Team Infidel
Forum Spin Doctor
Boston Globe
March 24, 2008
Pg. 1
Relatives of disabled veterans say US support insufficient
By Anna Badkhen, Globe Staff
Since a Baghdad suicide bombing in 2003 shattered the right side of Ted Bittle's face, injuring his brain and lodging shards of shrapnel in the right side of his body, the life of his wife, flight attendant Denise Bittle, has revolved around his frequent hospitalizations, incessant pain, moodiness, forgetfulness, and bouts of anger.
Unable to combine work and caring for her husband, Bittle has lost three jobs. She has moved three times - twice to be closer to the military hospital where Ted was receiving treatment, and once to pursue a job she then had to quit so that she could care for Ted - ultimately squeezing her family of three into an East Boston loft she can barely afford. Her days are consumed by taking Ted to his appointments with doctors and counselors, filing paperwork on his behalf so that he receives benefits accorded disabled veterans, and taking care of the couple's 5-year-old son, Ari.
Denise Bittle's story exemplifies the plight of thousands of relatives of veterans disabled in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan who have had to quit their jobs, uproot their families to be closer to hospitals, rebuild their homes to accommodate the needs of veterans with physical disabilities, and make taking care of their loved ones their full-time occupation.
"The families will be living with disabilities for the rest of their lives as well as the servicemen who were injured," said David Autry, spokesman for the Disabled Veterans of America, which is advocating for a better support system for families of disabled veterans.
More than 30,000 troops have been wounded in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the care they receive has been a subject of national scrutiny. But little attention has been paid to their families, many of whom now have to live with maimed or traumatized veterans. Injured veterans' families and advocates say the support that exists for such families is insufficient.
"It's still under the radar," said Paul Rieckhoff, an Iraq war veteran and director of the Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America, a private advocacy organization. "This country is still getting its head around the scope of the difficulties facing veterans themselves."
Recognizing that family members of injured veterans need extra help, the federal Department of Veterans Affairs in December announced a $4.7 million package of services for the families of injured veterans that includes help with transportation, respite care, and emotional support. Congress this January expanded the Family and Medical Leave Act to stipulate that employers must allow caretakers to take off up to 26 weeks instead of 12 to care for severely injured service members.
But that is not enough, said Rieckhoff and other advocates. The injured veterans' relatives also need help navigating the bureaucracy of the benefits system; extra money to compensate for jobs they have given up in order to take care of their loved ones; counseling; help with child care and even with such basic things as doing the laundry and getting groceries.
"Programs are out there, but is it enough? No. Can we do better? Yes," said US Representative Michael Michaud, a Democrat from Maine, who held a hearing last month about improving access to mental health treatment for veterans' families.
Denise Bittle is 45, has worked her entire adult life, is used to a comfortable middle-class lifestyle, and had planned, until Ted's injury, to work until retirement as a New York-based flight attendant for United Airlines, her employer at the time. But the suicide bombing that shattered Ted's face destroyed those plans.
Bittle lost her job with United Airlines after she moved, first to Maryland and then to Pennsylvania, to be close to Ted during the 18 months he spent recovering from his injury at a military hospital in Bethesda, Md.
In 2005, she got a job with American Eagle Airlines out of Logan Airport and moved to Boston. A year later she had to quit because she could not juggle caring for Ted, raising Ari, and working full time.
She took a job at the North Suffolk Mental Health Association, Inc. in Charlestown, helping manage a group home for the mentally disabled. Two months later, Ted had to be hospitalized again, and she quit that job. She is unemployed now and hopes to start working for Northwest Airlines part time on March 31.
The last five years of her life have been steeped in frustration. She struggles to sustain her family and pay the mortgage on their $300,000 loft on the single income that comes from Ted Bittle's disability check and Social Security payments, which total about $5,000 a month.
His metamorphosis from a kind, intelligent, funny man who wooed her 10 years ago to an impatient, bitter man who dozes off unpredictably, sometimes even when standing at the stove cooking, wears on her. She feels as though her life is being neglected.
He tells her that she is living beyond her means. She tells him she feels unappreciated. They argue regularly.
In the Bittles' East Boston loft last week, Denise rummaged through Ted's paperwork, trying to find a particular X-ray of his face, which has been reconstructed with titanium plates. Ted, 36, doodled in a notepad, trying to perfect a drawing of Snoopy as part of his post-injury physical rehabilitation program.
Periodically, the former Navy corpsman dozed off, the way he often does nowadays, partly because of his traumatic brain injury, the signature wound of the war in Iraq, and partly because of the medications he takes to dull the excruciating pain in the right side of his face. He takes 600 milligrams of morphine daily, along with other medications.
"His condition is permanent," Denise Bittle said, looking at her husband across the living room. Asked if she were prepared to take care of her husband for the rest of his life, she responded: "I think at times I live in denial."
Ted Bittle looked up from the couch. "If it wasn't for me you would be doing things that you were doing before," he said, resentfully and slowly, searching for words that have eluded him often since his injury. "You still want to be the Denise of before."
"I was happy flying," she shot back. "I do quite a bit to make them [Ted and Ari] safe and healthy, and he criticizes me."
Denise Bittle glanced at a wall hung with certificates commemorating her husband's service in Iraq, and plaques that came with the Purple Heart he received for his injury. "Ted is the hero," she said. "I'm just the support system."
March 24, 2008
Pg. 1
Relatives of disabled veterans say US support insufficient
By Anna Badkhen, Globe Staff
Since a Baghdad suicide bombing in 2003 shattered the right side of Ted Bittle's face, injuring his brain and lodging shards of shrapnel in the right side of his body, the life of his wife, flight attendant Denise Bittle, has revolved around his frequent hospitalizations, incessant pain, moodiness, forgetfulness, and bouts of anger.
Unable to combine work and caring for her husband, Bittle has lost three jobs. She has moved three times - twice to be closer to the military hospital where Ted was receiving treatment, and once to pursue a job she then had to quit so that she could care for Ted - ultimately squeezing her family of three into an East Boston loft she can barely afford. Her days are consumed by taking Ted to his appointments with doctors and counselors, filing paperwork on his behalf so that he receives benefits accorded disabled veterans, and taking care of the couple's 5-year-old son, Ari.
Denise Bittle's story exemplifies the plight of thousands of relatives of veterans disabled in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan who have had to quit their jobs, uproot their families to be closer to hospitals, rebuild their homes to accommodate the needs of veterans with physical disabilities, and make taking care of their loved ones their full-time occupation.
"The families will be living with disabilities for the rest of their lives as well as the servicemen who were injured," said David Autry, spokesman for the Disabled Veterans of America, which is advocating for a better support system for families of disabled veterans.
More than 30,000 troops have been wounded in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the care they receive has been a subject of national scrutiny. But little attention has been paid to their families, many of whom now have to live with maimed or traumatized veterans. Injured veterans' families and advocates say the support that exists for such families is insufficient.
"It's still under the radar," said Paul Rieckhoff, an Iraq war veteran and director of the Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America, a private advocacy organization. "This country is still getting its head around the scope of the difficulties facing veterans themselves."
Recognizing that family members of injured veterans need extra help, the federal Department of Veterans Affairs in December announced a $4.7 million package of services for the families of injured veterans that includes help with transportation, respite care, and emotional support. Congress this January expanded the Family and Medical Leave Act to stipulate that employers must allow caretakers to take off up to 26 weeks instead of 12 to care for severely injured service members.
But that is not enough, said Rieckhoff and other advocates. The injured veterans' relatives also need help navigating the bureaucracy of the benefits system; extra money to compensate for jobs they have given up in order to take care of their loved ones; counseling; help with child care and even with such basic things as doing the laundry and getting groceries.
"Programs are out there, but is it enough? No. Can we do better? Yes," said US Representative Michael Michaud, a Democrat from Maine, who held a hearing last month about improving access to mental health treatment for veterans' families.
Denise Bittle is 45, has worked her entire adult life, is used to a comfortable middle-class lifestyle, and had planned, until Ted's injury, to work until retirement as a New York-based flight attendant for United Airlines, her employer at the time. But the suicide bombing that shattered Ted's face destroyed those plans.
Bittle lost her job with United Airlines after she moved, first to Maryland and then to Pennsylvania, to be close to Ted during the 18 months he spent recovering from his injury at a military hospital in Bethesda, Md.
In 2005, she got a job with American Eagle Airlines out of Logan Airport and moved to Boston. A year later she had to quit because she could not juggle caring for Ted, raising Ari, and working full time.
She took a job at the North Suffolk Mental Health Association, Inc. in Charlestown, helping manage a group home for the mentally disabled. Two months later, Ted had to be hospitalized again, and she quit that job. She is unemployed now and hopes to start working for Northwest Airlines part time on March 31.
The last five years of her life have been steeped in frustration. She struggles to sustain her family and pay the mortgage on their $300,000 loft on the single income that comes from Ted Bittle's disability check and Social Security payments, which total about $5,000 a month.
His metamorphosis from a kind, intelligent, funny man who wooed her 10 years ago to an impatient, bitter man who dozes off unpredictably, sometimes even when standing at the stove cooking, wears on her. She feels as though her life is being neglected.
He tells her that she is living beyond her means. She tells him she feels unappreciated. They argue regularly.
In the Bittles' East Boston loft last week, Denise rummaged through Ted's paperwork, trying to find a particular X-ray of his face, which has been reconstructed with titanium plates. Ted, 36, doodled in a notepad, trying to perfect a drawing of Snoopy as part of his post-injury physical rehabilitation program.
Periodically, the former Navy corpsman dozed off, the way he often does nowadays, partly because of his traumatic brain injury, the signature wound of the war in Iraq, and partly because of the medications he takes to dull the excruciating pain in the right side of his face. He takes 600 milligrams of morphine daily, along with other medications.
"His condition is permanent," Denise Bittle said, looking at her husband across the living room. Asked if she were prepared to take care of her husband for the rest of his life, she responded: "I think at times I live in denial."
Ted Bittle looked up from the couch. "If it wasn't for me you would be doing things that you were doing before," he said, resentfully and slowly, searching for words that have eluded him often since his injury. "You still want to be the Denise of before."
"I was happy flying," she shot back. "I do quite a bit to make them [Ted and Ari] safe and healthy, and he criticizes me."
Denise Bittle glanced at a wall hung with certificates commemorating her husband's service in Iraq, and plaques that came with the Purple Heart he received for his injury. "Ted is the hero," she said. "I'm just the support system."