As a veteran, I’ve served my country, faced challenges unimaginable to many, and put my life on the line to protect the freedoms we hold dear. So why is it that when I walk into a VA medical facility, in pain and seeking help, I feel like I’ve become invisible?
The recent experience I had at the VA left me frustrated, hurt, and questioning the very purpose of the system meant to serve those who have served. I walked in, clearly in distress, expecting at least a baseline of care—perhaps to have my vitals checked or to speak to someone about my symptoms. Instead, I was turned away because I didn’t have an appointment. To make matters worse, I was told they were full, as if that justified leaving someone in pain without even a basic evaluation.
An appointment? Really? Since when does being in pain require scheduling time to be seen? And being full? I thought a medical facility’s mission was to treat those in need, not turn them away at the door.
What’s even more frustrating is the constant advice I get from others: “You’re retired; make sure you utilize the VA!” They say it like it’s some magical fix for everything, as if the VA is this flawless system. But after this experience, I will continue seeing my civilian doctor—because at least there, I’m not just a number in a clogged system. In fact, when I called a VA representative to express my frustration, they told me to keep seeing my civilian doctor, essentially admitting that the system might not always work for me.
When you walk into a hospital or medical facility, the assumption is that someone will evaluate you, triage your situation, and offer some level of care. For many veterans like me, the VA is supposed to be our primary source of healthcare. Turning someone away, especially a veteran, without so much as a blood pressure check, feels like a slap in the face.
The whole situation left me wondering: what’s the purpose of the VA if not to care for those of us who’ve given so much? We’re not just numbers in a system. We’re human beings with real struggles, real pain, and real sacrifices that should matter. If the system is so bogged down that they can’t see a patient without an appointment or because they’re “full,” where does that leave those of us in crisis? What about veterans experiencing symptoms of something life-threatening?
I get that there’s a process. I understand the need for efficiency in an overburdened system. But efficiency can’t come at the expense of compassion. There has to be room for flexibility, for understanding, for stepping outside of the box when someone shows up at their door in need.
This isn’t just my story; it’s the story of countless veterans who’ve walked into VA facilities, hoping for relief, only to leave feeling unseen and unheard. It’s disheartening, and it’s unacceptable.
To the VA, I ask: Where is the humanity? Where is the sense of urgency for those who have already given so much?
To my fellow veterans, I see you, and I hear your frustrations. We deserve better. We deserve a system that works for us, not against us. If this resonates with you, let’s make some noise. Share your stories, raise awareness, and demand the respect and care that every veteran has earned.
Because we are not invisible. And our pain should never be ignored.