|
Sickened
Iraq vets cite depleted uranium
Sickened Iraq vets
cite depleted uranium

By Deborah Hastings, AP
National Writer | August 12, 2006
NEW YORK --It takes at least 10 minutes
and a large glass of orange juice to wash down all the pills -- morphine,
methadone, a muscle relaxant, an antidepressant, a stool softener. Viagra for
sexual dysfunction. Valium for his nerves.
Four hours later, Herbert Reed will
swallow another 15 mg of morphine to cut the pain clenching every part of his
body. He will do it twice more before the day is done.
Since he left a bombed-out train depot
in Iraq, his gums bleed. There is more blood in his urine, and still more in his
stool. Bright light hurts his eyes. A tumor has been removed from his thyroid.
Rashes erupt everywhere, itching so badly they seem to live inside his skin.
Migraines cleave his skull. His joints ache, grating like door hinges in need of
oil.
There is something massively wrong with
Herbert Reed, though no one is sure what it is. He believes he knows the cause,
but he cannot convince anyone caring for him that the military's new favorite
weapon has made him terrifyingly sick.
In the sprawling bureaucracy of the
Department of Veterans Affairs, he has many caretakers. An internist, a
neurologist, a pain-management specialist, a psychologist, an orthopedic surgeon
and a dermatologist. He cannot function without his stupefying arsenal of
medications, but they exact a high price.
"I'm just a zombie walking around," he
says.
Reed believes depleted uranium has
contaminated him and his life. He now walks point in a vitriolic war over the
Pentagon's arsenal of it -- thousands of shells and hundreds of tanks coated
with the metal that is radioactive, chemically toxic, and nearly twice as dense
as lead.
A shell coated with depleted uranium
pierces a tank like a hot knife through butter, exploding on impact into a
charring inferno. As tank armor, it repels artillery assaults. It also leaves
behind a fine radioactive dust with a half-life of 4.5 billion years.
Depleted uranium is the garbage left
from producing enriched uranium for nuclear weapons and energy plants. It is 60
percent as radioactive as natural uranium. The U.S. has an estimated 1.5 billion
pounds of it, sitting in hazardous waste storage sites across the country.
Meaning it is plentiful and cheap as well as highly effective.
Reed says he unknowingly breathed DU
dust while living with his unit in Samawah, Iraq. He was med-evaced out in July
2003, nearly unable to walk because of lightning-strike pains from herniated
discs in his spine. Then began a strange series of symptoms he'd never
experienced in his previously healthy life.
At Walter Reed Army Medical Center in
Washington, D.C, he ran into a buddy from his unit. And another, and another,
and in the tedium of hospital life between doctor visits and the dispensing of
meds, they began to talk.
"We all had migraines. We all felt
sick," Reed says. "The doctors said, 'It's all in your head.' "
Then the medic from their unit showed
up. He too, was suffering. That made eight sick soldiers from the 442nd Military
Police, an Army National Guard unit made up of mostly cops and correctional
officers from the New York area.
But the medic knew something the others
didn't.
Dutch marines had taken over the
abandoned train depot dubbed Camp Smitty, which was surrounded by tank
skeletons, unexploded ordnance and shell casings. They'd brought
radiation-detection devices. The readings were so hot, the Dutch set up camp in
the middle of the desert rather than live in the station ruins.
"We got on the Internet," Reed said,
"and we started researching depleted uranium."
Then they contacted The New York Daily
News, which paid for sophisticated urine tests available only overseas.
Then they hired a lawyer.
------
Reed, Gerard Matthew, Raymond Ramos,
Hector Vega, Augustin Matos, Anthony Yonnone, Jerry Ojeda and Anthony Phillip
all have depleted uranium in their urine, according to tests done in December
2003, while they bounced for months between Walter Reed and New Jersey's Fort
Dix medical center, seeking relief that never came.
The analyses were done in Germany, by a
Frankfurt professor who developed a depleted uranium test with Randall Parrish,
a professor of isotope geology at the University of Leicester in Britain.
The veterans, using their positive
results as evidence, have sued the U.S. Army, claiming officials knew the
hazards of depleted uranium, but concealed the risks.
The Department of Defense says depleted
uranium is powerful and safe, and not that worrisome.
Four of the highest-registering samples
from Frankfurt were sent to the VA. Those results were negative, Reed said.
"Their test just isn't as sophisticated," he said. "And when we first asked to
be tested, they told us there wasn't one. They've lied to us all along."
The VA's testing methodology is safe and
accurate, the agency says. More than 2,100 soldiers from the current war have
asked to be tested; only 8 had DU in their urine, the VA said.
The term depleted uranium is
linguistically radioactive. Simply uttering the words can prompt a reaction akin
to preaching atheism at tent revival. Heads shake, eyes roll, opinions are
yelled from all sides.
"The Department of Defense takes the
position that you can eat it for breakfast and it poses no threat at all," said
Steve Robinson of the National Gulf War Resource Center, which helps veterans
with various problems, including navigating the labyrinth of VA health care.
"Then you have far-left groups that ... declare it a crime against humanity."
Several countries use it as weaponry,
including Britain, which fired it during the 2003 Iraq invasion.
An estimated 286 tons of DU munitions
were fired by the U.S. in Iraq and Kuwait in 1991. An estimated 130 tons were
shot toppling Saddam Hussein.
Depleted uranium can enter the human
body by inhalation, the most dangerous method; by ingesting contaminated food or
eating with contaminated hands; by getting dust or debris in an open wound, or
by being struck by shrapnel, which often is not removed because doing so would
be more dangerous than leaving it.
Inhaled, it can lodge in the lungs. As
with imbedded shrapnel, this is doubly dangerous -- not only are the particles
themselves physically destructive, they emit radiation.
A moderate voice on the divisive DU
spectrum belongs to Dan Fahey, a doctoral student at the University of
California at Berkeley, who has studied the issue for years and also served in
the Gulf War before leaving the military as a conscientious objector.
"I've been working on this since '93 and
I've just given up hope," he said. "I've spoken to successive federal committees
and elected officials ... who then side with the Pentagon. Nothing changes."
At the other end are a collection of
conspiracy-theorists and Internet proselytizers who say using such weapons
constitutes genocide. Two of the most vocal opponents recently suggested that a
depleted-uranium missile, not a hijacked jetliner, struck the Pentagon in 2001.
"The bottom line is it's more hazardous
than the Pentagon admits," Fahey said, "but it's not as hazardous as the
hard-line activist groups say it is. And there's a real dearth of information
about how DU affects humans."
There are several studies on how it
affects animals, though their results are not, of course, directly applicable to
humans. Military research on mice shows that depleted uranium can enter the
bloodstream and come to rest in bones, the brain, kidneys and lymph nodes. Other
research in rats shows that DU can result in cancerous tumors and genetic
mutations, and pass from mother to unborn child, resulting in birth defects.
Iraqi doctors reported significant
increases in birth defects and childhood cancers after the 1991 invasion.
Iraqi authorities "found that uranium,
which affected the blood cells, had a serious impact on health: The number of
cases of leukemia had increased considerably, as had the incidence of fetal
deformities," the U.N. reported.
Depleted uranium can also contaminate
soil and water, and coat buildings with radioactive dust, which can by carried
by wind and sandstorms.
In 2005, the U.N. Environmental Program
identified 311 polluted sites in Iraq. Cleaning them will take at least $40
million and several years, the agency said. Nothing can start until the fighting
stops.
------
Fifteen years after it was first used in
battle, there is only one U.S. government study monitoring veterans exposed to
depleted uranium.
Number of soldiers in the survey: 32.
Number of soldiers in both Iraq wars: more than 900,000.
The study group's size is controversial
-- far too small, say experts including Fahey -- and so are the findings of the
voluntary, Baltimore-based study.
It has found "no clinically significant"
health effects from depleted uranium exposure in the study subjects, according
to its researchers.
Critics say the VA has downplayed
participants' health problems, including not reporting one soldier who developed
cancer, and another who developed a bone tumor.
So for now, depleted uranium falls into
the quagmire of Gulf War Syndrome, from which no treatment has emerged despite
the government's spending of at least $300 million.
About 30 percent of the 700,000 men and
women who served in the first Gulf War still suffer a baffling array of symptoms
very similar to those reported by Reed's unit.
Depleted uranium has long been suspected
as a possible contributor to Gulf War Syndrome, and in the mid-90s, veterans
helped push the military into tracking soldiers exposed to it.
But for all their efforts, what they got
in the end was a questionnaire dispensed to homeward-bound soldiers asking about
mental health, nightmares, losing control, exposure to dangerous and radioactive
chemicals.
But, the veterans persisted, how would
soldiers know they'd been exposed? Radiation is invisible, tasteless, and has no
smell. And what exhausted, homesick, war-addled soldier would check a box that
would only send him or her to a military medical center to be poked and prodded
and questioned and tested?
It will take years to determine how
depleted uranium affected soldiers from this war. After Vietnam, veterans, in
numbers that grew with the passage of time, complained of joint aches, night
sweats, bloody feces, migraine headaches, unexplained rashes and violent
behavior; some developed cancers.
It took more than 25 years for the
Pentagon to acknowledge that Agent Orange -- a corrosive defoliant used to melt
the jungles of Vietnam and flush out the enemy -- was linked to those
sufferings.
It took 40 years for the military to
compensate sick World War II vets exposed to massive blasts of radiation during
tests of the atomic bomb.
In 2002, Congress voted to not let that
happen again.
It established the Research Advisory
Committee on Gulf War Veterans' Illnesses -- comprised of scientists, physicians
and veterans advocates. It reports to the secretary of Veterans Affairs.
Its mandate is to judge all research and
all efforts to treat Gulf War Syndrome patients against a single standard: Have
sick soldiers been made better?
The answer, according to the committee,
is no.
"Regrettably, after four years of
operation neither the Committee nor (the) VA can report progress toward this
goal," stated its December 2005 report. "Research has not produced effective
treatments for these conditions nor shown that existing treatments are
significantly effective."
And so time marches on, as do soldiers
going to, and returning from, the deserts of Iraq.
------
Herbert Reed is an imposing man, broad
shouldered and tall. He strides into the VA Medical Center in the Bronx with the
presence of a cop or a soldier. Since the Vietnam War, he has been both.
His hair is perfect, his shirt spotless,
his jeans sharply creased. But there is something wrong, a niggling imperfection
made more noticeable by a bearing so disciplined. It is a limp -- more like a
hitch in his get-along.
It is the only sign, albeit a tiny one,
that he is extremely sick.
Even sleep offers no release. He dreams
of gunfire and bombs and soldiers who scream for help. No matter how hard he
tries, he never gets there in time.
At 54, he is a veteran of two wars and a
20-year veteran of the New York Police Department, where he last served as an
assistant warden at the Riker's Island prison.
He was in perfect health, he says,
before being deployed to Iraq.
According to military guidelines, he
should have heard the words depleted uranium long before he ended up at Walter
Reed. He should have been trained about its dangers, and how to avoid prolonged
exposure to its toxicity and radioactivity. He says he didn't get anything of
the kind. Neither did other reservists and National Guard soldiers called up for
the current war, according to veterans' groups.
Reed and the seven brothers from his
unit hate what has happened to them, and they speak of it at public seminars and
in politicians' offices. It is something no VA doctor can explain; something
that leaves them feeling like so many spent shell rounds, kicked to the side of
battle.
But for every outspoken soldier like
them, there are silent veterans like Raphael Naboa, an Army artillery scout who
served 11 months in the northern Sunni Triangle, only to come home and fall
apart.
Some days he feels fine. "Some days I
can't get out of bed," he said from his home in Colorado.
Now 29, he's had growths removed from
his brain. He has suffered a small stroke -- one morning he was shaving, having
put down the razor to rinse his face. In that moment, he blacked out and pitched
over.
"Just as quickly as I lost
consciousness, I regained it," he said. "Except I couldn't move the right side
of my body."
After about 15 minutes, the paralysis
ebbed.
He has mentioned depleted uranium to his
VA doctors, who say he suffers from a series of "non-related conditions." He
knows he was exposed to DU.
"A lot of guys went trophy-hunting,
grabbing bayonets, helmets, stuff that was in the vehicles that were destroyed
by depleted uranium. My guys were rooting around in it. I was trying to get them
out of the vehicles."
No one in the military talked to him
about depleted uranium, he said. His knowledge, like Reed's, is self-taught from
the Internet.
Unlike Reed, he has not gone to war over
it. He doesn't feel up to the fight. There is no known cure for what ails him,
and so no possible victory in battle.
He'd really just like to feel normal
again. And he knows of others who feel the same.
"I was an artillery scout, these are
folks who are in pretty good shape. Your Rangers, your Special Forces guys,
they're in as good as shape as a professional athlete.
"Then we come back and we're all sick."
They feel like men who once were
warriors and now are old before their time, with no hope for relief from a
multitude of miseries that has no name.
|