Chapter 14

Bob's clearing papers consisted of a page with twenty-five boxes on it, relating to various different agencies and offices, all of which Bob had to go to, to get a stamp and signature. Of course each agency or office required that he do or have accomplished certain specific tasks before they would give him the stamp and signature. It wasn't unusual for clearing to take as much as a week to complete.

In Bob's case, however, clearing such places as the arms room, the library and most of the other offices was easy because he'd had nothing to do with them during his stay. Clearing supply only meant turning in his linens. He found the answer to his question when he tried to clear the Ortho Clinic.

He was directed to a male nurse, who looked at him oddly.

"Where is your wheel chair?" he asked.

"I don't have a wheel chair," said Bob.

The nurse flipped through his file. "You missed your last ten appointments. It was just assumed that the prosthetics weren't working out and that you had opted for a chair instead."

"I kept all my appointments," said Bob. "How do you think I got this?" He pulled up his pants leg and displayed his walking foot.

"It shows in your file that you got that," said the nurse patiently. "But when you didn't come back every two weeks like you were supposed to, we figured you'd chosen the chair. About three percent do."

"I didn't know anything about coming here every two weeks," said Bob.

"Well, be that as it may, that's SOP, and you weren't here, so the board was told you were a rehab failure."

"Obviously that was in error," said Bob. "And why would they put me on three months con leave if I was supposed to show up here every two weeks?"

"You were on con leave?" The nurse's eyebrows rose.

"For ninety days," said Bob. "I can show you the leave paperwork if you don't believe me."

"We didn't know that," said the nurse. "Nobody told us you'd gone on leave or we would have done things differently."

"So what happens now?" asked Bob.

"I take the leg back and give you a chair," said the nurse.

Bob had taken a deep breath, instead of blowing his top. Things were looking up for him, thus far, and he wanted them to continue looking up. He was pretty sure nobody in his right mind would actually take away a vet's leg and make him use a wheelchair.

It was then that Bob learned that, basically, the legs he had been given were temporary, just to give him the chance to use them and get his stump used to being used to support him. Had he kept all the appointments, the socket would have been changed every two weeks to match the changes in his stump as it continued to heal and change in shape. What had happened was that the batting in the temporary socket had been soft enough that Bob had simply adjusted to the pressure, thinking that a little pain was normal.

He learned further that, once his stump had stabilized, he would have been issued a brand new walking leg, a running leg, a "sports" leg that had a stiffer spring than the running leg, and a leg designed to mimic a real one in appearance. That leg was ostensibly for use when he was in his dress uniform, so that his pants would hang correctly and a standard issue sock could be worn. An added benefit was that the leg had realistic foam molded to it that, if he wore shorts, would appear to be a real leg from more than five or so feet away. The joint between leg and flesh could be covered with what looked like a standard bandage, making the leg look injured, rather than artificial.

"So why can't I get the legs anyway?" he asked. "I'm authorized to have them, right?"

"Yes, if you'd have made your appointments," said the nurse.

"I couldn't make the appointments because I was on authorized convalescent leave," said Bob.

"I don't know about that," said the nurse. "All I know is that you didn't make the appointments, so you weren't fitted with the legs."

"Could I be fitted with them now?" asked Bob.

"If you were still in the system, yes, but you're not, because you've been boarded. Rehab failures are always discharged, and that makes you a civilian."

"That will make me a veteran, once it happens," said Bob tersely. "Which it hasn't yet, I might add. And it won't until I clear the ortho clinic."

"So, you give me the walking leg and running leg, I'll give you a state of the art wheelchair, and then I can sign your clearing papers," said the nurse.

"Not acceptable," said Bob. "Take me to your next higher in the chain."

What Bob was referring to was the nurse's supervisor in the chain of command. The way you make a complaint in the Army is to use the chain of command. In theory, if you're not satisfied with how the problem is dealt with, you can go higher and higher in the chain, until you are satisfied. Theoretically, that means you could request to see the commander in chief, but only after you've seen every other soldier in the chain below him. And at each step, you have to be able to articulate why the previous person in the chain could not, or would not solve the problem to your satisfaction.

Bob was taken to the Officer In Charge (OIC) of the orthopedic clinic, a Major Bonnewitz. Bob explained what had happened, that he liked the legs he had and was fully mobile with them, and didn't want a wheelchair.

"Tell you what," said Bonnewitz. "I'll have the doc take a look at you. If he says the stump is stable, then I'll order you the legs. Once they're fitted, you can go on your merry way."

"How long we talking?" asked Bob.

"Couple of weeks. Maybe three."

"Personnel isn't going to let me take three weeks to clear," said Bob. "I can't wait that long."

"Have to," said the OIC. "That's how long it takes."

"Why can't I go home and the legs follow?" asked Bob.

"Because we can't fit them to you if you and the legs aren't here," said the Major.

"Somebody else can fit them to me," said Bob.

"Look, we're going the extra mile to accommodate you already. Technically all we're required to give you is a working wheelchair. Take it or leave it, Sergeant."

"I came to you as a part of the chain," said Bob. "I'm not satisfied. Who is your next higher in the chain?"

Major Bonnewitz wrote a room number on a post it note and handed it to Bob. "Go there," he said.

The room number turned out to be the offices of the patient advocate. Every military hospital has a patient advocate, who is normally a civilian, who is an "advocate" for all patients with all problems. Normally the patient advocate takes the complaint, says he (or she) will look into it, and then calls the complainant with the results. WRAMC is large enough that there are multiple patient advocates. Bob got Mr. Jackson, who he only had one question for.

"Are you in the chain of command of the ortho clinic?"

"No," said the man, smiling. "But I can look into whatever your complaint is."

"I'm engaged in using the chain of command for my complaint," said Bob. "If you aren't in it, then I need to find out who I need to see next. That would be Major Bonnewitz's immediate supervisor."

"But it's my job to resolve complaints," said the man.

"My complaint is that nobody will tell me who is next in the chain of command," said Bob. "Who is that, please?"

"Tell me your complaint and I'll get you the answer," insisted Jackson.

"My complaint is that no one in this hospital will tell me who Major Bonnewitz's immediate superior is, so I can pursue an issue with the chain of command!" snapped Bob.

Long story short, Bob ended up being escorted to the office of Colonel Jeffrey Pratt, the Director Of Clinical Services, where Mr. Jackson tried to torpedo Bob's request, and the Colonel's secretary attempted to help Jackson by saying it would be several days before she could get him in to see LTC Pratt.

"That's not timely," said Bob, calmly. "Who is Col Pratt's immediate supervisor, please?"

"That would be the hospital commander," said the receptionist frostily, her voice dismissive.

"What direction is that?" asked Bob.

Apparently nobody had ever used the chain of command all the way up to the hospital commander before. Not a dogface soldier, anyway. And those above Mr. Jackson's position just assumed that Bob would be told to get the hell out and use the system properly, since they were quite sure a General would have nothing to do with a whining Staff Sergeant. That might have been the case prior to 2007. Lieutenant General Carson, however, was well versed in the use of the chain to deal with problems. He simply called Colonel Pratt and ordered him to have time to deal with the complaint, whatever it was, and that if the soldier returned to the general's office, Pratt had better have a damn good reason why he couldn't solve the problem.

"What, exactly, do you want me to do?" asked Col Pratt, who had been playing golf and had to leave a two foot birdie putt to hot foot it back to the hospital.

"I want the legs to be shipped to the VA hospital in Kansas City," said Bob. "They'll have an ortho department there, and they'll be taking care of me in the future anyway. Why can't they fit them to me? I'm being discharged. I need to find a job, or get into college instead of sitting here twiddling my thumbs."

To read this story you need a Registration + Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In or Register (Why register?)

Support the author's future writing by purchasing this book from Bookapy

Any Soldier

Lubrican

$4.00