When Glenda called my name, I put my phone away and grabbed my crutches, then made my way through the waiting room. The one benefit of this place was that few people stared at my stump, most of them too consumed by their own shit to pay attention to anyone else.
“It’s good to see you again, Sergeant Middleton,” Glenda said as I walked past her into the room.
“You too.”
Glenda was my Army RCC—Recovery Care Coordinator—the person who’d set up an individual care plan for me after I’d gotten wounded and who had assisted me in navigating this unfamiliar world. Fiercely efficient, she was a good person to have on your side and one of the few people who’d truly worked hard on my behalf to get me the best treatment plan possible.
She sat on the other side of her desk. “How have things been going? The updates from your physical therapist have been good. He says you’re slightly ahead of schedule.”
“Yeah?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “He didn’t discuss them with you?”
I shrugged. “Sure, but it’s always good to hear from someone else.”
“So, how have you been?”
“Same old. It’s going as well as can be expected, I suppose.”
She tapped her pen against her lips. “Have you read the DoD Compensation and Benefits Handbook I sent you?”
I snorted. “You mean the hundred pages of bureaucratic nonsense? I glanced at it.”
Her eyes twinkled. “You’ve been in the Army long enough to know we don’t ever produce handbooks shorter than that.”
“True that.”
Then, she grew serious again. “It’s time for the next step, Sergeant. You’ve been referred to IDES.”
That was an acronym I knew. IDES stood for Integrated Disability Evaluation System, which was a fancy word for the process of evaluating the severity of my disability. “I figured we’d get to that stage.”
“It’s been six months since your accident, and your medical team has communicated your injury is stable and will not improve.”
I rolled my eyes. “No, my leg ain’t gonna grow back on its own.”
“It’s a formal step in the process, Sergeant. You know that.”
Oh, I did. The Army had processes for everything, and I wasn’t even against that. Following the correct steps guaranteed safety, and if that jackass had actually done that, I wouldn’t be sitting here today minus my leg, and we all would’ve still been on active duty. “So what’s next?”
“It’ll start with a briefing about the process, and then we’ll go through the necessary steps to determine the level of your disability and whether you are fit to return to active duty. But you’ll be assigned a Physical Evaluation Board Liaison Officer, a PEBLO, to guide and advise you throughout this process. Theywill also inform me, so I will still be able to answer any questions you might have.”
Thank Jesus for that because I couldn’t stand the thought of having to deal with yet another person. Glenda and I got along well enough, mostly because she cut to the chase, didn’t even attempt any emotional BS, and was ruthlessly efficient. She was a woman after my heart, and if she wasn’t twenty years older than me and married, I might’ve asked her out on a date. Not really, but still.
“We both know what the end result is gonna be,” I said slowly.
She nodded. “Yes, but we still have to go through the process.”
“How long will it take?”
“Anywhere between two to six months, depending on how complicated the case is.”
“Let’s assume it’s not.”
“The average is around three months.”
“And then?”
Her eyes softened. “You’ve been referred to IDES with a p4 level of limitations, which means you won’t qualify for retention. Your disability prohibits you from serving as an ammunition specialist and platoon leader again, so it’ll result in an honorable medical discharge.”
