The Disease of Power~


NOTE: This blog is a little graphic. If vomit, and diarrhea make you uneasy, do not read this.

I went to sleep that night more upset than I had been in awhile. My Sergeant, Sgt Gonzales, had been repeatedly failing my room on weekly field days (room cleanings). Despite the helpful labor of my fellow co-workers, the cleaning advice of my superiors, and the hours of additional scrubbing that were exerted into my small room compared to others, the work on my room was continually ineffective. It left my exhausted and embittered mind anxiously clouded with the inevitable punishments, and embarrassment I was going to receive the following morning when my attempts would end in vein. In addition, that night I had rudely demanded that two of the Marines, who had been loyal patrons to my futile mission, leave me to clean alone. I felt they shouldn't endeavor something that was hopeless for me. Wanting nothing more than to help, they objected, and insisted they remain to assist me clean. Embarrassed at what I perceived as their unspoken pity for my dependency, I threw open the door and vociferously demanded again that they depart. Everything felt irreparable, and checkmate.
My eyes flew open and the silence broke as vomit expelled from my throat onto my pillow and sheets. Feeling more fermenting, I began to run to the bathroom, but the distasteful fluid erupted onto the carpet with a distance I had never known to be possible. I continued the flight to the bathroom and, again, heaved my stomach contents to the floor less than six inches from the toilet. Weak and disoriented, I fell to my knees and alleviated myself of the liquid discomfort into the water of the government plumbing. Soon, a wave of "Montezuma's revenge" took grasp of my body. As quickly as I could I turned on the toilet and, also blanketed myself with vomit in doing such. Knowing I could not move I continued to spew onto the bathroom floor. My mind was incoherent.
A few minutes later, I was feeling brave enough to return to the room. Stumbling, I grabbed a towel and began wiping the floors. Soon I felt I had to vomit again and ran to the toilet. Afterward, I quickly tore the blanket and sheets off the bed, and stripped myself of my putrid clothing. I lay on my bare mattress, almost completely naked. I wallowed in my physical misery and the anticipation of my punishment for the disgusting state of my room the following day. I did not have the stability to redress. I was cold and uncomfortable, but I could not find the strength to move and change such.
This process continued for a couple more hours. Occasionally, my debilitation drained my body so that I sluggishly crawled to and from the bed. Once, I even surrendered and lay on the floor without attempt to pull myself onto my bare mattress. I did not completely comprehend my predicament, but hours passed until I could finally dress. I called Sgt J. He rushed to my barracks to take me to the Emergency Room. In the ER, they hooked me to an IV and lay a warmed blanket on me. No sooner had they kindly brought the warm blanket, until I passed out completely.
Meanwhile, Sgt J sat in the waiting room, expecting the doctors to inform him on my condition. The sun began to rise, and my Gunnery Sergeant insisted Sgt J return to work after he called to update her. He told her he was going to wait until he was sure I was alright. She told him she didn't care, and I didn't need him to "hold my hand". He, again, insisted he wasn't leaving one of his Marines behind. She repeatedly called the ER and Sgt J's cell phone ordering him to return to work. Such orders went unfollowed. Later, I learned that she was considering aloud wether to send another Marine to the Emergency room to bring me to work. Eventually, she sent one of the office Staff Sergeants to the ER. The SSgt told Sgt J that he needed to return because Gunny was furious, and he would stay with me if Sgt J so desired. Satisfied, Sgt J left the ER to the office. Upon return, Gunny began wailing, and threatening him with severe punishments. Sgt J held firm as he shamelessly informed her that he would have made no decision differently, even if his rank was jeopardized. He repeated he would never disregard the welfare of a Marine as she had ordered him to. Unable to argue with his faultless position in the dispute, she warned him he was "walking on thin ice", and dismissed him.
Later that day I lay, once again, on my bare mattress in my barracks room. A paper declaring me "Sick in Quarters for 72 hours" was placed in my window. Such meant I was not obligated to, nor fit for any duty, and I was to remain undisturbed. Also, I was not permitted outside of my barracks room, unless I was going to the chow hall. I had been told I either had food poisoning, or a stomach flu. I was highly intoxicated with medication, and my demeanor was possibly less orderly than it had been previous to my Emergency Room visit.
Sgt Gonzales pounded on my door a few hours into the day. I didn't move. It took too much effort. She pounded again. I heard the barrack's keys jingle. She tried one last time to order me to the door with her pounding. I couldn't move, or even open my eyes. The jingling continued for a moment and then light exploded into the room. Sgt Gonzales walked in as two gentlemen,who were also Marines in our office escorting her on her room inspections, stood in my door way. Running her hands along my dresser, inspecting for dust, she looked down at my pile of soiled sheets and clothing. "Did you field day, Pospychalla?" she asked. I mumbled, but I still did not open my eyes. She asked me a question or two more, but abandoned the attempt when they went unanswered. She continued to talk to me, but I was not listening. After looking over my room briefly, she left.
Today, I am so thankful that I had not gotten sick and stripped my clothing again before they intruded my rest. Thanks mostly to my medication, I slept 26 undisturbed, consecutive hours over my 72 hours of recouping time. I did get slightly, verbally reprimanded for "burdening" others by Gunny, and Sgt Gonzales insisted I had put on a show to avoid cleaning, and made me clean the following Monday. Sgt J received no punishment for what he had done for me.

Civilains, what would you do if you called in sick to work, and your boss made you get a doctor's note first? Then, he/she still came to your home and broke into your house to see if you were truly ill and if you had maintained good order in your home? In addition, how can some of you enjoy the freedoms you have and abuse them by burning an American flag, or demanding more money for your welfare check? Many aspects the military sacrafices aren't limited to their living breath. They sacrafice their seemingly trivial rights that many of you take advantage. They postponed school so that they may make their contribution to the society you spit on. Many people say "I couldn't do it. I don't do well with authority." Well, based off of my blogs, thus far how well does it sound I do with authority or with the military? There are ways to deliver your hushed opinion with tact and ease, without blatantly disregarding those who hushed them. I have found writing blogs is my means to do such. Everyone can serve in the military, but few people have the character and dicipline to actually take the initiative and find the courage to do it. Anyone with any apprehension to the laws of modern society, can see that such contributions need to be made to maintain that society to it's fullest. It is ironic how those that complain the most in America that our country is "not truly free" are those who have never had to live under the limitations of a government, or situation that was not completely democratic. It is not expected that every citizen serve time, but respect for those who have and for the principals they continue to serve for would be appropriate.