What Does It Mean to be a Disabled Veteran?

What does it mean to be a disabled veteran?

By Felicia Whatley

I have been a soldier for almost eleven years now. I remember when I first met crusty old Major Barker retired US Marine Corps JR ROTC instructor at Albuquerque, New Mexico. I was sixteen years old and for my first assignment as a reporter for the La Cueva High School newspaper, I was to write about the seven Junior ROTC students who were heading off to prestigious military colleges.

In hearing Major Barker speak, I couldn’t believe how grounded he was, secure of himself and his surroundings. I wanted to know what that felt like so I joined Junior ROTC. He taught me how to shoot, how to believe in myself in the right way, and how to love the military life. He wore a shirt that said “Yes Marines are a Department of the Navy…The Men’s Department”. (He got in trouble for wearing it and I thought it was funny.)

I took an internship at Kirkland’s Air Force base in the Judge Advocate General (JAG) Corps, but found it didn’t suit me. When it came time for me to graduate and I knew I would head to University of Massachusetts Boston for college, I asked Major Barker if I should join the Marine Reserves.

He laughed. He knew me. I was always very outspoken and had been in a few principled fights on campus, like the time I stood up for my neighbor who had MS and got my nose broken. He suggested the Army reserve component would be a better fit.

Since I enlisted I have deployed to Germany, Bosnia, Croatia, Hungary, Korea, Kuwait, and Iraq. I have learned a lot about myself and even more about the world around me. I embrace the people in the military, the internal jokes that only other soldiers would understand. There is something special about being a soldier. When I got to boot camp the drill sergeants of Fort Sill, Oklahoma surrounded me and asked why I was crying. “Because I am going to be a soldier.” That was pride and it was the most amazing feeling.

I will always be proud to wear the uniform. But along the way, my body broke a bit. With about a month left of my Bosnia tour in 2003, I lost the ability to sleep and throughout the tour I had difficulty breathing the air because of the particulates from burning trash. I got compartment syndrome for continuously unloading heavy boxes of postal mail with little to no break.

Then in Iraq in 2007, I was in a unit that had a dysfunctional chain of command that believed in punishing as a leadership tactic. Physically, I found that I did not produce enough tears in my eyes. (Now my eyes are so dry they hurt most of the time and there is some vision loss.) I received some care while I was on duty but I wasn’t the same after that tour. Perhaps it was the stress but I couldn’t sleep naturally anymore. And so I sought help. It is ok to get help, right?

I have accomplished a lot while in the Army. I was a Postal clerk, an Administrative specialist, and a Print journalist. No matter where I was deployed and under whatever job title, there was always so much life experience to write about and work to be done. Iraq was a difficult mission and very dangerous.

Many soldiers have difficulty with stress. And I was the exception. I was given a full waiver to deploy with my medications, and I have always done my job proficiently and admirably. I have published over 100 journalism articles in four different languages with a write up from the distinguished Pentagon’s Post 30.

Recently, I was treated in a VA hospital for stress related symptoms. I begin to ponder what does it mean to be a disabled veteran. Am I disabled? My unit wants me to get medically evaluated. That saddens me. I wonder if being disabled would mean there will be fewer opportunities for me in and out of the military.

Does it mean I will lose respect from those who know me? Does it mean I have to hang up the uniform for good? I wonder if I should feel grateful, like I am at the end of an 11 year tour. It feels like something that is a part of me is being threatened to be taken away.

But when God closes the door, he opens a window. I will soon graduate with a Master of Science in Public Affairs International Relations from UMass Boston. Yet still, I think I want to be that rare enlistee that beats the odds and still gets to be an American soldier. Whatever path I march, I know Major Barker would be proud of me.