This week Maine’s Togus Veteran's Administration Hospital
celebrates its 150th birthday. It is the oldest VA Hospital in the country,
purchased by President Lincoln for $50,000 in 1861 for the purpose of housing
seriously wounded veterans just as the Civil War was beginning. The 150 acre
property was built by a Maine granite dealer who had a grand vision for turning
the property into a spa resort. But when his plans failed to come to fruition
the government stepped in and bought the property. Its name Togus comes from an
old Indian name meaning “place by mineral springs.” I always thought it was a
weird name for a VA facility until I actually became acquainted with Togus.
I joined the Army to pay for my college education and spent
three years on active duty in the Army Nurse Corps. At my final duty assignment
in Ft Knox, KY I met, fell in love with, and married a fellow Vietnam Veteran,
recovering from wounds he received as a medical evacuation helicopter pilot. He
received a disability discharge from the Army that gave us access to military
hospitals or out-patient clinics and use of the commissary. So needing the VA
rarely crossed my mind.
When I was in officer’s basic training at Ft Sam Houston, TX,
I was the victim of a near rape. Although I was physically uninjured by what
happened on that Sunday morning in the summer of 1969, its result developed
into what we now recognize as PTSD. I was always on guard when I was in public
places after dark (and sometimes during the day;) I went through the house to
make sure all the downstairs windows and doors were locked before going to bed
at night, and when Jim was out of town on business I shoved tables against
doors and slept with a butcher knife under my pillow. Logically, I could see
that these behaviors were signs that something was wrong. I knew it was some
form of PTSD, but I didn’t do anything about it. After all the source of my
stress disorder was not from being in combat.
Over time I stopped moving tables or sleeping with a knife,
but if I came home to an empty house after working an overnight shift and heard
a weird noise I would use that knife to walk through the entire house, check
under beds, inside closets and bath tubs. It didn’t matter if the house felt
empty. For me to get any restful sleep I had
to check to see if I could go to bed safely.
And then, in 2012, our family went through a crisis that
bore absolutely no relationship to sexual assault. My anxiety over our family
problem, which eventually was resolved in a positive manner, seemed out of
proportion to the actual events. Something was definitely wrong with my
behavior. At the same time the news media was focusing its attention of the
high rate of sexual assault against both women and men in the military. When
both the local and national news pointed to the Maine VA as having the best
practices program for people who suffered from MST (Military Sexual Trauma) my
husband suggested I get help.
And so, I entered the VA system. A phone call to the MST
hotline was a godsend. Once the staff determined I was not suicidal they
referred me to the counseling program at the Portland, ME clinic. But before
the appointment could be made I had to get into the system. An appointment was
made for me with one of the Portland clinic’s primary care providers, Dr.
Renate Medrano. I missed my first appointment. I wasn’t expecting to receive
such a quick response and opened the letter telling me of my appointment at the
precise time I was supposed to see the doctor. Once I finally saw Dr. Medrano,
I got my referral to meet with a therapist in a week.
I don’t remember what the counselor and I talked about. But
she was great. She might have only been able to see the weakest of connections
between my MST and current events, but she was quite certain I had PTSD, which
can result from any traumatic event, and not simply war. It is even possible to
develop PTSD simply from seeing the results of a traumatic event such as the
Boston Marathon bombing. She reminded me to use the coping mechanisms a kind
psychiatrist had taught me a few months after the MST. She encouraged me to
attend some group yoga sessions, which sounded interesting, but the time of and
the distance to the classes were inconvenient and I demurred.
Then about two years ago I was encouraged to join the “Agent
Orange Register.” This database compiles lists of veterans who were exposed to
dioxin, usually in Vietnam, but also during a few specific times on the Korean
DMZ. It consists of a questionnaire, some basic health assessments like a chest
x-ray and blood work. Some of my friends from Vietnam have illnesses thought to
be caused by Agent Orange, and so on a sunny afternoon in the fall of 2014 I
joined the Agent Orange Registry, not for my own sake but for that of my fellow
veterans. To do this I had to drive to Togus (near Augusta,) about 90 minutes
north of where I live.
It was an absolutely glorious early fall day the first time
I saw Togus, and I was blown away. Yes, there were the conglomeration of red
brick buildings that made up the hospital’s in-patient division, and I got lost
three times trying to find the right building. But that gave me a chance to
drive around the campus. I saw a chapel, a pond, well- groomed lawns and flower
beds, a couple of mansion like buildings, and some of the small cottages that
housed veterans in the late 1800s. It was gorgeous. Yes, the room where I was
to be examined was standard industrial ugly, but the people were nice, helpful.
The person who examined me was a nurse practitioner. We compared notes about
going to graduate school. He, too, went to Vietnam-- as a medical corpsman, and
we compared notes.
I had not expected to return to Togus because I have
excellent health insurance, thanks to Jim’s disability. But then I started
having significant tinnitus. Someone suggested a hearing test at Togus because
the VA apparently assumes all veterans have been exposed to some sort of loud
noises, and thus, willingly supply veterans with state of the art hearing aids.
And so two more trips to Togus, one in the early spring of this year, the other
a month or so later. Yes, I have a mild hearing loss, yes I qualified for
hearing aids. I chose ones with sapphire blue microphones. In all the hearing
aids cost me $100.
The main hallways of the hospital at Togus looked worn, but
I was also surprised by what I saw. The receptionist at the front desk could
not have been more helpful. There was coffee and water set out on a table near
the elevator. The hearing test room was state of the art. So were the hearing
aids. As I waited for my appointment to get my hearing aids I was astounded to
see a robot patrolling the halls carrying charts from one place to another.
When I remarked about that to the audiologist she laughed. Yes, the facility
looked like it badly needs a face lift, but it is the care that is important. And
I got good care.
According to an anniversary publication from Togus, its
staff has been able to significantly reduce the number of outstanding veterans’
claims. Improvements to the hospital’s physical plant, building a new Fisher
House, and other improvements, including a nursing home, are being planned.
Before I retired from nursing I taught the basics, such as
how to take a blood pressure, to new students. The last time I was at the
clinic in Portland my blood pressure was a little high. Not surprising since I
had just driven in bad weather for 45 minutes, and the nursing assistant was
using an electronic blood pressure cuff. Before he would deem me fit enough to
go another year without seeing him Dr. Medrano insisted on taking my blood
pressure the “old fashioned way,” with a cuff and stethoscope which is more
accurate. He did everything correctly. So I jokingly told him he was one of my nursing
students I would have given him an “A.”
Meanwhile, Jim, who has a partially paralyzed right foot from
his wounds, began to experienced problems walking. He believed, rightfully,
that his best choice for treatment was the VA. Because we live closer to the VA
Hospital in Manchester, NH than Togus he chose to enter the medical part of the
system in Manchester. By then he had already seen a civilian podiatrist who had
dismissed the problems with his foot as not needing much of his attention. Not
the VA podiatrist. One look at Jim’s foot and he was able to make several
suggestions, such as ordering special orthotics, to help him cope with his
chronic foot pain. And it may seem crazy, but the podiatrist was happy to care
for someone who needed his expertise. Since then Jim has seen the podiatrist
several times and been happy with his care.
I used to think we no longer need the VA. That its system of
care was outmoded. But I was wrong. Pinned to the cork board in the audiologist’s
office was the picture of one of Maine’s most well regarded Veterans. His name
is Travis Mills, who lost all or part of both arms and both legs in Afghanistan
when he was 24. And he is not alone. There are, sadly, hundreds more men and
women like SSG Mills who will need significant care related to these, and other
serious wounds, in the coming decades. So I hope the VA continues to improve
and continues to provide outstanding care, especially to older veterans like me
and younger ones like Travis Mills. So happy birthday Togus VA. And thank-you.
Travis Mills with his son
Important Links:
https://www.travismills.org/foundation/
https://www.fisherhouse.org/
https://va.gov/togus
www.mentalhealth.va.gov/.../mst_genera...
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