OPERATION MINDSTORM

When SSG. James Sparks Jr. joined the Army in 1982 he didn’t second guess his decision to join. He found a sense of peace and direction. His job was to protect and serve the United States, it was his purpose and he was good at it. He was proud of his service and career that he chose to provide for his wife and two daughters. He wanted to be a “lifer.” This changed after his tour of duty in desert Storm. January 30,1991, while in Iraq he received one injection of the Anthrax vaccine. The date is seared in his memory. He didn’t know at the time that date would mark the day his war began. His Mind Storm—the battle with the US Government, VA hospital, VA doctors, VA administration, and his battle to stay alive. After thirteen years of begging the VA doctors to help him find the answers to his failing health he was finally given an MRI of the brain at a civilian hospital. His brain was full of innumerable brain lesions. His neurologist today believes the brain damage is a result of a vaccine injury from the Anthrax vaccine. There are approximately 250,000 Gulf War Veterans that are sick. He never forgot this and hopes his fight, research and this memoir will help them too. October 21, 2014 I was feeling pretty good. I no longer had to worry about working. I could stay home and care for my husband. I thought no one could or would do a better job of looking after him than me. We had now been married for 31 years. I had dreams of taking him to the beach, museums, and traveling. You name it; we could do it. October 21, 2014, changed us both forever. Jim and I were sitting on the couch getting ready to go over some paperwork. It was a beautiful morning in Florida. The sun was shining and it was warm and a little breeze in the air. Jim didn’t sleep the night before. He had an argument with one of his siblings. Jim was quiet as we began to go over some paperwork; his legs were jerking. I looked at him and said, “Jim, are you ok?” He didn’t answer. Sensing something wasn’t right, I jumped up and stood in front of him. He was just staring straight ahead. I called his name again and he didn’t answer. I called 911, and I told the operator something was wrong with my husband as he was just staring at me. I said, “Jim, say my name!” I’m not sure why I asked that; I guess looking back, it was something simple that he should be able to do. He said, “Melissa,” and began to have a grand mal seizure! Having never witnessed someone having a seizure, I was terrified. I pleaded with the 911 operator to hurry and send someone. They were asking me questions I wasn’t sure I could answer. “Was he breathing?” I said, “Yes.” His head was turned to the left; his eyes were open, his legs straight out and his whole body was jerking. It felt like an eternity. My instinct was to stay with him and reassure him. I didn’t know if he could hear me, but I kept telling him I was here and that an ambulance was on the way. They finally arrived. They came in and scooped him up from our couch like you would pick up an infant. They cradled him and carried him to the stretcher. They could see I was distraught, and told me I should ride with them. I could hear them say. “He’s having another one as I climbed into the ambulance.” Our youngest daughter Jennifer was living in Florida. I managed to call her to let her know we were headed to the hospital. We arrived at the closest ER. They swooped Jim away and then came for me. I told them what medicines he was on and the doctor began telling me they wanted to give him a drug that could be dangerous but they recommend it. They had done a CT scan of his brain, and at this point, they weren’t sure what was going on. Our daughter arrived and we agreed to give him the drug. They called me over and Jim was lying in the hospital bed, his right arm was up in the air. He couldn’t put it down. He had wet himself and was lying there in a fetal position quietly. All I could think to say was everything is going to be okay. Still not knowing what happened or why.