What Is the Value of a Native Vet's Life?

Photo copyright Jack Kato, 2015;
all rights reserved.

This is Jack. He and his wife, Amanda, are friends of ours.

They're on the other end of the country, which means that we can't be there right now to lend a hand in practical ways. But right now, they need support.

Jack is a Native vet. Forty years ago, he was sent to 'Nam to fight for a country that was busily treating the VietNamese the same way it treated his (our) ancestors. Sent to fight for a country that barely recognized his own citizenship. Sent to fight for a country that remains unwilling, and seemingly morally incapable, of ameliorating the damage it caused. And that includes damage to him personally, damage that has left him physically disabled and forces him to continue to fight the revenants of that illegal war on a daily basis.

A few days ago, he almost lost that battle permanently.

I'll tell you Jack and Amanda's story in some detail over the jump, but here's the immediate need: They are trying to raise $5,000 to cover expenses related to Jack's ongoing health problems and to Amanda's recent [life-saving] dental surgery, and to the many, many accumulated bills that continue to pile up while they advocate for vets, raise their adopted grandchildren, and try to survive.

Here's the GoFundMe page. The goal is modest, considering what I know they face on a daily basis. I've also seen online communities of which I am and/or have been a part raise far, far more than that, nearly at the drop of a hat. So I was appalled to see that as of this morning, of a $5K goal, only $5 (that's FIVE DOLLARS) had been raised.

We can do better, folks.

Kick in here. A thousand people giving the price of a latte (or a six-pack) covers it. A hundred people giving $50 covers it, too. We have some juggling to do; we're stretched beyond our limit already. But as soon as we can free up a little, we're in, too.

Now, come and learn about Jack and Amanda.



Jack was injured in VietNam, left disabled by a war that was never given its proper name, by a war crime on a truly massive scale: one inflicted on people half a world away and on this country's very own, conscripted and sent to do its colonialist bidding. His injuries to the body were bad enough, ones that continue to impair his quality of life all these many years later. And I don't mean a few aches and pains; I mean full-bore, non-stop physical agony, coupled with damage to his heart and other organs. But it's not just that. It's also the PTSD, the invisible wounds and scars that still cause daily pain, daily relived trauma, to so many of his generation (and so many, many people that we know). It's a kind of pain that is not itself physical, yet engenders more physical pain, and the damage that it inflicts is no less real (indeed, sometimes it's the far worse of the two). 

Jack's survival alone is a victory.

The fact that he works with his wife to support other vets, in the face of his own overwhelming pain, is testament to his inner strength and will to live.

But a few days ago, his body faced a test it almost couldn't meet.

Jack has had numerous VA hospitalizations over the years, various surgeries, an abundance of heart-related problems all stemming from his time in-country in VietNam. During once particularly acute period five years ago or so, Wings sent him a Native choker, one made of bone hair-pipe beads on a leather thong, so that he would have something from his relations to wear during his battle. Three years ago or so, when his injuries became so aggravated that he began to use a wheelchair, we sent him a Native-made eagle staff to use as a walking stick. Now, though, we're out of things to send, because money is what's needed.

Surgery is risky for someone like Jack at the best of times; his heart issues guarantee that. But he developed two hernias; Amanda tells me they were grapefruit-sized, and they were impinging on other vital organs and nerves. It had finally reached a critical point, and there was no choice but to have them removed.

And the surgery went wrong. Very wrong.

In January, Amanda had to have major dental surgery to remove badly-infected teeth; the poison was leaching throughout her system and threatening her life. That was $3,000 in out-of-pocket expenses; a kind soul put money on the table so that Amanda could get the emergency surgery she needed. but they're still trying to repay that over time. They have custody of their four grandkids. And their middle son has had to move back home because he can't make it on the low-wage jobs that are available to him in Rick Scott's Florida. Chris is in his twenties, but he has significant health issues — a cleft palate that is causing dental infections and tooth loss, and 70% hearing loss for which the state will not provide hearing aids, despite his extraordinarily low income — and so the expenses continue to pile up as the family struggles for survival in a state that would evidently prefer that the working poor simply decrease the surplus population. 

So when Jack entered the VA hospital, some 70 miles away from their home, it was impossible for Amanda to be there around the clock as she would have preferred. She has grandchildren to care for, and the gas money alone for a 140-mile round trip is prohibitive at this point. When Jack's surgery began to go south, she couldn't be there.

It appears that the medical staff administered the wrong anesthetic, or perhaps the wrong dose — either way, Jack reacted to it very badly indeed. To try to counteract its effects, they reportedly gave him a cocktail of powerful painkillers, the sort where mixing them is expressly contraindicated on their black-box warnings. His reaction worsened, and, awake in spite of everything, he felt his spirit leave his body. It's a dislocating feeling, being able to see yourself from the outside. He couldn't breathe; he said that he could feel his spirit slipping away.

And then, he said, he heard Spirit's voice. He said that "it sounded so strange," like nothing he'd ever heard. He remembered the choker, packed in his overnight bag back in his hospital room. That image was replaced with a picture of his wife, Amanda, with their daughter, Sierra (their granddaughter, who they have adopted legally as their daughter; she's the one in the video on the GoFundMe page). The voice instructed him to breathe.

He listened.

He felt himself reenter his body. Fearing that it was only temporary, he demanded that the nurse retrieve his Kindle from his room so that he could take the heartbreaking photo above, so that he could send one last message to his beloved Amanda. And still, he listened to the voice telling him how to breathe, and followed its instructions.

Jack is home now. He is in tremendous pain, and his recovery will be along and difficult road. it's a journey he's had to make too many times before, and now, in his sixties, he's being asked to make it once again.

He's facing the pain, gritting his teeth, breathing: doing it for Amanda and for their children and grandchildren. As Wings put it this morning, he's a warrior.

But meanwhile, the bills and expenses continue to accumulate. Amanda's work on behalf of other vets is on hold; her own vet needs her more than ever now. I happen to know that tomorrow is her birthday, and there is something obscene about a 65-year-old woman opening the fridge and then realizing that she needs to keep the power on, and so there will be no grocery shopping today.

This is not only Rick Scott's Florida. This is America, and it is all of ours.

These are the wages of this society.

But we can help. Remember what I said above:  Were you planning to buy a latte on your way in to the office this morning? Put the money here instead. Maybe a six-pack on your way home from work? Put it here instead. Do you smoke? Maybe you can ration your cigarettes our an extra day, and put the cost of that new pack here instead. Planning on running errands and filling the tank in the process? Maybe consolidate them or put them off a few days, and throw a sawbuck here instead.  

And if you can do more — if you're one of those folks fortunate enough, blessed enough to have $20, $50, $100 to spare — put it here instead. As a society, we've done little enough for our vets, and especially our Native vets. But maybe we can help one out today.




All text copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.