Tag Archives: active duty

In is in, but is out always out?

Posted by Mike Grice on

This past weekend I had the enormously good fortune to attend a wedding.  Not just any wedding, mind you, but a full-blown military wedding with swords and dress blues and the whole nine yards.

Military weddings happen all the time, but this wedding is significant for me because it was my first as a non-uniformed guest.  I have hoisted my sword many times in honor of the stalwart groom and blushing bride, but not since I was a teenager had I been un-uniformed at such an event.  I did wear a tuxedo, which is nice, but not nearly as dashing as a Dress Blue uniform adorned with a Sam Browne belt and Mameluke sword.

I was privileged to be invited to the wedding by a Marine with which I worked during my last tour of duty.  We had served together in Afghanistan and had kept in touch after I moved on.  I was delighted to be invited to his wedding these many months after we parted company, and not just because I like weddings. The invitation was a validation of sorts that I was still part of the community.

The community of Marines (and Soldiers and Sailors and Airmen too) is a close one, but can also be a closed one as well.  When you are in you are in by the very nature of your service; the camaraderie and commitment of purpose bring everyone together as they travel through the adventure of active duty together.  Sharing the hardships and the esprit de corps is what makes it close, but that is also what can make it closed.  Just as when you are in you are in, when you are out you are out.  You can only come back in by invitation.

And my invitation came in the form of a chance to rejoin the community at the most joyful of celebrations: a wedding.

I was thrilled to be able to attend, but as my wife and I walked up to the gathering wedding party I was more than a little trepidatious.  Would it be awkward?  Would I be welcomed back into the fold or politely tolerated as an outsider?  Would people remember who I was?

It sounds a little silly in retrospect, but those thoughts rocketed through my mind as we closed in on the crowd outside the church.  The doubts and concerns vanished, though, as I caught the eye of a few Marines who were having their picture taken.  Broad grins greeted my pensive wave, and in an instant we were shaking hands and catching up.  It was like a reunion that I never really expected, but now that it was happening it was a wonderful experience.

I was not alone in my non-uniformed appearance.  I saw other compatriots from the past, and they too were embraced by the brotherhood of those still wearing the cloth of the nation.  I caught up with friends who are making the best of themselves now that they are out; a student at Gonzaga, a newly graduated lawyer, a successful businessman- every one of them following a new path but still welcomed back into the brotherhood.  I chatted with others who are still in uniform and fresh from the fight as they plan their next career move in between cocktails and trips to the dance floor with their beautiful ladies.

I saw many Marines and Sailors and Soldiers in uniform that day, and I was intensely proud to be counted as one of them despite my departure from the rigors of active service.  It was tremendous experience to be welcomed back into the fold, if even for just a few hours before we all parted company and headed back down the paths of our lives.

To Rob and Kelsey- congratulations on your wedding!

And thank you for inviting me.  It meant more than you know.

Networking and the MEA

Posted by Mike Grice on

The other night I had the opportunity to attend a Marine Executive Association (MEA)-West meeting.  What is the MEA, you ask?  I’m glad you did, because it is a great resource for transitioning servicemen and women because it leads to something we all need: jobs.

The MEA is a networking organization where people like me who are leaving the service can meet others who are transitioning as well as business people who need quality people to join their organizations.  It is informal (after all, the only rank anyone has after they get out is “Marine”) and informative, because most of transitioning military types really don’t know that much about civilian employment.

Here is the writeup about the association from their website (http://www.marineea.org/):

“The Marine Executive Association is a national, volunteer, non-profit organization of former and current active duty Marines who provide assistance to Marines transitioning from active duty to reserve/retired status, leaving the Corps at the end of obligated service or moving from one civilian career/job to another. Transition assistance includes: Resume review; Job hunting and interview tips and techniques; Job posting by employers to the MEA web site; Resume posting by Marines for employer download; and resume and interview coaching by volunteer Marine. The MEA provides a weekly E-Mail list of all jobs that have been posted during the previous week and resumes posted for employer download, review and screening.”

The association is open to all services, and in the most recent meeting that I attended there were Air Force, Army, and Navy vets there too.  Transition is the great equalizer and now that we all dress the same we share the same concerns and have the same need for employment, so the inter-service rivalry goes right out the window.  We’re all in the same boat now.

The meetings are monthly occurrences.  On the third Wednesday of the month the attendees gather to socialize and have a drink at Iron Mike’s, which is the Staff Noncommissioned Officer’s club located in Camp Pentleton’s South Mesa events center.  After a half hour or so, we all migrate over to a meeting room where a guest speaker will talk to the crowd about what it’s like on the other side of the fence.  Our speaker for the last meeting was Kim Shepherd, the Chief Executive Officer of the Alfred P. Sloan award winning placement firm Decision Toolbox.  She gave us tremendous insights into the business world, with a strong emphasis on how to evaluate yourself in order to find what you are really interested in doing in your next career.  Kim was followed by a group of business leaders from the Los Angeles area who are interested in helping veterans learn more about the business world.  They are a group of great Americans who want to help vets find jobs, and they shared some great ideas and recommendations to help veterans make it from job seeker to job finder.

One of the great aspects of MEA meetings is that we get to hear about the corporate sector from corporate professionals, and the insights that they give are priceless.  It isn’t every day that an industry leader takes the time to mentor a pool of job seekers, but it happens at the MEA.  Research has shown that roughly 80% of jobs are found through networking – so getting to know people is certainly in your best interest as you transition!

After the guest speakers are finished we all introduce ourselves.  This is a chance to give your “elevator pitch”, which is a thirty to sixty second sound bite about yourself and what you are looking for.  You never get a second chance to make a first impression, and by standing up in front of a room full of people it gives you a little practice.  It also lets the employers in the room know if you are someone that fits their needs, and I have personally witnessed vets get job interviews on the spot after the introductions are finished; such is the power of networking!

The introductions are the last part of the structured meeting.  Once they are completed the formal part of the meeting is done it is a little like a high school dance as job seekers work their way across the room to meet up with businesspeople who have pitched the opportunities available in their organizations.  It is also when old friends catch up and new friendships are forged, or in other words, the networking tree grows a little stronger and new branches sprout.

It is a great opportunity to get out there and see what the job market is like.  Once you get plugged into MEA-West, you can begin receiving emails from the head of the organization.  He sends out dozens of emails each week, and each one contains anywhere from one to ten or twenty job opportunities.  Many of these opportunities are first listed in Steve’s emails, and a lot of veterans have found employment through the MEA.  One former Marine who left active duty in the 1990s shared that every job he has taken since taking off his uniform has been through MEA-West networking, and he is far from alone.  Even in this tough employment market there are jobs out there.  Networking with the MEA will help you find them, so find out where and when the next meeting goes and belly up to the bar!

__________

Lessons Learned:

1.  Networking works.  In today’s economic uncertainty there are literally millions of resumes flying around, and the stories about people who have submitted hundreds or thousands of resumes without finding a job are constantly in the news.  The vast majority of employment opportunities are found through someone you know, so increase your chances by getting out there and meeting people.

2.  Help yourself as you network.  If you don’t have personalized business cards yet, then get some printed up.  I personally recommend that you go to a stationary shop and have a set professionally done with only your name and contact information printed on the card.  This is for two reasons: first, you are looking for a job, and it is not the best idea to use the card from your current job to find a new one and second, handing a professional looking and feeling card with your name, phone number, and email address saves both you and the person you are interacting with from writing that info down on a cocktail napkin.  Anybody can print out a flimsy card on their computer, but remember that the first impression is the most important.  Do you want to be remembered as the cheapskate with homemade cards or the kind of person who puts some effort into finding a job?

3.  Carry a resume.  I will write a lot in the future about how to prepare a resume, but attending a networking meeting without your resume (and personalized business cards) is a bit like going to a nightclub in your pajamas – sure, you’re there but you aren’t really ready to participate.  Many employers are looking to immediately fill positions, and the guy or gal with a resume will get the job before the one who doesn’t.  Don’t be that person with empty hands when an employer asks for your resume!

4.  There are countless networking organizations out there.  MEA is just one, but there are commensurate organizations for all branches of the armed forces, for federal employees, civic organizations, etc.  They are all tremendous resources that you can tap for free, and you will certainly meet some great people along the way that will help you along the path to employment.

The little things, part 2: Health insurance. Who knew?

Posted by Mike Grice on

As a uniformed member of the U. S. Armed Forces I have been very fortunate when it comes to health care.  No matter what malady I came down with or injury I suffered medical services were always there, and they were always free.  Everything is covered, from bullet wounds to brain surgery to chipped teeth.  Pretty nice benefit to have, particularly considering the occupational hazards that come with fighting our nation’s wars.

I have never had to really think of healthcare as something outside the purview of my job, but with my transition from active duty to retirement it rose in prominence from “interesting” to “important”.  The need to obtain health coverage was discussed at the various transition briefs, but I didn’t really pay close attention because the actual date of my reintroduction to the civilian world seemed so distant.  Time passed, though, and before I knew it my EAS was just around the corner.  So, after spending some time rooting through the enormous pile of transition related pamphlets, booklets, and notes that I had amassed over the last few months I found what I was looking for: a handout from the TAP/TAMP class that had “TRICARE: Transitioning from Active Duty to Retirement” emblazoned across the top.

Score!

I read the handout, and it had just enough information to point me in the right direction so that I could find a real person to explain it all to me.  In my case, that person is a very nice lady who works on the 6th floor of the Camp Pendleton Naval Hospital, and she took pity on my when I showed up in front of her counter in my quest to ensure that I didn’t enter civilian life unprepared and uninsured.

She also educated me on the ins and outs of health insurance.  It turns out that there are several different insurance products that I could choose, and each had advantages and disadvantages when compared to the others.  Although I am eligible for healthcare through the Veterans Administration, my family isn’t.  Needless to say taking care of myself and not my family is a non-starter, so I had some decisions to make.

The first decision was which level of TRICARE did I want?  There are three basic levels.  As a retiree my family and I are automatically enrolled and covered in two plans:  TRICARE Standard and TRICARE Extra.  These plans don’t have monthly or annual fees, but instead are pay as you go, or “cost for use” plans, so although they are free if you never use them, it can get expensive if you need medical care.  The difference between the two plans is based on providers; for Standard you can be seen my doctors outside the network, but you pay higher cost shares than Extra, in which you select providers within the network and receive a discount.  Here is a link to a TRICARE flyer that gives much more information on the programs: http://www.triwest.com/en/beneficiary/tricare-benefits/handbooks-and-brochures/Standard_Extra_Flyer.pdf

The other available product is TRICARE Prime.  For Prime you have to enroll and pay an annual fee of $520 a year, which seems like a lot when compared to the free healthcare options is incredibly inexpensive when compared to what people in the private sector have to pay for similar coverage.  That said, it is a benefit that military types have earned it the hard way through at least twenty years of service, a lot of which is hard on the body.  As a result, many retirees have conditions (such as combat wounds, partial deafness, and early onset osteoarthritis for example) that could be classified as “pre-existing conditions” and limit accessibility to a new healthcare provider.  So it all works out.  Here is a link to another flyer that has information on all of the available TRICARE options (of which there are a lot more than I cover in this post):  http://www.triwest.com/en/beneficiary/tricare-benefits/handbooks-and-brochures/tricare-choices-at-a-glance/TRICARE_ChoicesatGlance.pdf

I made my decision.  Prime it would be.  As with all things governmental, though, there are a few wickets to hit in order to enroll.  The first and most important is that you must enroll before your last day in the service in order to avoid any gaps in coverage.  If you don’t seek out the TRICARE office, fill out the paperwork, and give them a check before your retirement date your level of coverage defaults to Standard or Prime.  It can be quite a risk because the potential costs associated with care of you and your family can be staggering should something happen when you are not covered by Prime.  If you don’t get around to enrolling, however, don’t despair.  You can still sign up, but you will have to wait until the next month for coverage to start.  TRICARE follows what is known as the “20th of the month” rule, which means that as long as you enroll by the 20th of the current month your coverage will begin on the 1st day of the next month.  Wait until the 21st, however, and your coverage begins on the 1st of the following month.  Needless to say, it behooves you to sign up before you get out.

There are several factors to consider when you sign up for TRICARE Prime.  As a Marine I never had to select a doctor; all I had to do was go to the Aid Station or hospital and I would be taken care of.  As a retiree, however, the option of wandering into a Regimental Aid Station to be seen evaporated.  I needed to determine who my doctor would be.

Noting my puzzled expression, the very nice TRICARE administrator talked me through the process of selecting a provider: first, she checked to see if there was a clinic within 30 minutes of my home.  If there was a clinic, then that is where I would go for care.  It turns out there was a clinic, but she quickly determined that its patient load was full, so I would have to find another provider.  She printed out a list of possibilities (including pediatricians), and after a quick telephone conversation with my spouse we picked providers.  This step is particularly important for retirees who are moving to a new home because they may or may not have access to a clinic or even a TRICARE provider.  For those moving back to the country or out of the country (because TRICARE is administered differently overseas) make sure to surf through the TRICARE website to see what options pertain to your situation:  http://www.tricare.mil/.

So, after about a half hour with the most helpful and cheerful TRICARE administrator I had completed the application process.  She typed my information into her computer and presented me with a filled-in application which I reviewed and signed.  I handed it back along with a check for $130.00 to cover the first quarterly premium.  She gave me some advice, too.  “Call the TRICARE toll free telephone number in about a month,” she said, “to confirm that you are enrolled and that they received your payment.  If you don’t double check and something doesn’t go through you are not covered.  So do yourself a favor and double check!”

Sound advice.  She had obviously been around government agencies for a while.

So off I went, happy as a clam.  And then I remembered that there didn’t seem to be anything about teeth in the flyer.  Hmmm…

Sure enough, another lesson!  Medical care is different than dental care, so if I wanted my family and I to have dental coverage, I would have to apply for that, too.  And pay for it.  Retirement is getting expensive!

__________

Lessons Learned:

1.  Do some research.  There is always a table piled high with flyers and pamphlets at transition courses and seminars, so do yourself a favor and grab one of eveything that is available.  Then, over a cup of coffee or a cocktail, sort it all out and file it away because you never know when one of those bits of paper will prove worth its weight in gold.  For me, it was the TRICARE transition flyer because it was like the Rosetta Stone of post-service healthcare.  It gave me the basic information I needed to find the right people and ensure that my family and I were covered.  The internet is great, having a sheet of paper with all the info you need precludes frantic Google searches.

2.  Don’t let your retirement date pass without enrolling in TRICARE Prime or you are taking a serious risk.  Even if you don’t want Prime, find out where your base TRICARE office is and sit down with one of the helpful administrators – they are pros who will make sure you fully understand what you are entitled to as well as what the various programs offer.

3.  If you are moving then it behooves you to closely examine which option pertains to you.  This is particularly important for those going overseas because it gets complicated very quickly.  So, if you are headed back to the family homestead on the great plains or the mountains of Tibet make sure to get all of your questions answered before you pull chocks and hit the road – TRICARE administrators are difficult to find at the base of Mount Everest.

4.  Talk it over with your family.  They get a vote.  Healthcare is a big deal; indeed a much bigger deal than I had thought.  Make sure you make the best decision for you and your family that you can.

The little things, part 1: A new ID card

Posted by Mike Grice on

So it had finally happened.  The big day had arrived and I found myself suddenly thrust back out into the real world.  Crossing the threshold of transition is more than just metaphorical, however.  There are still quite a few things that have to be accomplished before the process of becoming a civilian again is complete.

One important “little thing” is obtaining the official token of retirement: the blue identification card.  It is the key to your benefits after leaving active duty; benefits like health care, shopping at the base exchange or commissary, and the proof of your service that allows you to drive onto base.  Unlike your active duty ID card, however, it doesn’t require renewal every three years.  It expires on your 65th birthday, where upon I suppose I will have to drive down to the Pass and Identification office and obtain a new card (65 is the magic age when retirees become eligible for Medicare, and thus require a new form of identification).

So it is important to get one’s retired ID card as soon as possible after the last day of terminal leave has vanished into the night.  Technically, if you don’t, you are violating the law because the Armed Forces Identity Card has a few features that your random state issued ID or driver’s license doesn’t.  For example, it is a “smart card” with a chip inside that can be used to access government computers.  Not that you can really do anything particularly nefarious with such access, but with your transition comes the end of your right to get on government computer systems.  It also contains your official Geneva Convention status in case you are captured by the enemy (although this is particularly unlikely in Southern California, you never know when it might be useful).  In my case, I was Category IV, which meant I was a commissioned officer.  When I was enlisted was a Category III.  I know that because it said so right on my ID card.  Again, not a huge deal, but with my retirement I became uncategorized.  Had the US been invaded on New Year’s Day and I had been captured and the invader checked my ID card then I would have been  thrown in a POW camp instead of being released.  That in and of itself is reason enough to get my new ID.

So off to the Pass and ID office I went.  It seemed to be a straightforward process: go to the office and turn in your active ID for a retired one.  It was straightforward, but in typical fashion it wasn’t so simple.

I showed up and signed in on the clipboard that sat beneath the proclamation “SIGN IN HERE”.  I then sat down in a government issued plastic chair with about a dozen other people who were waiting for new identity cards.  I was halfway through reading the September issue of Consumer Reports (always a good read) when my name was called.

I walked up to the counter.   “Can I help you?” asked the clerk.  “Sure.  I need to turn in my active ID card for a retired one,” I answered as I reached for my wallet.

“OK.  Two forms of ID please.  And your DD-214.”

D’oh.

ID’s I had.  My DD-214 I didn’t.

The DD-214 is the single most important document that a separating serviceman or woman will ever receive.  It is the source document that proves your service; it shows when you entered and when you left active duty as well as the recording your eligibility for VA benefits, healthcare, reenlistment (in case you can’t handle civilian life and want to get back in) and apparently also a retired ID card.

I resigned myself to another trip to the Pass and ID office.  I should have known better, but I didn’t.  The thing about being on active duty is that you tend to take a lot of things for granted; after all, you are in every computer data base imaginable.  All anyone has to do is look at your ID card, input your social security number, and pull your data up.  Unfortunately, once you retire the great big data eraser comes in and purges you from the system, as was the case for me on the first business day after the New Year’s Day weekend:

03 Jan 2012 @ 0243  MOL  LTCOL GRICE, MICHAEL D. was dropped from your unit

With that pithy little message I was erased.  With my erasure rose the importance of the DD-214, because it was an artifact of my service that could not be summarily deleted.  And without it, as I found, things were much more difficult or impossible to accomplish.

So the next day I returned with my two forms of ID and my DD-214.  I was able to finish reading the September issue of Consumer Reports (good thing, too!  I was wondering which bottled water I should be drinking) before I was beckoned back to the counter.  With a cheery smile I turned over my documents, and within a few minutes I had a shiny new retired ID card.  Complete with a cheesy picture of myself that I  would be looking at for the next few decades before I turn 65 and the proclamation of my newly earned RETIRED status.  No POW camp for me!

__________

Lessons Learned:

1.  Your DD-214 is the most important document you will have after you transition.  I recommend that you keep a copy of it with you at all times when you are conducting transition relate business.  Have the administrative shop that completes your transition provide you a few extra copies, and make sure that they are stamped “CERTIFIED TRUE COPY” at the bottom.  That will ensure that you don’t have to make extra trips like I did.

2.  Buy a binder or folio (nifty word for folder that has a zipper on it to hold all the stuff inside) and keep all of your working transition paperwork inside.  That way you can whip out your DD-214 or whatever other document you need at a moment’s notice and avoid going back and forth to get things done.  You will need other documents, too, like your checkout sheet, medical appointment reminders, etc., and having an organized notebook will help a lot.

The Big Day

Posted by Mike Grice on

New Year’s Day is a day for change.  You get to break out a new calendar and do your best to keep those resolutions that you made between glasses of champagne the night before.  For me, January 1st 2012 is particularly important because it marks an incredibly significant day in my life.

New Year’s Day was the day that I became a civilian.  27 years and 21 days after I raised my right hand to swear an oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States I found myself back to where I was that December day in 1984.  I officially became a former Marine; “former” because once you become a Marine you are one forever.  There is no such thing as an “ex-Marine”.  Ex-soldier, yes.  Ex-Marine, no.

New Year’s Eve was a party.  It was a celebration with friends that marked the end of a tiring and, for many, a challenging 2011 and the bright beginnings of a new and shiny 2012.  We rang in the New Year with a lot of noise and a lot of champagne – in particular an enormous bottle that was given to me by my great friend Chris to mark my transition.  My headache the following morning indicated that I had indeed made a dent in the reservoir of bubbly that it poured!

Waking up the next morning was a little odd.  I have been a Marine for the better part of three decades, and despite my newly found “Former” Marine status it was striking that I no longer had any official tie to the Corps.  I would be receiving a pension, which is great, but no longer would I be watching the news with the same level of interest in world events as I had been.  The probability that I would find myself in some pestilential third world hotspot suddenly became zero, and the odds that I would have to leave my family for months on end for a deployment disappeared.  I was now back in the society that I had served for so long, with all of the benefits that make it the greatest nation on the planet.

It is a little like being that 17 year old kid who enlisted while still in high school.  I have the rest of my life in front of me, and I have the opportunity to choose what comes next.  It is almost like being given another whole new life; I can do anything I want.  Except maybe professional sports.  I’ll cede that option to the practical realities of starting life over at the age of 44!

I leave my military career with a wall full of plaques and a mind full of memories.  Being a career Marine was the best career that I could have pursued because it took me places that I would otherwise have never seen and challenged me to levels that exist only in the most dire of circumstances.  I have made lifelong friends and learned more about life than I thought possible at the ripe old age of 17 when I signed up.

So it is with a certain level of eagerness that I look forward to the next great adventure.  I am not certain where the road ahead will lead me, but I am excited to take the first steps in a pair of tennis shoes.  Like me, my combat boots are retired from active service.  Time to try something new…

Final (?) Physical Exam. Or is it? Part 3

Posted by Mike Grice on

When I left you last, constant reader, I was headed out of the Regimental Aid Station and into the adventure that was my final physical.  Despite the fact that my naive impression that I could knock it out in a single doctor’s visit was crushed by the freight train of medical reality, my ignorance was remedied and I had a plan (and another checklist) to knock it out.   The good Navy corpsmen and regimental surgeon had educated me and set me up for success, and it was my responsibility to follow their lead.  So off I went- first stop: Camp Pendleton’s Naval Hospital.

I had several appointments at the hospital, which makes sense because hospitals is where most medical providers hang out.  I also had a few non appointments to make; a non appointment being a stop at a walk-in clinic.  Appointments are good because you are inked into the doctor’s schedule, and as long as you show up on time you will be taken care of.  It may take a while, but you’ll be seen.  Non appointments, on the other hand, are much like Forrest Gump’s apocryphal box of chocolates: you never knew what you were gonna get.  Maybe an empty clinic with bored providers eager to break the doldrums of a lazy afternoon by bringing you in for a checkup.  Maybe a stuffy waiting room packed with dozens of exasperated people who were just like me with no choice but to wait.  And wait.  And wait.

My plan was to hit the appointments (arrive fifteen minutes early!) and stop in the various clinics between the scheduled stops.  My first appointment of the day was with orthopedics, so I headed over to get my knees, feet, and ankle checked out.  One of the interesting things about being a Marine is that you tend to use such things as knees, feet, and ankles a lot, and as a result they tend to get broken, sprained, and worn out along the way.  In my case, almost three decades of tromping around coupled with four tours in combat zones had taken their toll.  So I signed into ortho, found a seat in the waiting room, and waited.  After a few minutes (and within ten minutes or so of my scheduled appointment) my name was called.  The very nice doctor (a Naval officer) sat me down in the examination room and looked over her notes.  After exchanging some pleasantries, she got down to business.

The importance of the visit was not to find anything new, but instead to ensure that all facets of my previously treated conditions were properly annotated.  After reviewing my case, she brought everything up to date and assured me that everything would be properly recorded in my record.  She had treated my ankle and feet, but not my knees.  That was at another clinic- and she couldn’t re-evaluate what she hadn’t evaluated in the first place.  D’oh- another appointment on the calendar!

After she was done she directed me to the registrar who was in charge of records.  The registrar could make me an appointment with the clinician who had seen me for my knees over the years.  Ok, thought I.  Easy enough.

Wrong again.

The registrar, a civilian who had been doing the job for a looooooooooooooooong time, asked if she could help.  I explained that I had been treated for a knee injury and needed to make a final followup appointment.  She turned to her computer and with a few efficient but furious keystrokes she looked at me and said that she had no record of my treatment.

No record?  Huh?

I recounted my trips to the sports medicine clinic and the treatment that I had received.

“Ah,” she said, “that is Sports Med, not Ortho.  You have to talk to them.”  “Not ortho?” I meekly asked.  “No!” was her emphatic response.  Needless to say, after I left the registrars office I stepped outside to call sports medicine to make an appointment.  Fortunately they had one available, but unfortunately it was over a month from now.  Good thing I had a little time between now and my EAS!

I then headed off to various other appointments, the particulars of which I won’t subject you to.  What was of note, however, was the kindness and flexibility that many of the walk-in providers exhibited when I attempted to squeeze in and get a signature on my medical checkout sheet.  Some were more receptive than others, and fortunately I had picked a slow day at the hospital.  There were few full waiting rooms, so I was able to see the right practitioners and  garner the necessary signatures without too much hassle.  My hat is off to the audiology department in particular, though, because I showed up outside their posted walk-in hours.  The petty officer behind the desk looked up when I poked my head in the door, and asked if he could help me.  I had hurried up to the clinic after my previous appointment but arrived in his lunch hour.  He took pity on me, and beckoned me into the office.  Whew, I thought.  Great!

What I didn’t realize was that his wife and young child were waiting to go to lunch with him.  Once I saw them, I apologized and turned to leave.  “No problem, sir!  I’ll catch up with them.  It won’t take but a minute.”  His lovely wife and toddler headed out to the car and the good Sailor took care of me.  I felt like a complete jerk, but his professionalism and dedication to his duties were such that he could not in good conscience turn away a patient- even one as inconsiderate and boneheaded as me for intruding on his lunch hour.  At any rate, less than ten minutes later I had completed my audiogram (the hearing test where they put you in a booth with earphones on and you push a little button when you hear high and low pitched tones).  With the efficiency and politeness of a true professional he explained the results of the test, signed my checklist, and headed to lunch.  I apologized again, but he told me not to worry about it because taking care of patients was his job, and lunch could wait.  Man, did I feel like a total heel.

So, after spending a few days over the period of a few months I was able to knock out my final physical.   Along the way I got to meet a lot of interesting people who all shared a common trait: each and every one was a dedicated professional, but in true Navy fashion, were unique in their own way.  A young surfer dude corpsman talked about the beach as he drew seven vials of blood for labwork (“this’ll sting a little, dude, I mean sir…”), and a very pleasant young lady with bright red fingernail polish and a blinged out iPhone that contrasted her uniform took my x-rays.  Another sailor talked about his upcoming vacation plans as he removed some stitches from my arm, mixing his anticipation of mom’s home cooking with the possibility of permanent scarring on my arm if I wasn’t careful with my newly-healed incision.  They were all great Americans, and they took care of me.  And, more importantly, they signed my medical checklist, which allowed me to finish my final checkout from the Marine Corps.

My hat’s off to them.  Thanks, Navy!

__________

Lessons learned:

1.  Make as many appointments as you can as early as you can.  It is important that you review your recent medical history (say over the last five years or so) and personally contact each clinic or provider in order to get on their schedule.  I assumed that all of my appointments were set by the medical staff at the regimental aid station, but I was wrong.  It wasn’t their fault- they didn’t know for example that my knees had been treated at sports med instead of ortho, but as a result I had to wait almost an additional month for my sports med appointment because I didn’t personally make the call.

2.  Don’t be a jerk like I was- only go to walk-in clinics during their appointed hours.  The providers will forego lunch with their family or stay at work late to make up the time they lost while taking care of you out of their professionalism and sense of duty.  The best thing to do is not to put them in the position by showing up during their posted hours.

3.  Be flexible.  If you think that your physical will go with anything close to military precision you are wrong.  I had to sit in waiting rooms for a long time to get all of the checks in the box, and you will too.  I recommend making one appointment first thing in the morning and one right after lunch- if you are the first on the list then you will be seen promptly.  If not, you run the risk of waiting because other consultations went long.  This will also allow you to hit the walk-in clinics after you get done with plenty of time before your next stop.  Don’t schedule more than one appointment in the same morning or afternoon or you will find yourself sprinting between floors in order to make it on time like I did.  Save yourself the hassle and space them out.

4.  Go with the system.  Parts of it will make no sense, like my ortho/sports med confusion.  It is what it is, and when the lady at ortho says you have to go to sports med, then save your breath and go to sports med.  It may not make sense to you, but it is what it is.  They aren’t likely modify their decades old records and appointment database just because you don’t like it.  Trust me.

Final (?) Physical Exam. Or is it? Part 2.

Posted by Mike Grice on

A little while ago I wrote about the importance of lists.  Rather naively I thought that I was pretty much done with them as I approached the completion of my checkout sheet.  As usual, I was wrong.

The mighty checkout sheet, about which I wrote several posts, is the administrative key to the other side of transition.  To my dismay, however, I found that the checkout sheet alone wasn’t mighty enough to set me free.  That required that I complete my final physical examination, and just like everything else involved with transition there was so much more to it than meets the eye.

My last post about the final physical left us at the Regimental Surgeon’s office, where I learned about the complexities of the mother of all physical exams: the vaunted Final Physical.  It is the mother of all examinations because it is no simple or cursory survey, but instead an inexorably thorough inquisition of one’s bodily health and mental condition that left nothing uninspected.

It is for good reason, as I learned from the good surgeon.  My final physical serves as the last chance for me, the soon to be departed from the Marine Corps, to avail myself of military medicine and fix those things that had heretofore been unfixed or ignored in typical macho tough-guy fashion.  While the thought of military medicine may make the reader shudder, it really isn’t bad- in fact it is very good, because military health care providers are well resourced and have had a lot of real world practice over the last decade of war.  The perceived problem with it stems from poor management and care several decades ago- problems that have long been corrected.  The point to the physical was to get me into the best shape possible  before showing me the door, whereupon the Veteran’s Administration would take up the responsibility for my health and wellbeing.  I will write more about the VA later, but suffice it to say that the surgeon’s description of the process made me a believer in the process.

“It’s up to you, sir,” he said, “but you’d be foolish not to take advantage of everything you can.  It’s free, and you have the time to take care of anything that may crop up.”

A wise man, that surgeon.

“You would be smart to contact every [health care] provider that you have seen in the last few years.  They will re-evaluate your condition and record it in your health records.  That will help you in the long run, especially with your disability claim,” he continued.

Disability claim?

Visions of walking canes, wheelchairs, and blue parking spaces rocketed through my head.

He saw my look of horror and chuckled.

“You’ve been in for a long time,” he said as he flipped through my medical record, “your knees are bad, your ankle is bad, your feet are a mess….”  He trailed off as he continued to review my case.  “You are going to be rated with some disabilities, and it is important that the ratings are done correctly.  Don’t worry about it.  It’s a rough life being a Marine, and you are going to be evaluated to make sure that you are taken care of.  Here’s my number.  If you have any problems, have them give me a call.”

As Indiana Jones said to Marion in “Raiders of the Lost Ark”:  It’s not the years, honey, it’s the mileage.

With a firm handshake, I left his office with my records in one hand and a newly printed checklist in the other.

The checklist was very thorough.  It ranged from lab work (shots anyone?  A vial or two or seven of blood for testing?) to audiograms for my artillery-assaulted ears (What? What did you say?) to an EKG to make sure my ticker still ticked and a chest x-ray to look at my ribs or something else that is equally important.  How was I going to get any of this stuff taken care of?

In true Navy fashion, I had not walked ten feet before a motivated and professional Petty Officer took pity on me and beckoned me to the counter.  “Hi, sir!  Lemme see that,” he said as he pointed to my checklist, “we’ll get you squared away.”

And he did.  With the dexterity of the queen of the typing pool and the suavity of a Tiffany Jewelry salesman he typed, called, cajoled, and printed appointment after appointment for me.  Within ten minutes he had teed up meetings with specialists and medical providers across the base.  Not only did he hit the basic requirements, but also those specialty clinics and providers that I had seen over the last few years- orthopedics for my feet, physical therapy for my knees, optical for my eyes, audiology for my ears….and so on.  With a smile and a cheery “here you go, sir!” he handed me a sheaf of appointment reminders and turned back to his duties.

That’s why Navy medicine is great- they really bent over backwards to make sure I was taken care of.  I have never seen anything like that at a civilian HMO, that’s for sure!  I looked over the appointment reminders and was surprised at just how long it was going to take to knock this final physical out- all told it was going to take over three months to hit all of my appointments.  Three months!  Yikes.  Navy medicine may be helpful, but it isn’t particularly speedy I guess- especially for those of us getting our outprocessing physicals.  Oh well.  Fortunately I had the time.

So, with a feeling of great relief (and a little trepidation, to be sure!) I walked out of the Regimental Aid Station and set out on the journey that would be my final physical.

__________

Lessons Learned:

1.  Start EARLY.  I began my outprocessing physical about four months before I went on terminal leave with the naive expectation that it would be a quick and easy thing to do.  Not so much!

2.  Plan ahead.  Take the time to write a list of all the things that are bothering you or that you have been treated for over the past few years.  Most Marines just “suck it up” and refuse to show weakness by getting medical care, which is good when the Taliban are chucking hand grenades at you but not so good when you are about to get out.  If you do not have your problems recorded in your record then they do not exist.  Simple as that.  And if they do not exist, they cannot be evaluated for disability purposes or for future care in case they get worse.  And they always get worse….

3.  Go into your initial final physical appointment with your notes and with your complete medical record.  You will get out of it what you put into it.  If you blow it off then you will get a rubber stamp with nothing behind it, and possibly lose out on medical benefits or monetary compensation in the future.  The time to be the big tough Marine ends at the hatch to the aid station!

4.  Take notes as you go.  This is important, because you will ultimately have a second set of physicals with the Veteran’s Administration to determine your disability rating.  If you forget what the doctors tell you during their examination you can’t pass that information to the VA, which will weaken your claim for benefits.

Closure

Posted by Mike Grice on

Closure can mean a lot of things depending on your circumstance, but it mostly means the end of a relationship.  For me, I had a date with closure at about one o’clock in the morning this past Saturday.  That was when over a hundred of my closest friends came home from Afghanistan, and I was able to be standing in the parking lot as they got off the buses and reunited with their families and friends.  It is one of the rarest things in existence: a timeless moment of pure and unadulterated joy.

It was tremendously emotional as these post-deployment reunions always are.  Fathers met their infant children for the first time.  Lovers embraced after hundreds of days apart and children jumped up and down in exuberant delight as the first sight of their father.  Parents and grandparents hugged their sons and grandsons, thinking of the little boys within who grew up to be the Marines and Sailors who traded their boyhood clothes for the cloth of the nation.  Mothers wiped eyes grown damp with joy.  Hundreds of faces lit up in the darkness of that cold morning with delight in that moment; the blissful radiance of pure happiness erased the months of separation, the sleepless nights, and the loneliness that only those separated by wartime can understand.

The jocundity engulfed everyone there, and for me it held an even more special meaning.  As I wrote a few paragraphs back, the chilly morning held for me the last bit of closure that I needed before truly closing the door on my military career.

It was closure because not long ago the busloads of Marines and Sailors who returned from combat had all been under my charge and their training and preparation for their trip to fight the Taliban was my responsibility.  I had been their Commanding Officer for the two years or so leading up to their deployment, and had led them in Afghanistan the year before.  Although the leaders of the unit worked together to make sure that every Marine and Sailor was ready to fight, it was my duty as the CO to ensure that they were ready.  It was also my burden each and every day that they were in harm’s way: even though I was no longer a member of the command, their ability to fight and their readiness to survive the rigors of combat was my final duty.

We had trained together, and we trained hard.  From the bleak and blistering Mojave desert to the the windy plains of Oklahoma to the frigid tip of northern Scotland we had run through the gamut of challenges that prepare a man to fight.  We ran countless miles and hiked under staggering loads.  We practiced airstrikes, artillery fire missions, and hand to hand combat.  We planned and executed missions aboard attack helicopters and prepared to put tourniquets on shattered limbs.  Month after month of aggressive training made the unit keenly ready to fight, and three weeks before they left I handed the mantle of command to my successor.

It wasn’t because of anything more than my time in command was up.  My successor, appointed as I was by the Commandant of the Marine Corps, eagerly took hold of the reins of command with a level of enthusiasm that countered my reticence to hand them over.  All good things come to an end, and in my case it was the demise of the best job that I had ever been fortunate to have.

The change of command and my subsequent transition did not bring my emotional tie to the unit to an end, however.  The seven months that they were in combat were seven long months for me as I checked the news every day to see what was going on in Afghanistan, read casualty lists hoping not to see a familiar name, and listened in on conversations to hear how thing were going “in Theater”.

This past Saturday morning untied the knot that had been lying in the pit of my gut since they left in the summertime.  Although not everyone made it to the reunion in the parking lot, they all came home alive- and with their return my duty was complete.  For each Marine and Sailor and for every father, mother, wife, child, and friend their home brought closure to their absence.  As for me, it brought an immense feeling of satisfaction, relief, and closure too- closure for the time I was honored to stand with them as their leader and closure for my career as well.

Saturday, December 10th marked the end of 1st Air Naval Gunfire Liaison Company’s deployment.  December 10th is particularly significant for me personally as well because 27 years before on that very day I enlisted in the Marine Corps.  I had no inkling on 10 December 1984 that I would be standing on a cold parking lot watching such a joyous reunion exactly 27 years later, but I am glad that I was there.  It brought me something priceless: a satisfying sense of closure to my life as a Marine.

Final (?) Physical Exam. Or is it?

Posted by Mike Grice on

My most recent string of posts delved into the adventure that is checking out of the Marine Corps.  It was a search for pirate treasure and Easter Egg hunt all rolled into one, although not quite as thrilling.   After all, there were no Captain Jack Sparrows or Blackbeards, and the lack of candy filled plastic eggs was sadly evident.  Getting the final signature, however, made every line I queued in and every frustrating hunt for the holder of the magic checkout stamp well worth it.

One of the enchanted stamps I picked up along the way was held by the Medical Officer, whose duty it was to ensure that I was poked, prodded, specimined, and examined from the tips of my toes to the hairs on my head.  To that end my quest led me to the Regimental Surgeon’s office to endure the last physical examination I would be subjected to as a Marine.

I had heard many stories about the mysteries that surround the “final physical”- ranging from friends who said that it was no big deal to others who opined that it was far worse than they could possibly have foreseen.  Personally, I was hoping for an experience more on the “no big deal” side of the scale.  Just like everything else, however, it turned out to be not quite what I expected. I have been subject to myriad physicals throughout my career, ranging from halfhearted glances from bored medical technicians to the exams in which modesty plays no role whatsoever.  A big part of being a Marine (or a Soldier, Sailor, or Airman for that matter) is being physically fit and ready to fight, and our medical folks do a great job of ensuring that we are ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Before you are ready to fight, though, you have to be examined to ensure you are fit enough to serve.  Your relationship with physical exams begins with a battery of tests that begin before you ship to recruit or officer training (to make sure you are healthy and strong enough to make it through the rigors of bootcamp or Officer Candidate School) and continues once you get there.  Wanna be a pilot?  Special exam for you!  Paratrooper?  Exam for that, too.  Been a year since your last exam?  Time for another one!  Been deployed?  Step up to the counter and say “ahhhh…”  It seemingly never ends.

Until your final physical, that is.  My next few posts are going to bring you, my faithful reader, along for the ride to the aid station, hospital, and various clinics I had to visit to get that single stamp from the Medical Officer.  It was good, it was bad, it was funny, and it was sad, but most of all it was thorough.  Just how thorough you will see in my upcoming posts!

Checking out (4), or doing my best Captain Jack Sparrow impression

Posted by Mike Grice on

So what do Captain Jack Sparrow and a Marine checking out of his unit have in common?  They both want the same thing: to follow the map all the way to the end and uncover the treasure that lies waiting there.  The treasure is different, but the goal is the same.  Jack Sparrow wants what his heart most desires (usually accompanied by rum) and a Marine wants something equally as important; the final signature on his checkout sheet.

Just as the “X” that marks the spot where pirate treasure always seems to be buried the final signature on the checkout sheet marks the spot where a Marine can officially take the form to his administrative section and turn it in.  Once turned in, the Marine receives that most special and treasured document- his official set of orders that will take him into retirement.

But before you can go ashore for the last time you must first obtain that last and most important signature.  Before the holder of the sacred pen will scribe his or her mark on your sheet you must get all of the other signatures first….and therein lies the rub.  Just as Jack Sparrow must endure adventure after adventure to find the buried chest-o-gold, so must a Marine follow the twists and turns of the map that is the checkout sheet.

My case turned out to be a little unusual.  Most Marines check out of the unit they have served in for a few years on their way out the door, which makes sense.  For me, though, things were different.  I had turned over command at the start of the summer, and had several months between leaving the best job I ever had and departing active duty.  While in charge there was no time to start my transition, so I put off all of the things that I needed to do until I had passed the mantle of command to my successor.  Immediately after turning things over I left the building (much like Elvis, I suppose) and headed out to the higher headquarters unit where I would perform my outprocessing.

The difference between the two is pretty astounding.  Being the commanding officer of a Marine Corps unit is undoubtably the greatest honor an officer can be entrusted with, and it comes with some pretty nice perks.  One perk in particular makes the whole business of checking in and checking out pretty simple- the Marines in the unit bend over backwards to make sure that everything the CO could possibly need is done as quickly and efficiently as possible.  In a previous post I lamented about the drudgery of turning in my equipment- that drudgery was a function of no longer being in command.  As a commander I had only to mention something and it would magically happen.  Take my unit issued equipment for example.  One of the mounds of gear I used overseas was specific to the unit that I commanded- we were fire supporters, so we had special binoculars, laser range finders, infrared target designators, and a host of other neat widgets that we got to lug around the battlefield and use on the Taliban.  Anyhow, as the CO I had only to mention that I needed to turn the stuff back in and within an hour a couple of Marines showed up at my office and took it all away.  No lines to stand it, no annoying paperwork to get signed, no arduous accounting for each item- it just happened.  Kind of the opposite of Christmas, with the jolly Marines of the Supply and Armory sections taking away my mountains of gear and leaving me with a lot less to worry about.

Contrast that with being warehoused in the headquarters unit.  Nobody knew who I was, and nobody really cared.  I was just another Marine with a checkout sheet, and the fact that I was a senior officer was interesting but largely irrelevant.  There were rules to follow, places to go, and specific hours to go there.  No jolly elves here.

I did, however, have the tool to get me through the checkout process- my checkout sheet.  So, just as intently as Captain Jack Sparrow followed his chart I turned to and started working my way down the list.

There are some low hanging fruit on the list as well as some annoyingly difficult places to go as well.  Being a creature of habit (and in no particularly huge rush) I started with the fruit that was hanging lowest and closest; that fruit being the various offices and buildings around the in and around the headquarters.  A quick gander at the checkout sheet revealed about a half dozen offices just down the hall and up the stairs from where I was standing, so off I went.  The operations section ensured that all of my required training was complete (not that I need anything special on the way out the door) and to my great relief the legal section confirmed that I wan’t pending a court martial.  The Substance Abuse Control Officer (SACO) confirmed that my most recent urinalysis was clear of drugs (good thing they don’t check for gin and tonic) and the Family Readiness Officer happily stamped my sheet after a nice chat.  Things were progressing nicely!

So much for low hanging fruit.  Time to work my way up the tree.

I tracked down the Uniform Victim Advocate.  I don’t know what that person does, really, but without obtaining the red squiggle from the official pen of the UVA office I would be stuck.  So, after a quick “Hello- can I get your autograph?” followed by the scratch of a pen on my sheet and a  “Sure, have a nice day!” I left none the wiser as to the purpose of that particular office.  I wandered across the camp to the armory and supply sections, where I waited until the time listed on the signs for checking out (at lunch until 1300!), and upon their return from the chowhall (or Subway) I queued up and after a few minutes racked up a few more stamps and squiggles on my sheet from the largely bored Marines who were the keepers of the sacred stamps and pens.

Higher up the tree I climbed.  Jack Sparrow had nothing on me!  I chased security specialists down to turn in my “secret” access badge and get them to ink my paper.  I snuck into the Commanding General’s wing to garner the mark of the Chief of Staff.  I drove across base to turn in the gas mask that I had (thankfully!!!!) never used outside of annual training.  I sat in the dentist’s chair for my final checkup and was poked and prodded next door at the Group Aid Station for my final physical.  I met with the system administrator and turned off my email accounts.  I met the mail clerk and completed a forwarding address card even though I had never received any mail there  and I knew that I never would, but a checklist must be followed and the mail clerk to his credit was adamant.

On and on it went.  Days turned into weeks, but before the weeks could turn into a month I finally obtained each and every stamp, mark, and squiggle needed to complete my quest.  Were I Captain Jack Sparrow I would be chortling over a chest of gold with a bottle of rum in each fist- but I was more gleeful than he could possibly be at that moment because I had done it!  My checkout sheet was complete!  With a happy heart and a smile on my face I drove down to the Installation Personnel Administrative Center (IPAC for you acronym connoiseurs) and met with the holder of the pen that would scribe the final signature on my checkout sheet: my retirement counselor.  More on that soon.

__________

Lessons learned:

1.  Checking out takes time.  A lot of time, and the time is not yours but instead belongs to the people on the other side of the checkout counter.  Unless you are a General or a CO you must get in line with everyone else.  That isn’t bad, though, because you meet a lot of great people along the way.

2.  Make sure that all of the prep work is done.  Bring everything you need to turn in and make sure that any required documentation is done ahead of time so that you don’t have to go back several times to get the stamp.

3.  Be nice!  The Marines and Sailors that are on the others side of the counter are doing their jobs.  They will be much more friendly and forthcoming if you are friendly to them first.  The golden rule surely applies!

4.  Follow the rules.  Show up during the times listed for checking out because the Marines and Sailors who man the checkout counter only do so during those times, and if you show up and throw your rank around then you are taking them away from their other duties.  And you will look like an arrogant jerk.