I have read what is definitely the most accurate story on Walter Reed Army Medical Center, my home since Christmas Eve 2006, and for many months to come. The original investigating media outlet is the Washington Post, but other media outlets are picking it up. Let’s hope others continue to do so and spread the word. It needs to get fixed.

The common perception of Walter Reed is of a surgical hospital that shines as the crown jewel of military medicine. But 5 1/2 years of sustained combat have transformed the venerable 113-acre institution into something else entirely -- a holding ground for physically and psychologically damaged outpatients. Almost 700 of them -- the majority soldiers, with some Marines -- have been released from hospital beds but still need treatment or are awaiting bureaucratic decisions before being discharged or returned to active duty.

They suffer from brain injuries, severed arms and legs, organ and back damage, and various degrees of post-traumatic stress. Their legions have grown so exponentially -- they outnumber hospital patients at Walter Reed 17 to 1 -- that they take up every available bed on post and spill into dozens of nearby hotels and apartments leased by the Army. The average stay is 10 months, but some have been stuck there for as long as two years.

I am living with a couple soldiers who have been there over two years. They have no idea when they will be leaving, nor do I. Nobody seems to be certain of any time frames.

Disengaged clerks, unqualified platoon sergeants and overworked case managers fumble with simple needs: feeding soldiers' families who are close to poverty, replacing a uniform ripped off by medics in the desert sand or helping a brain-damaged soldier remember his next appointment.

"We've done our duty. We fought the war. We came home wounded. Fine. But whoever the people are back here who are supposed to give us the easy transition should be doing it," said Marine Sgt. Ryan Groves, 26, an amputee who lived at Walter Reed for 16 months. "We don't know what to do. The people who are supposed to know don't have the answers. It's a nonstop process of stalling."

Lost paperwork for new uniforms has forced some soldiers to attend their own Purple Heart ceremonies and the official birthday party for the Army in gym clothes, only to be chewed out by superiors.

I have yet to receive any uniforms or any gear whatsoever from my "Med-hold-over" company. All the gear I have was given to me by my home unit in Rochester MN, my company still in Iraq, or from an overly kind "Lieutenant Scuba" who bought me an entire uniform while I was still in the hospital high on pain meds so I could attend the State of the Union Address with my Congressman, Ron Kind.

"Along with the government promises, the American public, determined not to repeat the divisive Vietnam experience, has embraced the soldiers even as the war grows more controversial at home. Walter Reed is awash in the generosity of volunteers, businesses and celebrities who donate money, plane tickets, telephone cards and steak dinners.

Yet at a deeper level, the soldiers say they feel alone and frustrated. Seventy-five percent of the troops polled by Walter Reed last March said their experience was "stressful." Suicide attempts and unintentional overdoses from prescription drugs and alcohol, which is sold on post, are part of the narrative here.

Vera Heron spent 15 frustrating months living on post to help care for her son. "It just absolutely took forever to get anything done," Heron said. "They do the paperwork, they lose the paperwork. Then they have to redo the paperwork. You are talking about guys and girls whose lives are disrupted for the rest of their lives, and they don't put any priority on it."

Soldiers, wives, mothers, social workers and the heads of volunteer organizations have complained repeatedly to the military command about what one called "The Handbook No One Gets" that would explain life as an outpatient. Most soldiers polled in the March survey said they got their information from friends. Only 12 percent said any Army literature had been helpful.

Life beyond the hospital bed is a frustrating mountain of paperwork. The typical soldier is required to file 22 documents with eight different commands -- most of them off-post -- to enter and exit the medical processing world, according to government investigators. Sixteen different information systems are used to process the forms, but few of them can communicate with one another. The Army's three personnel databases cannot read each other's files and can't interact with the separate pay system or the medical recordkeeping databases.

No one knows where to go to get things done, what forms are needed, or the SOP for getting anything done. Expect to go to half a dozen different places, getting routed from one office to another before finally landing where you need to, only to have to run around to three or four different offices hunting people down for the necessary signatures. To put it plainly, their system of getting things done is more than "broke".

The Pentagon has announced plans to close Walter Reed by 2011, but that hasn't stopped the flow of casualties. Three times a week, school buses painted white and fitted with stretchers and blackened windows stream down Georgia Avenue. Sirens blaring, they deliver soldiers groggy from a pain-relief cocktail at the end of their long trip from Iraq via Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany and Andrews Air Force Base.

Just for the record, those bus drivers drive like mad men. At least they get you to the hospital quickly. Fortunately when I arrived at Walter Reed Christmas Eve, there were no other cars on the road. One of the nurses on the bus even let me use her phone to talk to my wife. If I remember correctly (I was very drugged up), she even dialed the number and held the phone for me, because both of my limbs were wrapped up.

Part of the tension at Walter Reed comes from a setting that is both military and medical. Marine Sgt. Ryan Groves, the squad leader who lost one leg and the use of his other in a grenade attack, said his recovery was made more difficult by a Marine liaison officer who had never seen combat but dogged him about having his mother in his room on post. The rules allowed her to be there, but the officer said she was taking up valuable bed space. "When you join the Marine Corps, they tell you, you can forget about your mama. 'You have no mama. We are your mama,' " Groves said. "That training works in combat. It doesn't work when you are wounded."

This is probably the largest concern of mine. Over in Iraq I would lead our 20 to 30 vehicle convoys through some of the most dangerous areas on the roads over there. Now I get treated like a little kid, or more so like a normal garrison soldier, not a patient with special needs. It takes me a lot longer to do things because I only have half a hand left. Little things like tying my shoes or zipping my coat are huge obstacles to be overcome. Forget about me putting on a full ACU uniform with boots. I can't do it myself, so my wife has to help dress me. Last time I wore the uniform while going to the State of the Union Address, it took my wife and I over twenty minutes to get it on.

Each soldier in med-hold-over is to get a job within the first week of their arrival, and is to work at least 4 hours a day. "Fortunately" for me I am an amputee, so my job is going to my daily therapy appointments. This is probably a smart move on their part, as I only have three partially working fingers to do anything with anyway. Still, I thought we were all here to get treatment and get better, not to change duty stations and go straight to work.

If it wasn't for my wife I wouldn't be able to do many things for myself. Forget about remembering appointments. Because of the large three-times-a-day doses of Methadone and Lyrica for my nerve pain, I suffer from short-term memory loss, dizziness, horrible dry mouth, confusion, amnesia, vertigo, horrible sleepiness and unusual drowsiness, blurred vision, delusions, and nausea. The worst of all of these symptoms is the short term memory loss. I have arguments with my wife on a daily basis because she tells me things I later forget. I cannot remember things I did yesterday, or things people tell me. If it wasn't for my wife I'm not sure I would make it to my appointments. Yes, it's that bad. I hate it. If I could tolerate my nerve pain and still function I would quit all my meds in a heartbeat.

All I want to do is go through my treatments, get better, get out of the military and go home and start my life all over. By the time I get home from this whole ordeal I will have been away from home for over two years. I think having given two years of my life and my right arm is more than enough for my country. Now I want to get back to my private life, and learn how to live again all over.

If you feel as strongly about some of the appalling conditions at Walter Reed as I do, don't be afraid to let your publicly elected officials know about it, that's why they are there. Soldiers like me depend on you to do it.

Thank you to everyone who has emailed me kind wishes of support. I’m sorry I cannot reply to all of you, it just takes me too damn long to type with three fingers. (It took me over four hours to type this weblog post.) Please don’t think for a second that I am ungrateful, I most certainly am not. Soldiers Angels, Patriot Guard Riders and all the other support organizations and kind individuals who have emailed me with words of support, especially everyone in Hayward, Wisconsin, thank you. You are very much appreciated. Everything you have said makes things a little bit easier to cope with.