I found myself sitting in a VA waiting room waiting for my turn to sit with a doctor of some sort, for 30 minutes, to evaluate whether my experiences during my two tours to Iraq provided him with enough justification to diagnose me with PTSD, thereby obligating the government to provide me with some level of support. The irony of the scene in the waiting room was not lost on me. Cheaply padded chairs and a table, complete with a kleenex box sat in general symmetry below a slightly crooked framed picture of an American flag. The flag, left of center in the picture almost explained the frame's left leaning slant. A reasonable scene to a quick onlooker but one that penetrated me deeply with irony and sadness as I sat waiting for my turn to talk with a stranger about my most personal thoughts and memories.