Military leaders are AWOL on Warrior Transition Units

AT a recent news conference at the Pentagon, Lt. Gen. Eric B. Schoomaker, the Army surgeon general, took issue with a New York Times article that referred to the Army's Warrior Transition Units (WTUs) as "warehouses of despair."

As a mother of a Fort Carson soldier who attempted to take his own life just a few months ago, I feel the term is indeed an accurate description of the WTU there. [Editor's note: Ms. Gilbert's son was not officially assigned to the WTU from his original unit, according to the Army.] I was unaware of the depth of his despair until he made what was going to be his last call home.

"I cannot take it, Mom. I am done. I am sorry."

On Jan. 31, to my shock and horror, my son, Specialist Cole Vickery, attempted to take his life by overdosing on Trazadone, alcohol and marijuana.

After returning home from an intense combat tour in Iraq, Cole realized he needed help. He began to have nightmares, anxiety and rage for no apparent reason. Then he courageously asked for help from the Army's mental-health office. But, instead of getting help, he was ridiculed, threatened by his chain of command, drugged by the medical providers, isolated as a form of "corrective action" for sleeping in and left with no hope.

Either because of a lack of education or total disregard from his superior officers, his calls for help were dismissed.

Once out of the hospital, Cole was released to regular duty. I had to fly down to Fort Carson and speak with his company commander and physician to demand they get him into treatment.

Fort Carson's medical staff must have seen significant symptoms of stress because they put my son on a pretty heavy regimen of psychotropic medicine. Cole was given two antidepressants, pills for anxiety and insomnia, an antacid, a hypertension aid and additional insomnia medication at two times higher than the "official" recommended dose.

As a result of the sleep medication, my son had a blackout episode, resulting in an unusual forced discharge from the facility.

Next, a new physician added Seroquel to his kaleidoscope of medications. Meanwhile, I could not understand why he was sitting around the WTU doing nothing and not getting the behavioral mental-health treatment he needed.

That's when I felt Cole was truly "warehoused."

Had I not written another letter to his command demanding he be placed back in a treatment facility, I believe he would still be sitting there or perhaps worse.

At present, Cole is in a civilian facility in Colorado Springs. He describes it as "more like a prison than a treatment facility. The chairs and tables are bolted down. Our rooms have no light switches. We do not have toilets or sinks in our rooms. This is the worst place I've ever been."

It sounds like my son is now in a prison environment being "warehoused" there. I am sure his supervisors are relieved that I am not trying to contact them while my son is in this civilian facility.

According to the American Heritage Dictionary (Fourth Edition), the word "warehoused" means, "To institutionalize (people) ... in conditions in which medical, educational, psychiatric, and social services are below par or absent."

Cole agreed to let me tell his story to bring some light to this problem. The Army has been AWOL and its leaders have had their heads buried in the sand when it comes to the problem of our wounded soldiers. The Army is getting away with it as the mental-health care and WTU process is exhausting to navigate and intimidating to most.

Nevertheless, I have told my son's command that I am in this for the long run.

Amee Gilbert lives in Black Diamond.

This column left the impression that Amee Gilbert's son was assigned to a Warrior Transition Unit at Fort Carson, Colo. According to the Army, Specialist Spc. Cole Vickery was never officially assigned to the Warrior Transition Unit from his original unit.