Biographical Notes reCharles A. (Chuck) StonePage 5 of 6 Pages, of Chapter 9,MOVING ON |
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| The medics interest and concern for my health increased and their testing determined that I had lost the function of my left labyrinth, period. There were other related complications that made life difficult that I will not bore you with, but for you to gain any insight to events that follow, you should know this: [Flash Forward to September - November, 2000: During this period, approaching my 76th birthday, I had been hospitalized for evaluation regarding the need of a pacemaker to keep me from passing out every now and then. One of the tests was an MRI of my head. After reviewing the films, the neurologist came in my room, sat down on the edge of the bed and said, “Chuck, did you know that you’ve had a significant stroke somewhere in your medical history. You have a part of your brain that is atrophied from the effects of a stroke.” For me the light came on instantly and I said to him, “No, I did not know, but from his information I could tell him exactly when it happened back in June of 1964.” In my four years remaining in the Air Force, striving to get in my 20 active years, or more, the USAF medics would never have allowed me to remain on active duty, if they had known I had a stoke. As complicated as my life was during those four years, I consider it a special gift that they did not have the technology to make the correct diagnosis, in my own case.] Somewhere along here, I reluctantly accepted the fact that I was off of flying status, probably for the last time. It had been a great run, up to now. For those of you who choose to read on in this autobiographical story, please understand that from June of 1964 I was a different person than the one I had known and strived to nurture up to that time. My mental, physical and psychological process had been reprogrammed so that my family and I, myself, had to get to know and learn how to deal with this somewhat modified version of the Chuck Stone we thought we knew. As we move on, I will speak of my health as little as possible, except to help provide some glue and continuity to hold the remainder of this story together. The latter half of the four-year Pentagon tour ground on with marksmanship and physical fitness issues playing their part in my daily work and dreams at night. My search for normalcy in my physical and mental health continued, with a few medical workups at Andrews and continuing follow-ups at the USAF Pentagon Clinic. As December approached, they arranged for me to have a thorough going over at Walter Reed Hospital, across town. This turned out to be a six week visit that went through Christmas and into the New Year. They must have given me every test known to man and the assigned Doctor took my case seriously and never once hinted that he thought I was goofing off. Later in these sessions, I was brought before a large group of doctors in a theater environment where my doctor reviewed my case and, the doctors who chose to do so, asked me some questions. After I had departed, they had their more open discussion. During this overall period it had been suggested that I might have many different malfunctions. These included an undetected case of Encephalitis, a brain tumor, and possibly ALS (Amaeotrophic Lateral Sclerosis). At one point in their examination and TLC process they had done a spinal tap, the after effects of which caused me to go into some sort of uncontrollable spasms. In the middle of the night they found me on the floor trying to crawl out into the hall of the ward. I can remember the nurse holding me in her arms and almost sobbing that she thought I was a lost cause. They decided that event could be blamed on the spinal tap and not my unknown illness. That was OK with me. Not long after, the doctor took me into his office to share his conclusions. He said they were not sure, but they believed I had ALS. It would take more observation and tests, over time, to confirm the diagnosis. I asked him how much time I might have left and he said I would probably be dead sometime in 1967. The good news was, he said, that the last of my capacities to go would be my mind. Having thoughts and no ability to do anything about them didn’t look like such a good deal to me. Before he could suggest something relating to medical retirement, I asked him to permit me to go back to work while they kept an eye on my physical status. After some consultation, they agreed to let me go back to work and come back for further tests in three months. Back at work, word got around about what was going on and I got a lot of TLC, especially from the secretaries in the nearby offices. The work went on and I earned my pay on a daily basis. That is all except my flying pay, and both Nell and I missed that. It is interesting though, when your life is on the line, flying or not flying does take a back seat. After three months I checked back into Walter Reed. They assigned me a different doctor who was far less interested in my case than his predecessor. I am sure he thought he had another goof-off on his hands. I was getting really irritated with his attitude by the time the day came when he dropped by my room and told me the results of tests (results created in his mind from the assumptions he had already made) that he had not yet scheduled me for. I quietly blew my stack, called the Deputy Surgeon General at USAF Headquarters and told him I was walking out of Walter Reed Hospital and they could go to Hell! General Pletcher, USAF DSG, whom I had known and worked with on other matters, smoothed the waters and OK’d the departure. He said he had a USAF specialist that was coming in from the Far East to be stationed at Andrews that might be able to help me. I suited back up and went back to work. I had grown more used to my loss of equilibrium and felt I could safely drive the car in traffic. I had developed jerking muscles in parts of my body that were quite irritating, but I was adapting to that new irritation, also. As time went on the medics at Andrews did what they could to help me cope. I complained as little as possible because I was still a few years away from potential retirement for length of service. My Wife was keeping her own sanity by helping set up a library system in the school our son was attending on a volunteer basis. At times when I should have been showing my wife and children the wonders of Washington D.C., I was often hiding out at home on weekends, not wanting to face any more people. The Viet Nam War was becoming increasingly an issue. We set up a training school on the west coast for USAF troops, enroute to Viet Nam, would process through for a fast, field oriented, marksmanship training course. |
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End of Page 5 of 6 Pages, Chapter 9 — Go to Page 6 Click below to select a destination Go to Page 1 — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5 — 6, this Chapter Chapters 1 — 2 — 3 — 4 — 5 — 6 — 7 — 8 — 9 — 10 |
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