Post Traumatic Stress and Tropical Storms // June 2, 2007

"... I'm in the mess tent on FOB hurricane. Its your classic Army tent complete with tables that are tall enough to stand and eat. There are no chairs in here, things are supposed to get done in a hurry I guess. All part of "conditioning" I suppose. Whatever... I still think you should have a chair when you eat... mortars or no!

Chaplain Roberts (the chaplain I am combat counterpart to) is preaching on free will. Stands to reason since he is a Nazarene. Former SBC... nice. Funny thing here, I have found that my theology, being profoundly affected by a deployment, seminary and life experiences since college, has gone from being very Calvinist to almost Arminian. I know... how the mighty have fallen! I just can't be fatalist any more. I find myself more and more ready to accept some of the inevitabilities of Arminian doctrine. If I'm not careful, I'll start admiring Wesley more than Piper... Oh, don't get me started on him!! I even left New Life in New Jersey because I was Calvinist and they weren't! Go figure. Guess that really was more about personalities...

I had an Iraq moment today. I guess one could call it "Post Traumatic Stress." I was standing by the CP (Command Post) as the sun was just dipping behind the burm. It was an amazing sight. I have not seen anything quite like that since I was in Iraq. I'm not sure what it was about it, but it was something about the way the sun gleamed through the concertina wire atop the protective burm (rounded dirt wall) that surrounds the camp that sent me back to a place far from here. It set my body off.

On my right, a priest listened to SGT Harrison speak about convoys and I could sense them slipping away into the coming dusk. I didn't consciously HAVE a flashback, but in that moment, my body reacted.... strongly. It was very much a physical reaction to mental stimuli. My heart started to race, my stomach started doing these awful acrobatics, my breath became very short, I couldn't focus, I heard everything and nothing at the same time. I was conscious that I knew I was not IN Iraq and I knew that I was in NO danger - but my body was feeling something quite different. I suddenly was keenly aware of my surroundings - I could hear the soldiers talking around the convoy trucks and the crunch of the pea gravel under my boots - but I have no idea what they were talking about right next to me. I had to turn away. I stared into the darkening sky away from the sunset and tried to breath properly. I started doing some relaxation exercises I learned while a vocal student. (Incidently, the most useful thing I gained from being a music student at PCC are those very breathing exercises. When I was in Iraq, I did the "rag-doll flop" all the time - especially between traumatic counseling sessions - very helpful! I even taught it to soldiers. It helped them too. Who knew that Ray Gibbs, John Roberts, and Nakita Stinnett would have a place on the battlefields of Iraq!!)

After doing the exercises, my breathing returned to normal and my thoughts found their way back to where I was at that moment ,and I turned back to the conversation without missing a beat.

It's what PTS looks like to me. (Note that I use the term PTS as oppsed to PTSD. I believe that its important the understand the everyone who deploys (or goes through a traumatic event for that matter) has PTS. It's natural and unavoidable. It becomes a disorder when it prevents you from functioning in a "normal" (whatever that means to you) way.) My body reacts strongly and my mind stays "functional." Perhaps this is just because my mind has been tempered to "stay strong for the joes" - so my body compensates. It's a disconnect that I really don't understand, it's just something I have come to live with.

Sara tells me that when I'm extremely exhausted (gone a long while with out sleep - sometimes I go days with very little because my mind just won't let me sleep, so my body will eventually shut off causing it to get just a few hours. After a while, that catches up with you) I start talking about the war and have nightmares. I don't remember it, but Sara will tell me about it in the morning. I talk in my sleep and get very afraid. She has told me that I have been thrashing and my heart is racing. All I know is that when I wake up, I'm more tired than I was when I went to bed and I'm hurting. I think it's become less and less over the last year so I'm confident that time will bring the eventual healing, but there is part of my mind that is locked up and will never quite be healed.

I still have anxiety attacks from time to time. I can't put any actual cause to it, but my stomach will lock up and I will want to vomit but can't. It's like I'm extremely nervous, but there's nothing to be nervous about. Just leftovers I guess. Nothing can really be done except try to understand it and normalize. It's just part of my life now, and the lives of most soldiers that I have counseled with. What breaks my heart, is knowing that there are those for whom this is a regular part of their life and now they are back in country compounding one set of issues with another year of trauma. Time can only tell what the final fallout will be.

I know that my time will come again. I fully expect with my going active that I will be back in Iraq (though I would rather go to Afghanistan since I have not been there yet) by this time next year. I hope that this PTS plays out before I have to stack more on it by then.

My brother is a worship pastor up north. He tells me that when soldiers/marines come back to church, the folks don't quite know what to do with it. They talk about heroes and treat them as such - but honestly, I don't know exactly what that means. I love people telling me that I am a hero, but I feel guilty that I am here, enjoying the rain outside of my window, while there are chaplains downrange that don't get that. They face another day of boredom and trauma. I feel guilty because I have only gone once and some of them are working on their third time. Are these the feelings of a hero?

The Minisota Guard has put together a great resource for civilians to reach out to returning reserves and help them back into civilian life. Give it a listen, I think you'll find it helpful.

Beyond the Yellow Ribbon.

It's raining sideways again. My Peterson keeps me company as I write. I think of this line from another veteran, CS Lewis, "man approaches God most nearly when he is in one sense least like God. For what can be more unlike than fullness and need, sovereignty and humility, righteousness and penitence, limitless power and cry for help?"