Moore

Born at Camp Lejeune in January of 1965, I was the youngest of six siblings, conceived, carried and delivered during my family’s three-year Lejeune residency as part of my father’s U.S. Marine Corps tenure, but by the time I was 18 months old my family would have moved out of the base. For most of my life, Camp Lejeune represented nothing more than a name on my birth certificate. Nonetheless, I was steeped like a tea bag in that toxic water, which contributed to many health challenges I have faced throughout my life.

As a child, I never felt quite right in my body. I had to pick up my leg because it would constantly drag and the right side of my body felt like it was collapsing.

I tried to communicate this to my physicians, but because I was an athlete, they couldn’t comprehend it and suggested that I was a hypochondriac. I also developed debilitating stomach issues eventually diagnosed as ‘GERD.’ But I normalized these things and kept ‘bootstrapping,’ as my parents taught me.

In my 30s, I suffered uncontrollable movement in my toes and extreme pain in my legs and other extremities. I pleaded with doctors to take me seriously, but they dismissed me as just plain irrational. And so the pain persisted.

After giving birth to two children, I required a hysterectomy in 2006 when doctor’s found cantaloupe-sized cysts on my uterus, and later a gallbladder removal surgery in 2008. The problems continued mounting.

A year after my parents passed away, I was diagnosed with pigmented villonodular synovitis in 2013, a one in a million diagnosis, which is essentially a giant cell tumor, most often found in the joints.

Mine was in my left knee and felt like a rock was grinding into it. After removing it, I faced a 40-50% recidivism rate, and as of 2022, it has returned.

In 2015, I was diagnosed with “painful leg moving toes.” This progressed and forced me to rely on a cane. My arm experienced strange sensations.

My face went into uncontrollable and painful spasmodic episodes, prompting my granddaughter to laugh and say that grandma’s face was acting weird, again.

I was mortified.

Testing throughout the last decade yielded positive auto-nuclear antibodies, meaning my immune system was attacking my internal organs.

But doctors couldn’t figure out where, and gave me a catch-all diagnosis of “ASIA,” meaning we are waiting for my body to show more symptoms of a particular autoimmune disease to be formally diagnosed.

I once worked in Human Resources at the University of California and then at St. Charles Medical Center as a staffing analyst until August 2016, until my health problems forced an early retirement. Despite submitting numerous claims to the VA for my many conditions, they’ve all been denied.

I found out about Camp Lejeune’s toxic water through my sister, who has military ties.

I never received any notification from the U.S. military or government. I was essentially forgotten in the throes of Camp Lejeune’s speckled history.

With a short window for filing claims, I am dedicated to reaching as many as possible who may have been affected by the toxic water. Admittedly, I felt relieved when I found out. Finally, I had an answer as to why I suffered my entire life and realized I wasn’t crazy. I had an answer. Then, the anger came.

Now, this is the only card I have left to play. And I’m ready for my day in court.

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