, 10%. But, they changed the diagnosis to Tennitis. Sorry, GI, no more money for you. But, I am also designated an Agent Orange Vet, so I get all free medical care, with med co-pays, regardless of the condition (didn’t know this fact, until 3 years ago! Why? Nobody ever told me!) As it should be. Remember, the VA is my worker’s comp. It is not some free-be I get for serving on active duty for two days, and then being cut loose because I could not hack it anymore, like every average American believes it to be for all of our veterans. Now, if I wanted to lie about my condition, I could tell them I have loss of balance, and they would make it 20%. They would also probably tell the DMV about my condition, that would most assuredly result in my losing my "privilege" to drive an automobile. DON’T EVER LIE ABOUT ANYTHING. Always tell the truth. God really "is" watching you. And, when he’s having a potty-break, your ancestors are!

I don’t have any issues with PTSD, but I am sure that might be a big "unknown" issue with me. I don’t hunt anymore, after hunting "humans" for 2 years, and I don’t enjoy fishing, anymore, either. I’m pretty much a pacifist. But, if you screw with me or someone I love, I will rip out your throat with my teeth, reach in and grab a hold of your anus, and turn your body inside out! And, that is the truth. I don’t ever back down to anything or anybody. As an example, if you were my woman, I would stand in front of a moving train to protect your life, fully knowing that it would kill me. I am as passionate in love as I am in life. I enjoy both to the max. There really is no alternative.

Want to play games with the VA about PTSD. Go right ahead. I invite you to. Thanks to President Clinton, anybody who visits a psyche clinic at any VA facility is immediately reported to the BATF, as a mentally ill person. In America, that means that you are a certified mental person, someone who can never own a gun, have a federal firearms license, or make your own wine/whiskey/beer, for resale, or serve as a member of the board of any company that does so. I am also pretty sure, that here in Nevada, it might also keep you from getting a liquor license, should you want to own a 7-11 or a gaming license should you want to put a "rented" slot machine in your dry cleaning business waiting area. DON’T SCREW WITH UNCLE SAM, ITS NOT WORTH IT. YOU WILL BE FOUND OUT. YOU WILL GO TO JAIL. YOUR ASSETS WILL BE SEIZED. YOUR INCOME TAX REFUNDS WILL BE WITHHELD UNTIL THEY ARE PAID BACK. AND, THEY WILL GARNISH YOUR WAGES AND WIPE OUT YOUR BANK ACCOUNTS. DON’T BELIEVE ME? THE US MARSHALL’S SERVICE HOLDS AUCTIONS ON A MONTHLY BASIS, AND YOU CAN GO BUY YOUR NEIGHBOR’S STUFF, TO PAY OFF THE MONEY THEY OWE TO UNCLE SAM! That is the truth!

I really can’t remember the length of time it took for me to get to the hearing after asking for it. But, it amounted to showing up at the VA office and sitting across the table from the hearing officer who had a tape recorder to "memorialize" the occasion. He asked me where my lawyer was? I told him I didn’t need one. I planned on telling the truth, as I always do.

So, I made my case, which amounted to nothing more than the equivalent of me speaking to the wall. I explained to him that I didn’t want any money, just documentation and treatment, and was out the door in about an hour.

Exactly two years later, I received another, probably photocopied, standard form, "screw you" letter from the VA, saying that my request for additional compensation was denied. Enclosed was a check for about $2,400 which at the time, was the complete total of my compensation that I was entitled to during that 24 month period, from the time I had originally signed the paper, handing them my military health records, asking for compensation. I then started getting my monthly compensation checks, which have fluctuated over the years due to COLA’s and my medical conditions.

So, that is what it comes down to. My PCP at my VA clinic here in LV still does not have my military records in her system, and if I have a need to request additional compensation, zero-percent or otherwise, I will have to go through the same situation, all over again. Remembering, that nothing will happen in an instant. Something to remember, though. Once you get into the system and start seeing doctors on a regular basis, your current medical situation is being documented. So, when you ask for reevaluations, sometimes, they are performed electronically, because they already have your records, and very seldom will you have to come back for an actual reevaluation. If you’re already being treated for something that has worsened, they already know about it. IT IS YOUR responsibility to seek the reevaluation. They will not do it automatically for you.

One of the problems that us veterans have, is that we are used to instant treatment. Get hurt, go see doc, and you are back on the job, faster than a fly can eat a piece of ___T, and then fart.

So, don’t expect anything extra from Uncle Sam. An extra to me, is a nice word every now and then, when I visit the clinic. Or, the nice female PA I used to see a very, very long time ago, who would always check me for a hernia, every time I went in with an earache. I call that a no extra, and at no additional charge, either. HeHe! If she offered a free rectal exam, I would have declined, hehe!

So, keep your head screwed on straight. Stand up like a (wo)man, and be nice. Don’t make demands, and always ask questions. This is a true story. I had a problem with my bank once, and I called up and used a voice like I was retarded. I told them that I was confused and needed assistance, and that nobody else would help me. INSTANT SUCCESS! Unfortunately, I am also sure that God is punishing me or has punished me for that one. Now I talk like I am from Bangladesh. HeHe! Just kidding.

So, I wish everybody great health and many successes in life. Do always what is right. Good things will come your way!

Take care and God bless, you DESERVE it!

Any comments, Walt?