A Marine’s Look at the Good, the Bad, and Everything In Between
🪖 Brothers In Arms • Field Notes from Those Who Served
Most Americans have never set foot inside a Veterans Administration Hospital.
Many imagine it as a place where old men sit around swapping war stories while waiting to see a doctor.
The reality is far more complicated.
For more than two decades I came to know the VA from the inside—as a patient, a volunteer, and eventually as a veteran receiving permanent disability benefits.
Some of it frustrated me.
Some of it impressed me.
Much of it surprised me.
This isn’t the story of filing my disability claim. I’ve already told that story.
This is what life inside the VA was really like.
First Impressions
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the Phoenix VA wasn’t the waiting room.
It wasn’t the paperwork.
It wasn’t even the long lines.
It was the veterans.
Men in wheelchairs.
Men missing legs.
Men missing arms.
Others carried injuries you couldn’t see.
I remember looking around and thinking, What am I doing here?
I had walked into the building under my own power.
I still had both arms.
Both legs.
No obvious physical scars.
Applying for disability because of PTSD almost felt like a slap in the face to men who had sacrificed so much more than I had.
Looking back now, I know that was the wrong way to think about it.
The VA isn’t a competition.
Some wounds are visible.
Others aren’t.
That first visit inspired me to give something back.
As a member of the Veterans of Foreign Wars, I joined the Military Order of the Cootie, whose mission is serving hospitalized and disabled veterans.
For several years I volunteered at the Phoenix VA Veterans Home.
We helped serve meals.
Organized games.
Raised money to buy items the residents needed.
It was some of the most rewarding volunteer work I’ve ever done.
It was also some of the hardest.
Eventually I had to stop.
Every visit reminded me how fortunate I had been.
Every visit also broke my heart.
Learning the VA
The VA is almost like learning a new language.
Eligibility.
Primary care.
Specialty clinics.
Mental health.
Compensation and Pension examinations.
Service-connected disabilities.
Individual Unemployability.
Permanent and Total.
Nothing is obvious when you first walk through the doors.
Like most veterans, I took a number, waited to be called, and slowly learned how the system worked.
Sometimes it worked well.
Sometimes it didn’t.
Appointments could take months.
Occasionally they were cancelled the day before—or even the day of—forcing you to start the process all over again.
Patience became part of the treatment plan.
The PTSD Clinic
I spent years attending the PTSD clinic.
There were psychiatrists.
Psychologists.
Social workers.
Individual counseling.
Group therapy.
Every veteran responded differently.
Some found tremendous comfort sharing their stories.
Others, like me, mostly listened.
If I’m being completely honest, the counseling never changed my life.
Neither did the support groups.
That doesn’t mean they weren’t valuable.
They simply weren’t the answer for me.
What I did appreciate was knowing I wasn’t the only one carrying memories that refused to stay buried.
Meeting Other Veterans
One of the unexpected things about the VA was meeting veterans from every generation.
World War II.
Korea.
Vietnam.
The Gulf War.
Iraq.
Afghanistan.
Every war leaves different scars.
The younger veterans often reminded me of what I must have looked like years earlier.
The older veterans reminded me where I was headed.
Some men wanted to talk endlessly.
Others never spoke at all.
Some carried anger.
Some carried guilt.
Some had somehow found peace.
One thing I learned quickly is that healing looks different for everyone.
There isn’t a single road that works for every veteran.
Medication
If counseling wasn’t the answer for me, medication certainly helped.
Over the years I was prescribed several antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications.
Xanax.
Sertraline.
Eventually Venlafaxine.
Like many veterans, we jokingly referred to them as our “mood pills.”
The jokes helped.
The medication helped more.
I remained on Venlafaxine for more than ten years.
It steadied me.
It didn’t erase Vietnam.
Nothing could do that.
But it made living with it easier.
After retiring to the Philippines and finally finding the peaceful life I’d been searching for, I made another decision.
I stopped taking it.
Cold turkey.
To my surprise, I never looked back.
“The VA helped me survive. The Philippines helped me live again.”
Military Sexual Trauma (MST)
One of the more difficult experiences at the VA came decades after the event itself.
Because of what had happened to me at the Defense Information School, I eventually registered under the VA’s Military Sexual Trauma program.
Walking into that office wasn’t easy.
Talking about something I had spent decades trying to forget wasn’t easy either.
The staff treated me professionally and respectfully.
That made the experience far less intimidating than I had expected.
Some memories never disappear.
But sometimes simply acknowledging they happened is a step forward.
Agent Orange
Like many Vietnam veterans, Agent Orange remained a constant worry.
Every unexplained ache.
Every new medical problem.
Every cancer story involving another veteran.
You couldn’t help wondering.
Was this the beginning?
The VA’s Agent Orange Registry gave many of us an opportunity to be evaluated and documented.
It didn’t erase the uncertainty.
But it did provide answers where answers were possible.
Camp Lejeune
Then came another letter.
This time it involved Camp Lejeune.
Like thousands of Marines, I learned that water we had trusted while serving our country had later been linked to serious health problems.
My first thought was simple.
“What now?”
It sometimes seemed like military service had a way of reaching out decades later with one more surprise.
The Manila VA
One thing many Americans don’t realize is that the VA operates an outpatient clinic in Manila, Philippines.
For veterans living overseas, it’s an invaluable resource.
The staff has always treated me well.
They can refill many prescriptions, provide primary care, and help veterans navigate the VA system while living abroad, AS LONG AS THE CONDITION IS CONSIDERED SERVICE CONNECTED.
Not every service available in the United States can be provided there, but for many American veterans retiring in the Philippines, it is an important lifeline.
The VA Changed
Around 2014 the VA found itself at the center of national controversy over appointment delays and waiting lists.
Whether those reports directly affected my own care, I can’t say.
What I can say is that I noticed a change afterward.
The atmosphere became different.
Staff members smiled.
They carried on conversations.
They thanked veterans for their service.
People seemed to remember they weren’t simply processing paperwork.
They were caring for veterans.
I appreciated that change.
It made every visit a little easier.
What the VA Could Never Give Me
The VA gave me disability compensation.
The VA gave me treatment.
The VA gave me medication.
The VA acknowledged what Vietnam had done to me.
For that, I’ll always be grateful.
But the VA couldn’t give me peace.
That came much later.
After I retired.
After I slowed my life down.
After I moved halfway around the world.
After I found myself living with a Filipino family who treated me with kindness, laughter, and genuine affection.
The VA helped me survive.
The Philippines helped me live again.
Today the VA considers me Permanently and Totally disabled.
Vietnam will always be part of who I am.
But at seventy-five years old, after a lifetime of searching, I finally wake up looking forward to tomorrow.
For me, that’s been the greatest therapy of all.
Every veteran’s experience with the Department of Veterans Affairs is different. This article reflects my own journey through the VA healthcare system over more than two decades. It is not meant to criticize or endorse the VA as a whole, but to offer an honest look at one Marine’s experiences with treatment, disability, and life after military service.
Continue the Journey
The Brothers In Arms series follows my military service, Vietnam, and the decades that followed.