House hunters

After more than four years of saving, Sgt. K and I are finally financially and emotionally ready to buy a house. Of course we wanted to look into what kind of benefits we could get from getting a VA loan. In my research, I came across a state program called the GI Home Loan for Heroes.

According to the site:

"Participants will receive a discounted IHDA rate financing package, closing cost assistance and homeownership counseling."

Sounds worth looking into, right? Except I couldn't find anywhere on the site information of how to apply or who to contact for more information. We're shopping around for the best interest rate, so I wanted to know what the IHDA interest rates were, and if we could still get closing cost assistance if we decided to go with a conventional loan.

I tried calling and e-mailing the Illinois Department of Veterans Affairs and the Illinois Housing Development Authority. Sgt. K tried asking around at the VA, and he came home with some pamphlets about the federal VA loan. I tried calling and e-mailing one of the agencies that the IHDA website claimed offers counseling, and I did get a call back from a woman who'd lost her brother in Iraq. It was nice sharing our stories, and I could tell she really wanted to help, but she didn't really know much about the program either.

So I gave up. Sgt. K can barely handle grocery shopping. If I can't figure it out, how could a veteran who is overwhelmed by reintegration do it?

I've concluded that GI Home Loan for Heroes is just a facade, so the State of Illinois can say, "Oooh, look at this wonderful home buying program we have for our heroes!" But it's so impossible to actually get the benefits that the state doesn't actually have to pay any money.

If I'm wrong or missing something, leave a comment. Although my opinion that it shouldn't be this complicated probably won't change.

Deployment brain

Earlier this summer, my parents came up for a visit. I asked Sgt. K if he could run out to the store to pick up some spinach so I could make a big salad for lunch. He came back with this:

So I was like, "How am I supposed to make a salad out of that?"


I had forgotten about deployment brain, the term we've used to describe the moments when the part of his brain that handles common sense just doesn't work the way it's supposed to. (And being a boy, that part of his brain never really worked that well to begin with.) 

Ever since Sgt. K came home, he finds the grocery store incredibly overwhelming. That scene in The Hurt Locker, where Jeremy Renner is frozen in the cereal aisle is exactly how it is. So usually my grocery lists are really specific, right down to the brand name and size. Because I wasn't specific this time, Sgt. K wandered around Jewel looking for something that said, "spinach" on the package. He also went to the store right after going to the VA, which always makes deployment brain even worse.

His explanation: "I know we're trying to save money. This was the cheapest!" 

Well, I can't be angry at him for not trying. At least he didn't come home with that nasty canned stuff that Popeye eats.

Anybody want a jug of barium?

In January, the VA sent us this lovely jug of barium. What am I supposed to do with 900 mL of barium?

We think it's for the CT scan that Sgt. K was scheduled to have this month. So we've had a jug of barium sitting in our office for the past seven months. Even though the CT scan is over, the jug is still sitting there because, as Sgt. K. so eloquently stated, "I'm not drinking that shit!"

When he was at the actual scan, there was an older man waiting for the same test. The man yelled, "What's the point of this? By the time I get the scan, I'll be dead!" Sgt. K. said it looked like the man had been waiting there since 1975.

I understand his frustration. Ranting about the VA has become one of my favorite topics. To make an appointment, Sgt. K. has to put in a request. Then he has to wait for the VA to mail him a piece of paper with his appointment time on it. If he can't make that appointment, he has to start the process all over again. It's not like a a regular doctor's office where he could say, "I have a job interview that day, could we reschedule? Do you have anything open on a Tuesday?"

When he was putting in his claim, he had to go to two sets of doctors: one to treat him, and one to evaluate his claim.  Two doctors to look at his leg, two psychologists, two brain doctors, two sets of the same tests. He had two CT scans in a month. In the weeks after he returned home, he spent nearly 20 hours a week at the VA.

When it's time to re-evaluate his claim, the doctors who have been seeing him on a regular basis can't do it. He has to see a second set of doctors all over again. Because they don't know him, he will likely need to tell the story of how he was hurt over and over again, which always puts him in a great mood.

Hey, I have a crazy idea. Why doesn't the VA have returning soldiers see one set of doctors?  It could save money and time,  and cause less emotional stress for veterans. I guess that's just too obvious.

OK, rant over. I can't promise that I won't have another one.