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RIVIERA BEACH VA HELPS PUT LIVES BACK ON TRACK
--
After struggles nearly destroyed them, they are
getting the help they need from the VA.
Riviera Beach VA
Story here...
http://www.sun-sentinel.
com/news/local/broward/s
fl-cpvet04jun04,0,5028162
.story?coll=sfla-news-broward
Story below:
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VA center helps put lives back on track
Therapies offer hope after physical, mental injuries
By Dianna Cahn
South Florida Sun-Sentinel
Riviera Beach -- A young Marine who returned unscathed from combat tours
in Iraq and Afghanistan was severely injured here at home. His doctors
thought he'd never walk or talk again.
A National Guardsman nearly drank himself to death after an assignment
in a southern Iraqi prison haunted him into mental illness.
An Army veteran blinded by illness 25 years ago raised his children,
worked odd jobs and resigned himself to a life of dependency.
What these three men have in common is that after struggles that nearly
destroyed them, all are getting the help they need from the Veterans
Affairs Medical Center. Marine Cpl. David Durance, Guardsman Benjamin
Mericle and Pfc. Chester Copeland are three of the 70,000 patients
receiving the hospital's care.
"The price of freedom is visible here," reads a sign at the gate of the
landmark that rose along Military Trail in 1995. Its nine stories
surround a lobby atrium lit by the sky.
"I look at it as a real monument to our veterans," said hospital
spokeswoman Mary Ann Goodman.
Some veterans -- such as Mericle, who has post-traumatic stress disorder
and depression -- struggle with issues related to their military
service. Others, such as Copeland, who is blind, developed illnesses.
Durance is among 1,641 veterans of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
CRUSHED BY ACCIDENT
For Durance, the VA meant the difference between incapacitation and a
hopeful future.
Durance came home from Iraq in late 2005 in the best shape of his life,
a proud squad commander who could run three miles in 19 minutes, had a
new girlfriend and planned a career as a federal marshal.
That changed on New Year's Day 2006 when a 200-pound light pole fell on
him during a holiday in New Orleans. It struck his head and chest,
cracked his jaw and shattered his scapula. His heart stopped and he had
a stroke.
The hospital told his parents, who live in Okeechobee County, that their
son was brain-dead. His mother begged them to keep him on life support.
Durance didn't open his eyes for 25 days. In February 2006, after 13
months, Durance defied doctors' predictions and took his first step. He
spoke at the end of March.
That's when he started working with the VA, undergoing intensive
cognitive speech therapy and retraining his reasoning and making his
body do what his mind wanted it to.
"I've had knockdown dragouts with God, saying what in hell did I do to
deserve this?" he said. "But you have to get to a point where you either
just make something happen or just throw your hands up in the air and
quit. My mom and dad raised me never to quit."
He had determination, family and friends, and "a system backing you like
the VA that gets behind you, to take you as far as you can go," he said.
Now Durance is in the VA's driver rehabilitation program and is working
toward going back to school. He wants to be a therapist "to help guys
and girls in the position I was in."
"It sounds crazy, but I've got to look at the terrible things that have
happened, turn it around and look at it as a gift."
HAUNTED BY EXPERIENCES
In another section of the building, Guardsman Mericle was completing his
Tuesday morning sessions in the Day Treatment Program.
Mericle was a peacekeeper in Bosnia and an aircraft refueler in
Afghanistan. But after serving as a prison guard at Camp Bucca in
southern Iraq, where he said he witnessed prisoners being beaten to
death during riots, Mericle, 47, from Fort Pierce, was plagued with
nightmares, couldn't talk to his family and drank to numb the pain.
He couldn't sleep, lost his job and likely would have died if his
sister-in-law hadn't brought him to the hospital.
There, he joined therapy groups and coping classes, learned to open up a
bit.
Still, even watching the news is a reminder. He's had relapses.
"I get angry. Why did certain people have to die? Why did certain people
make it back?" he said. "I used to be a happy guy. I used to be able to
work. I don't think I will ever be that way again."
Mericle also is in the Mental Health Intensive Case Management program
-- "a hospital without walls," said Coordinator Sheila Eppard -- where
he gets more intensive therapy and found other veterans he can relate
to. Groups go on outings to help re-acclimate them to their communities.
Mericle hopes that by speaking out, he'll let others know help is
available.
"Maybe this will give [civilians] a little insight into what guys are
feeling coming home from there," he added.
SELF-GUIDANCE SKILLS
Upstairs is a wing that celebrates a clarity of vision. The Blind
Rehabilitation Center takes in people with darkened lives and offers a
five-week program to help them take hold of their destinies.
For Copeland, that breakthrough was a quarter-century delayed. Copeland
finished three years in the Army in 1980 when he could no longer see his
way to the mess hall. In 1982, glaucoma rendered Copeland, then 23,
completely blind. He raised his children, worked odd jobs and resigned
himself to a life of dependency.
Over the years, Copeland tried a few programs but always gave up. When
his social worker pushed him to try this one, he reluctantly agreed.
The 15-bed program surpassed his expectations. Copeland learned with
others to do household tasks, walk with a cane and use other tools for
the blind. There's a gadget you can put on a glass to tell you when the
liquid is nearing the top and a shop tool that lets you measure by
listening for the clicks of the gauge.
"They come in totally depressed because their children were taking total
care of them," said John Getz, the program's blind director, "and they
regain their self-esteem."
Copeland, 48, sat at his computer last week, as agile as a seeing person
as he navigated the Web with a special speaking device and keyboard.
He is enrolled to learn to work with a GPS device so when he rides a
bus, he doesn't need to keep asking people where he is.
He can't wait to go home and show his wife and teenage children: "Hey
look what I can do. I am gonna take the world."
He plans to go back to school to work with children with disabilities
and "do something positive for a change."
"It's going to happen," he said with a satisfied smile. "Find me in a
couple of years. You'll be amazed."
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Larry Scott --
