And then there were all those soldiers who did multiple backbreaking tours, some not by choice.
McInroe also believes that early in the war, the Bush team had informally selected PTSD and traumatic brain injuries as something akin to pet issues for returning vets. "Those injuries caught on with the public," McInroe says. "It was easy to get funding for them because people understood them."
Jesse Tinsley/The Spokesman-Review
Former VA social worker and Vietnam vet Carroll McInroe believes that the numbers of sufferers of terrible maladies like PTSD and traumatic brain injury have been overstated, and that the extent of the back-pain epidemic has been swept under the rug.
Daniel Kramer
Iraq vet Anthony Gonzales was diligent in documenting his back injury on the way out of the service and has been able to draw disability pay. He says that the medical treatment he got in the VA was frustrating and ineffective.
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Despite all you've heard about PTSD and TBI, McInroe still maintains that back pain is a far larger issue. (And he stresses that he does not want it thought that he belittles PTSD or TBI or those who suffer from them.)
"When I retired, the occurrence of PTSD was around 15 percent," he says. "The VA was very happy letting the public think it was 50 or 60 percent because that meant more funding." The same went for TBI, he says. "The VA would like to have people think that it's a pervasive wound," he says. "It is a terrible wound. It's horrible."
One case of TBI seems to have given McInroe himself a case of social worker PTSD. Again and again in the course of our interviews, he talked about a former high school football star from rural Washington. This young man enlisted in the army and was assigned machine gun-turret duty atop a light armored vehicle. On patrol one day, an IED exploded and detached half of this kid's head. "His buddies should have let him die, but they loved him," says McInroe. Today, the young man exists in a persistent vegetative state that could last for decades. "Imagine you were that boy's mama," he says.
So McInroe is not one to take TBI lightly, nor PTSD, which he says is a terrible problem. And yet in terms of numbers, McInroe believes that TBI has been completely overstated. "Percentagewise, it's very little," he says. He maintains that fewer than 1 percent of all wounded and injured have the sort of permanent, life-altering TBI the public has read so much about. "And that's a good thing," he says.
McInroe says that a huge number of those that are labeled with TBI will make full recoveries inside two years, barring organic injury to the brain itself. "If you were about 40 feet from an explosion and it knocked you on your ass and really rang your bell, you may have symptoms for 12, 15, 18 months but they will normally remit. And after that, you don't have traumatic brain injury."
In contrast, McInroe says, the back guys just get worse, and in his years at the VA, precious little was done to treat their underlying ailments, while perhaps too much was done to alleviate their pain.
First, he says, he grants that the VA simply cannot afford to pay the salaries of competent trained neurosurgeons. "They cost $2 million a year and that's not in the budget," he says, and adds that what little neurosurgery was being done in the Pacific Northwest in his time at the VA was performed by interns in Seattle. "And the success rate is pretty low," he says. "I would tell our guys, 'Don't go there. It's too great a risk. It's not a real neurosurgeon, it's a neurosurgeon-wannabe hacking on your spine.'"
Absent neurosurgery, McInroe lobbied for the creation of back-pain clinics in every VA hospital from coast to coast, staffed by pain-management doctors. "Those would be cheaper but still could help take care of this back pain. We never did succeed here."
And so what happened, all too often, was that back-pain sufferers were simply prescribed pills and sent on their way.
Two veterans the Houston Press spoke to described frustrating experiences with the VA's medical system. Though his days are filled with pain, Matthew Gonzales, the First Cavalry scout, says he is still dealing with red tape. He still doesn't draw a penny of disability, and he says the application process has been "long and freakin' crappy." None of the treatments he has yet obtained have brought much if any relief. For him, most of the time powerful pain pills are off the table because of his job's demands — he is an electrical/mechanical technician for Schlumberger. "I don't take no chances like that. If the pain gets too bad, then yes, I do," he says. A doctor in private practice has told him he needs steroid shots in his back. "But I don't have money like that," he says.
Anthony Rene Gonzales (no relation to Matthew) has also had to look beyond the VA for a solution to his back injury. Though he was an army mortarman during the war in Iraq, Anthony believes his back pain stems less from being heavily laden than it does from the IED blasts he survived, the last of which hurled him across a truck with such force it damaged the discs in his back.
"It was a catastrophic kill on the vehicle," he says. As with the other two explosions, Anthony was knocked cold. The difference between the last one and the first two was that when he tried to get up this time, the whole right side of his body just gave out.