Khe Sanh Veterans Association Inc.

Red Clay
Newsletter of the Veterans who served at Khe Sanh Combat Base,
Hill 950, Hill 881, Hill 861, Hill 861-A, Hill 558
Lang-Vei and Surrounding Area

Issue 49     Spring  2001

Health Matters

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In This Issue
Notes from Editor and Board   Operation Gold Star   Incoming
Short Rounds   Memoirs   In Memoriam   
A Sprinkling of your Poetry   Charlie-Med   Reunion 2001

    I served honorably in the US Marine Corps (1967-1970) when placed on the Temporary Disability Retired List. The story begins when I was blown off a mechanical mule by incoming enemy artillery shelling near Da Nang. The force of the blast threw my body against a tree. I was evacuated to the Da Nang site hospital where a series of diagnostic exams were performed. Sometime during my stay I lost consciousness and awoke to the sound of the hospital being bombed. Next stop, the orthopedic ward in Guam.

    The stay in Guam is a bit hazy, with actions attributed to me that to this day I do not recall. I somewhat recall speaking to a psychiatrist and being accused of striking someone and the words court martial and options. The end result being that it would be in my best interest to let the psychiatrist handle it and being diagnosed as having a conversion reaction. It was later that I learned that this diagnosis had two different meanings (one within the military and something completely different in the civilian world). Needless to say, what began as an orthopedic related injury turned into one with psychiatric connotations.

    I remember calling my folks to let them know I would be at the Oak Knoll Naval Hospital, but experienced what they called a "black out" and came to the psychiatric ward of the Long Beach Naval Hospital in leather restraints. I don't know how I got there or what happened that caused me to be there, I only remembered fighting the war.

    I was placed in group therapy sessions and after being there for a month I was transferred to the Oak Knoll facility, awaiting discharge. Seven months later I was placed on the Temporary Disability Retired List and was prescribed daily medication (a mild tranquilizer).

    My introduction to the VA began with a trip to the Wadsworth VA Hospital. I remember that Friday night well. We had been dropped off at the emergency room waiting area and after waiting over two hours, the twelve of us were moved to a lockdown ward where we were forced to take medication, supposedly prescribed by the resident/intern on-call in the ER. Later that night, two of the men went into convulsions. When we tried to assist them, leather restraints were used to secure us to our beds where we stayed until morning. Medication was again dis; pensed. When we asked to speak to the doctor, we were told we were being unreasonable and that if we wanted to eat we would have to take the medication. When we again insisted on seeing the doctor, we were told he was on vacation and would not return for a week and a half.

    As time went on, I became adjusted to the routine. I was later transferred to Long Beach VA, as an outpatient. I soon took advantage of being out, returning to the less medicated days and just trying to get normal again, with a night or two of getting drunk, having fun and going out dancing. This behavior was discouraged when I began living at home.

    I took a civil service job with the government and worked as a driver for the next ten years. The reviews came and went, and I was eventually dropped from the Temporary Disability Retired List and given 10% service connected disability for anxiety disorder which is where it is today.

    I got married in the 70s. The marriage lasted two years, my wife couldn't take the nightmares. I transferred to El Toro Marine Air Station after completing a voluntary paramedic training program. I remarried in 1981, had two children and had the opportunity to start a business. We bought a house in Mara Loma, and it turned out our next door neighbor as the President of the local chapter of the Vietnam Veterans of America. I soon became a member and was encouraged to participate in the Agent Orange registry which required a physical at the local VA hospital in Loma Linda.

    This physical was to later prove important. I was diagnosed with a back problem by the administering orthopedic specialist. These results were concurred by an examination with my private physician.

    During the Christmas holiday season, I spilled my medication, losing most of them. I was experiencing a lot of pain and muscle spasms, and so I tried to get an appointment with the VA. I was informed by the service officer for the VVA that my doctor was on vacation and I should try the emergency room after hours. I was abused during this examination when two VA residents decided to have some "fun." While examining me, they grabbed my legs and swung my upper torso around till I fell unsupported from the table. With my head inches from the floor, my back snapped with a loud pop. I was in severe pain. The residents taunted me stating, "Come on, Marine, that doesn't hurt" Hearing my cries for help, my wife entered and put a stop to it.

    My wife hurried me from the emergency room although I was only half dressed. As I limped out wearing only one boot, I was in agony from the pain in my back. In the following days, my doctor had my medication refilled. I filed a complaint over my treatment the very next day. I later learned that one of the tormenting residents had been reprimanded. I was not impressed, I was still in pain from the abuse. As the holidays ended, I had to go to the Long Beach VA for an examination. I was admitted due to an inability to urinate and ended up having emergency surgery on my spine that February.

    In August, a second surgery was performed which resulted in an extended recovery period through April with a diagnosis of paraplegia etiology uncertain. This began my dependency on a wheelchair. I was paralyzed from the waist down. The condition could not be explained, and this was one of the best civilian hospitals in the area. After consulting with the Chief of Neurology at the Long Beach VA, the final diagnosis was paraplegia post-traumatic. However, my benefit level did not increase. I continued receiving treatment at the Long Beach facility and was later transferred to the spinal cord injury service soon after my discharge from neurology. But when I appeared to receive treatment, the outpatient physician informed me that I was not a spinal cord patient and refused to treat me. This began the runaround between the two units, which resulted in no alleviation from pain and a bad bladder infection.

    Through intervention from Senator Alan Cranston, an ambulance was sent to my house to return me to the Long Beach VA facility, for further evaluation and admission. The Chief of the Spinal Cord Service stated that there was enough pathology to warrant future treatment from the spinal cord service. Upon discharge, I was set up with a prescription allowing me to use that facility's personal care clinic on a regular basis.

    I continued as an outpatient managing only periodic visits to the VA until 1991, when I was hospitalized for the evaluation of problem occurring while transferring from my wheelchair. I was having trouble lifting my body due to the onset of arthritis in my neck. I left the facility with a lift to get me to the wheelchair, and a new wheelchair with a tilt-back system. In April, I experienced an accident after leaving a personal care appointment in the facility parking lot. The back of the wheelchair broke, and I was secured to its back as it bounced, a spreader bar striking my neck every time it hit the ground. I never made it to my van, I became paralyzed from the neck down (quadriplegia).

    The VA has their own version of malpractice-"1151 Claims." I filed two 1151 claims. The first against the residents who abused me, this was denied because I left the emergency room walking "in a normal gait.' No acknowledgment was made that the resident had been reprimanded or that my wife stopped the abuse and my state of "undress" as I exited. The second claim was for the accident in the parking lot with the wheelchair.

    I went through a magnetic resolution imaging (MRI) exam that concluded that the herniation had increased in size and was now moderate to severe, establishing that I had received further damage to my neck. Now a quadriplegia, they issued me a wheelchair that cost more than my van with all of its handicapped equipment. They wrote in my discharge summary that...at the time of discharge I refused to move my upper body. I still do not know how after all the medical exams, procedures, hospitalizations, etc., that the VA could still refuse the claim by stating that it didn't happen on VA grounds.

    Today, I am a quadriplegic requiring 24-hour care, trying to live on the VA's version of welfare. My wife left, taking the children, unable to deal with the VA. I await an appeal by the Board of Veterans Appeals the outcome will determine my future quality of life. I am still only 10% service-connected, and the VA had only seen fit to grant me their version of welfare 100% non-service connection.

I just wish there was someone out there who could help.

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PTSD From England

    I am a British combat veteran of the Falklands War and have suffered with chronic PTSD for the last 18 years. My Government will not recognize that this condition exists and treats its veterans with this illness like traitors. As a demonstration of my contempt for this left wing Government, I became the first British soldier to return his Decorations. I did this for all my brothers who are dead and dying and rotting in the prison system. I have found many friends in the US who were in Vietnam and suffer the same as my brothers and I. Even though I am not American I do feel the bond between Combat veterans, and my American brothers have helped me out when I have been going through some black times through my PC and the PTSD 101 site. Knowing you people are here for me means a great deal to me. My country looks me at as some sort of outcast.

I salute you all,
Mack

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by Richard Botkin

    Phnom Penh, Cambodia--I do not know why but when I think of Steve and Jill Fisk, I think of the Willie Nelson song, "My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys. "Except my heroes--pretty much until I met the Fisks--were men like George Patton, Bull Halsey, Chesty Puller, James Webb, and the everyday Marine I knew in my own life--the regular guy who did his duty and served honorably whether it was at Iwo Jima, the Chosin Reservoir, Khe Sanh, or during peacetime, simply making the world a better place by that service.

    My own Marine Corps service included active duty as an infantry officer with 2nd Battalion, 7th Marines and 1st Reconnaissance Battalion in the 1980-83 time frame. I continued in the Reserves for another 11 years, serving in Force Recon and Combat Service Support units. I left the Reserves, as my duties there took me away from leading Marines and into staff work, which I hated. As my family and professional responsibilities increased, being in the rear with the gear no longer was enough to keep me involved. These annual trips to Cambodia as part of a dental mission have brought back the same zeal for serving that I felt as a young infantry lieutenant. Our dental team first met the Fisks briefly one November Sunday between church services in Phnom Penh in 1998. We chatted with them for a few minutes and were off--our group to pull teeth for indigent people and the Fisks back to the new orphanage they had begun in town. We were all moved by their faith and their pluck.

    They had recently come over from Colorado with three children in tow, their oldest being son Elijah, who was barely three with a nascent vision now called "Asian Hope."

    Cambodia literally became the Heart of Darkness in the last quarter of the 20th century. Between 1975 and 1979, the communist Khmer Rouge murdered an estimated 2 million of the country's 7 million people. That period was followed by a short war with, and a long occupation by, Vietnam, and finally capped off with the United Nations stationing troops there in the early 1990s. Stability was marginally restored, and the wholesale genocide by the Khmer Rouge ended but other problems surfaced. The placement of international troops brought with it the introduction of AIDS. Cambodia has now become the AIDS epicenter of Asia.

    Perhaps the biggest societal casualty in Cambodia has been the traditional family unit. In a culture that generally has accepted a man's dalliances outside of marriage (various sources estimate that between 70 percent and 90 percent of all Cambodian men frequent prostitutes, and 60 percent of Cambodian prostitutes are HIV-positive), the widespread presence of AIDS is effecting deadly consequences that will be felt for many years to come. It is not at all uncommon for a man to father children with several women and demonstrate no involvement or responsibility. What is also becoming more common is the outright abandonment of children by their mothers or the attempted sale of those children by relatives. Add to that the deaths of parents caused by AIDS, crime, land mines, etc., and the picture becomes grimmer.

    The number of homeless and abandoned children in Cambodia cannot be counted with any accuracy. Into this horror and deprivation step intrepid men and women of boundless faith and hearts as big as Texas--like Steve and Jill Fisk. What sane man would leave the relative comfort and safety of Westminster, Colorado and a successful landscaping business to live in Cambodia? Why would a man risk not only his own life, but also that of his wife and three children? A chance meeting at church with a Cambodian Christian piqued Steve's interest in opportunities to serve. Making two quick reconnaissance trips in early 1998, Steve convinced his bride that Cambodia was where God wanted them. The rest, you might say, is almost history. Asian Hope began life on Oct. 3, 1998.

    Discovering that Cambodia's adoption laws were, at best, onerous, burdensome and bureaucratic, the Fisks shaped their vision for taking in whatever children they could and simply raising them as their own. One particularly reassuring aspect of Asian Hope is reuniting brothers and sisters and keeping family units intact--something not always practical or possible in this very poor country. Jill Fisk is the passionate young matriarch whose faith and love for these children knows no bounds. "We want to raise these children as our own," she states with a radiant energy evident in her eyes and body language. They have started their own school in town and are exposing the children to a classical education as well as to the Bible. The children learn not only in Khmer, the local language, but also in English. "Our hope is that we will build strong Christian soldiers, able to provide leadership for their own families and for Cambodia."

    Their ranging home on Rue 592 in downtown Phnom Penh, large by Cambodian standards, sleeps 36 snugly, which includes the Fisk family, a three person staff and 28 once-orphaned kids. The entire operation--housing, clothing, feeding, educating, and loving the kids--runs about $4,000 a month. Who are these children and what are their stories? My own favorites include brothers Tuen and Tia, 13 and 11, respectively, as they reminded me so much of my own sons at home in California. All of the children are in one way or another victims of the endless string of horror still prevalent in Cambodia today. Fathers shot and killed in desperate acts of crime and passion, mothers dead of AIDS or malaria, children abandoned or severely abused by dysfunctional parents or family members--the stories are legion. Nah Vee is a pretty 12-year-old girl. By American standards, she looks more like an 8-year-old. Her father was murdered when she was 3, and her mother, a young illiterate girl, quickly remarried. At age 8, Nah Vee was sold for the first time to an old Khmer man for $100. She managed to run away, but her mother found her. Bringing her home, she systematically starved Nah Vee until she sold her again at age 10. Nah Vee ran away once more, this time to her grandmother's home. After awhile, the grandmother was unable to continue caring for her, and NahVee found her way to Asian Hope.

    During our own two-week stay in-country this year, our mobile dental team traveled extensively around southern and central Cambodia working in concert with local Christian missionaries performing basic tooth extractions for hundreds of people, many of whom had never seen a real doctor or dentist. They were the poorest of the poor. All over we worked with children and adults, most of them underfed, undernourished and under-stimulated. Even through the use of interpreters, it was difficult to find common ground with those we served. They appeared sullen, fearful, and reluctant to speak, almost shell-shocked. Then there was our day working with the children of Asian Hope. These kids WERE different. An oral surgeon with the group, Steve Brown of Sacramento, CA, observed, "The Fisk kids seemed like my own. They were animated, excited, and happy. You could see the light in their eyes." Kelly Crider, a Folsom, CA dentist, echoed in agreement, "There was something different about these children compared to almost all of the others we worked with. These kids seemed full of joy." Indeed. Asian Hope is where the rubber meets the road in practical Christianity. The life stories of 28 boys and girls that would certainly have ended in chapters one or two, now hold so much promise and opportunity. Taking to heart the call to disciple the nations, the Fisks have transferred from God's army to His Marines. Assaulting deeply into unknown, unfriendly territory and securing a sizable beachhead, the ground has been made ready for follow-on troops to occupy and expand. Every day, they fight the good fight, gaining victory, at heavy cost, one little boy and one little girl at a time. I am reminded one last time of remarks made by Marine Col. David Shoup, who commanded the 2nd Marine Regiment as it invaded Tarawa in November 1943 when he radioed his situation report at the peak of the battle to his division commander aboard ship: "Casualties many; percentage dead not known; combat efficiency: We are winning."

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Psychiatric Casualties
(Contributing Factors)

    During the Siege battle of Khe Sanh, there were approximately 6,000 Americans on the small base (which was about a half-mile wide and a mile-and a half long) and on several nearby outpost hills and positions. We were surrounded by at least two North Vietnamese Divisions (numbering some 20,000) reinforced with various other units (artillery, antiaircraft, support units, etc.) We were shelled with up to 1200 rockets and artillery rounds in one day, but usually averaged about 400 a day. Everything above ground was rendered a shambles after the first two or three days. Casualties were common. It is estimated by the doctors at Khe Sanh that there were over 2500 evacuated wounded, and I have a listing by name, unit, and date of 475 Americans killed. Death was a given. Most men (including myself) were unable to take a shower or wash during those days and our clothes rotted off while other portions of the cloth became stuck to the skin. There were times in which the water point was pierced by shrapnel from exploding incoming rockets, artillery, and mortars, leaving us without water for three days at a time. Most men were down to one C-ration a day. Very little mail was delivered or distributed during this time. The days were spent running constantly for cover in a road culvert, a nearby trench, or bunker. Everyone was constantly aware--and continuously voiced this to me in my constant moving about the base at this time--that it was only a matter of "when" not "if" the North Vietnamese would mount a "human-wave attack" in which thousands would close in on us.

    This was especially a concern after the nearby Lang Vei Special Forces camp was overrun with tanks--the first time these were used by the North Vietnamese Army in the war in Vietnam, showing how determined they were. Furthermore, they unrelentingly constructed a maze of trenches and saps approaching the base perimeter, following the same pattern used in their assault at Dien Bien Phu. We were unable to patrol outside the lines to locate enemy snipers or supply points by orders. (The plan by our General was to have the North Vietmamese close in on us--we were a sort of bulls-eye or target--and then be destroyed by our bombs such as those from the B-52s.) The weather was mainly fog in the morning during which our aerial observers were unable to detect any enemy movement, and we were unable to re-supply or evacuate casualties since helicopters required visibility to land and could not land by instrument. About noon, the fog burned off and re-supply could resume, but also incoming rockets, artillery, and mortars were common.

    The emotional dimension of all of this involved a constant awareness of imminent personal danger and death, an awareness of abandonment felt by many, a deep awareness of vulnerability, an inability to do anything and the frustration of helplessness, continually seeing buddies injured and killed (mainly grotesquely--a very common occurrence was decapitation.) Emotional numbing (inability to cry, express anger, etc. ) was common after the first day of the shelling. There was a very common bravery in which men would be seen--it was a common occurrence-dashing out during incoming to rescue someone wounded, in which it was very possible that they themselves might be killed. It is my personal belief that this is the result of having concluded one is going to die anyway, and one might as well do something caring for another. Some hugged each other during the shelling. Most shared the little bit of water or food they had with others.

    In Lt Col Dave Grossman's book, Killing (Boston: Little, Brown & Co.,1995,1996), where on pp. 4344 he writes: "Swank and Marchand's much cited World War II study determined that after 60 days of continuous combat, 98 percent of all surviving soldiers will have become psychiatric casualties of one kind or another. Swank & Marchand also found a common trait among the 2 percent who are able to endure sustained combat: a predisposition toward "aggressive psychopathic personalities." Please feel at ease, feel free to contact me should you desire further amplification on anything I have said.

REV. Ray W. Stubbe
Founder KSV
Chaplain 1/26 Marines

Excerpt From Letter of Support for Khe Sanh Veteran by Rev Ray Stubbe

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