Category Archives: PTSD

Articles dealing with my own struggle with PTSD and that of others

The Demons of PTSD

Just a quick note this evening in between tragedies here at the Medical Center, taking a few minutes off my feet and clearing my mind.  What I have been thinking about in relationship to last week and some events this week with people that I know, what kind of stuff we bring back from war.  I know that I have changed a lot and I know many others who have gone through those life changing situations.  It seems that many of us have stuff that we continue to deal with long after the event.  It is though the war is not over for us.  We have left something behind and at the same time something left incomplete.  I was told by one person that for our minds the war is still raging.  We haven’t had any victory parades this time, nothing like WWI, WWII and the First Gulf War.  We are are still there as much as we are here.

I wonder how many of the suicides experienced by our active duty force and former military members who served in these recent wars, and I will throw in Vietnam as well, have some form of PTSD, Combat Stress, Operational Stress or Traumatic Brain injury.  There are some studies that indicate that PTSD may actually be the result of damaged neuro pathways in the brain and not simply an emotional or psychological issue.

I wonder how many of the suicides, unexplained single vehicle accident deaths and other violent acts committed by otherwise law abiding and honorable men and women are related to PTSD or one of the other processes that I mentioned.  I see a lot of people who have had depression, suicidal gestures and attempts, legal problems and disciplinary problems and damages family lives who when I talk to them have all seen time in Iraq or Afghanistan and almost all still struggle.

For me I have my ups and downs which sometimes are overwhelming and the pain does not go away.  I hate going to bed, it is perhaps the worst time of day for me, I can actually feel the anxiety and it takes a long time to get to sleep, sleep which often is restless or full of dreams and sometimes disturbing images.  I do pray that one day I will go to bed in peace without anxiety.  I know so many others who are like this it is not funny. Being hypersensitive, hyper vigilant, tense, anxious, depressed and feeling rage is so common.  It is scary, for us and those that we love.   These are our “demons.”

One of the things that most people I have talked to is isolation and being disconnected from family, community and even faith.  The feeling of being alone is one of the greatest contributors to the problem.  If you know a vet or current active duty member who is struggling let them know that you care.  Don’t try to fix them or try to pray them out of it.  Just be there for them.  They may not let you into their world right away but just knowing that someone cares and is willing to be there for us is enough.  I do weird things now, and I know others who do as well.   For us this war may never be over and we need to know that we are still part of this society, part of family, part of community.  If you are a leader in a military unit and have service men and women struggling, please, give them a chance, don’t abandon them when they don’t do as well as they used to. I have mentioned in some of my other posts that I went through on my return from Iraq I won’t rehash those in this post, but I will say that is was the knowledge that my command supported me and valued my work when I came to Portsmouth Naval Medical Center, even when I was pretty down that has started me on a path to doing better.  Please take the time to listen and care even if you can’t fix someone.  It may be the one thing that keeps them from committing an irrational act that kills or harms them or someone else.

Keep us all in your prayers,

Peace, Steve+

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My Lenten Journey: Community

My Lenten vow was to be happy.  I did not expect Lent to be great but I decided to try and something good has come out of Lent this year.  That good thing is community and it came by surprise in a place that I did not expect.

Community is one of the things that I have struggled with throughout my time as a Christian and especially is a military chaplain.  I have often lived in places for brief periods of time.  Even when I was able to develop some sense of community and support it disappeared when I left.

I am by nature an introvert.  Put me in a room with a bunch of strangers and I can put my Romulan cloaking device up faster than the Enterprise can go to warp. Work is another matter, I push myself hard to be with people in the moment and to be present.  I work in the ICU and Pediatric ICU of a teaching hospital. I do a lot more listening and watching than talking most of the time.  This helps me to have the feel of the environment and know when and how to approach a patient, family member or staff members.  The ICU staff  has become a part of my local family and community.

However, I lacked a local faith community.  I love some of my fellow military priests but most are quite far away.  These are close friends but we are separated by geography and military duties.  We may go two or three years without seeing each other. This week I realized that I really need comunity locally.

My church is very small, maybe 70 parishes in the U.S. with none anywhere near me.  My wife is Roman Catholic. I have a good relationship with her parish pastor but the church is rather large.  With the exception of a few choir members I don’t know many people.  They treat me wonderfully but there is a distance. I am a priest in a communion that is not in communion with Rome, and Rome is cracking down on relationships and activities that would have be okay a few years back.

I looked forward to moving here in 2003.  My church had a local mission parish and there were others within a reasonable drive.  I knew many of clergy. I thought I was home.  I hoped  that I could contribute and make a difference in the church.  Unfortunately the local mission priest was difficult. His parish had not grown in 8 years and at best had 15 people in attendance.  I tried to help but was ignored and grew increasingly frustrated. I confronted him about practices that were in direct violation of his bishop’s policies and he was unapologetic. I reported this to the bishop. Instead of listening the bishop banned me from all contact with priests in the diocese.  At that point I went to ground.  Since I was on the road a lot I figured that I could handle isolation.

Coming back from Iraq was the most difficult adjustment that I have had to make in my life.  Not only did I have PTSD, chronic pain, anxiety, depression and insomnia but my sense of community was destroyed. My church had suffered another major split while I was in Iraq.  Despite my estrangement from the church there was nothing left of it in my area. The former bishop and most of the clergy had left.  Judy’s church is nice but it is large and I am hyper-sensitive to noise, lights and crowds of strangers, so it is difficult to attend. If you have ever felt absolutely alone and abandoned you probably can understand.

In September I transferred to the Naval hospital.  I went to work with a staff that valued what I brought to the table, and took time to care for me.  My therapist always asked “how are you doing with the big guy?”  as I was really struggling spiritually.  Remarkably my work in the ICUs was healing, the support of fellow chaplains was more than I could have asked for, things began to get better but I still did not have that local faith community.

I found that community over the past couple of months.  While working in the ICU I met the pastor of a local Episcopal parish in Portsmouth.  He had two of his parishioners in the ICU one of whom eventually passed away.  But during this time we became friends. He is Nigerian and pastors Saint James, which is the historically African-American parish and invited me to visit.  The parish is a wonderful, it is not large; but the people among the most welcoming of any parish that I have ever visited. Their worship is something that I not only am familiar, but draws me to God.  The hymns were those that I would have picked myself. There is a quiet dignity to these folks.  Many are former military. They feed the homeless, they are involved in the community and they love each other.  They understand God’s grace.  I feel at home for the first time in years.

I find it hard to believe, that for the first time in years I am experiencing the joy of being in community on a number of levels.  I think that God herself might even be happy for me.

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The Brotherhood of War Part Three: Beer, Donuts and Cigars

My conference is over and I fly home tomorrow.  I have found what happens in the informal sessions,  actually the unsanctioned and unsupervised sessions is actually of more benefit to us old combat vets than any formal program or presentation.  Maybe it’s the manner in which we do so. Most of my friends smoke cigars, I don’t, but I love a good beer. We have happened upon a great combination for late night discussions.  Beer, Krispy Kreme donuts, cigars and for the classy folks a good Port wine.  There is something about discussing experiences and really important stuff in a relaxed atmosphere as friends who each bring strengths to the table.   Some of what we discuss is related to practical matters in military ministry as well as sucecess and survival in the institution.  Likewise we discuss practical things which impact our lives in dealing with the institution of the Church.

The best of these times are wehn four to six of us can sit around and talk.  We spend time discussing our lives, ministry, tell war stories and and simply be there to help each other out, sometimes to provide a safe place to vent.  Tonight was good for me.  I was still pretty ragged from the past day and pretty much opted out of our morning session and lunch.  I needed this time in order to regroup.  One of the things that I have learned the hard way is to know my limitations.  As one of my favorite theologians, Harry Callahan says: “A man’s got to know his limitations.”  There is a lot of good theology in Dirty Harry.  I’ve learned that when my mind and body say I’m done, I am, unless of course it is a combat situation or I am in some other mortal danger.  Knowing this I knew that I could not last another day of regular sessions, even taking account of the good will and intentions of those around me.

It has been a rough week but I am glad that I came.  The bonds formed through years of friendship and shared experiences both in war and peace make this a unique fellowship.  This is our brotherhood, this is our fellowship.  We depart tomorrow and many of us will not see each other again for at least a year, maybe more. Some are already preparing for deployments to Iraq of Afghanistan and others could be called their or elsewhere at a moments notice.  This is the life that we have chosen, we and many who serve with us and those who have gone before us. There was a time a number of years ago when many civilian clergy in our church quoted the speech in Henry V quite often.  As a career military officer at the time I had problems with many who had never seen combat or lived the life of a soldier quoting that speech.  I think it is really something for us who have served, especially those who have done so in combat.  For us this has real meaning.

“This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian:’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day”

This is for all my friends, and all who serve and have served.  We few we happy few, we band of brothers.

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Filed under History, Military, PTSD, Religion

The Brotherhood of War: Part Two, Taking Chance

Today has been a difficult day, no one did anything nasty to me,  no angry outbursts, in fact a pretty good day spent with friends and brothers.  I had the privilege of being the celebrant at our morning Eucharist, following which we discussed what returning Soldiers, Sailors, Marines and Airmen returning from combat tours in Iraq, Afghanistan or other areas of operations have to deal with.  As people talked, my emotions got the best of me, I hadn’t slept well and had gotten up with what feels like a low level electrical current running through my body.  My friend David and I had talked well into the night so long that I had forgotten to take my meds. Not a good start. My stomach has been somewhat gooned up, I figure due to the schedule and a different diet than I normally maintain,  as well as my emotional state.  Funny just how much mind and body are connected.

During the session one of my friends described his experience receiving the bodies of over 250 service members with mortuary affairs in Kuwait.  In fact the last time I saw him was for about two minutes on the tarmac at Kuwait International as I was getting ready to board my flight out of theater as he was getting ready to great another flight of “Angels.”  As people shared their experiences my mind and emotions were cascading.  I had to leave that session to walk and eventually sit down in my rental car in the driveway.   Afterward we went to lunch, two of us  took my friend David back to the airport so he could head back to Fort Hood.  David the the friend that in his short military career has spent most of it in Iraq winning two Bronze Stars and having done more than many get to do in a career.  He is the one that I mentioned with the irreversible lung damage who will most likely within the next six months to a year be medically retired.  It was a sad parting, he is a dear friend and I admire his courage, faith and desire to serve both his country and God’s people.  The rest of the group went to dinner while we found a little Irish pub and continued our time with Yuengling Beer and Krispy Kreme donuts out at the hotel pool.  Two Iraq vets trying to get through another day dealing with our own stuff.  The good thing is that we have each other.

I came up to my room and turned on the TV.  HBO was airing Taking Chance about a Marine officer who volunteered  to escort the body of a fallen Marine back to his home following his death in Iraq in 2004.  The film, if you have not seen it is incredibly powerful and triggered for me a very intense emotional reaction.  I have made death notifications, done memorial services and military funerals for a good number of servicemen over the years.  I’ve also been in hundreds of end of life situations in hospitals, including many traumatic deaths of young people.  The movie brought back memories of some of these occasions.  It also showed the simple yet profound thanks that so many Americans express for our servicemen and women, which were portrayed in the film, as well as some of the idiocy that travelers in uniform occasionally have to deal with from some TSA agents.  I and probably most military members have experienced much of what LtCol. Stroeble, portrayed by Kevin Bacon in the film experienced. It is a part of the brotherhood, a brotherhood that extends across generations and even across national and cultural divides. God bless Mr. Bacon and the people who made this film and Lt.Col. Stroebel who wrote this story.

Today was a tough day, but it brought new insights and as well as appreciation of my journey.  Peace, Steve+

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The Brotherhood of War

Back in the mid 80s shortly after I was commissioned as an Army Officer there was a series of historical novels by W.E.B. Griffin called the Brotherhood of War. The series traced the paths of several Army officers as well as family and friends beginning in World War II. I am not much of a reader of fiction, but this series, as well as Anton Meyer’s Once an Eagle well captured the unique culture of the career professional soldier through both war and peace.  They treated their subject respectfully while also dealing with the effect of this lifestyle on families as well as the soldiers.

I’ve been a military officer in both the Army and Navy now for almost 26 years with nearly 28 years total service. I grew up in a Navy family.  The last 10 have been in the Navy.  In 1999 in order to return to active duty I resigned my Army Reserve commission as a Major and entered the Navy Chaplain Corps as a Lieutenant with no time in grade.  Outside of marrying my wife Judy, who somehow did not kill me when I did this, going in the Navy was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Part of my time in the Army and Navy has been my time in the Chaplain Corps of each service.  I have been a chaplain for almost 17 years.  My best friends are other chaplains, some from my own church and some from other communions.  The ones that I have the most connectedness to are those who have served in combat, especially those who served in Iraq, or ships in the war zone conducting various combat and maritime operations even when we were in different places.

Tonight I was with a number of chaplains from my church gathered for our annual conference.  Some of these men I have now known for at least 10 years, some more.  I’ve seen the young guys start to age and others retired from the service.  What has made this conference different from past gatherings is that all of us have had one or more combat deployment or are getting ready to go back.  Last year was difficult for me because of how my PTSD was manifesting.

We have shared our stories but now they are the stories of men who have all seen war.  In our careers we have have all experienced success, as well as heartache.  Due to our duty we have been often isolated from the church and each other.  I don’t think that most of us returned from the war unchanged.  There is a lot less bravado than years past, more reflection, less intense discussion of the theological issues that have divided the Christian Church for centuries.  I know that at least two of us have PTSD, one case of TBI, another with an Iraq acquired constrictive bronchiolitis, or bronchiolitis obliterans which has no cure. This young man has won two Bronze Stars and now has the lung capacity of a 70 year old man.  We have others who have won awards for their service in combat. Some have experienced the indifference of the medical and administrative parts of our service.  When I returned I found my personal and professional belongings crammed into a trailer with those of my assistant.  There are things which I considered important that are still missing and likely never to be found.  Others have had experiences where they felt the cold indifference of bureaucratic systems often staffed by civilian contractors who act if the returning or injured vet is there so they can have a job. Of course not all are that way, but these kind of people seem to show up frequently.

We have by and large matured, seeing death and destruction and being exposed to danger from enemies that could strike in the most unexpected moments in the most unexpected ways.  We have experienced sometimes difficult adjustments to life back home, a knowledge that we are different and that we are even more cognizant of our own obligation to care for God’s people.  Our brotherhood has deepened as a result of war, of that I am sure. Peace, Steve+

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Filed under Loose thoughts and musings, Military, PTSD

The Land of Unhappy Travelers

The 80’s group Blondie had a hit called “Island of Lost Souls.”  I love that song, it is kind of quirky and fun.  However, there is a time when you run into a place where the song seems more true than not. Today was one of those days.

I had to travel to Florida this morning for a Chaplain conference.  Since I came back from Iraq I do travel a lot less well than I used to and to make matters worse conferences of almost any kind at best come close to pushing me to the edge.  Sleep was difficult as usual the night before I travel, trying to anticipate every contingency, going through my packing list and ensuring everything I needed was there, getting up an hour later to make sure and setting multiple alarm clocks just to make sure I don’t miss my flight.  I know why I do this. Before Iraq I traveled a lot and got good at it.  In Iraq a did a lot more of this and got into a routine of checking, double checking and even triple checking to make sure that I had everything that I needed knowing that it would not be available the places that I was going or places that I might get marooned.  I have carried that back with me.  I actually have the same pack that I carried on every mission over there.  It is an excellent piece of gear, made by Blackhawk.

Anyway, today was a hellish travel day. The weather across the east coast was crappy.  My first flight was delayed an hour, my second flight as well. If that was not bad enough the Delta airlines failed to have people at gates and jet ways when gate changes happened, leaving people to miss flights and nearly miss vacation cruises.  On our connecting flight at Atlanta’s Harts-Jackson Field was delayed, in my case a good thing as had it been on time I would have missed it or had my luggage delayed.  While in line waiting for the flight announcements were periodically made, each one either delivering a later flight time or excuse for the delay.  The excuses often were inconsistent.  I’m not saying that an airline would lie, but it seemed to my little pea brain that the excuses conflicted.  Let’s face it, if you are going to lie be consistent and always remember that it is not a lie if you believe it.  Unfortunately the people lying to us were not very believable.

As I waited I surveyed my fellow disgruntled travelers.  Now by this time I had both extra meds as well as my 8 AM  and 1230 PM doses of Samuel Adams Boston Lager.  Normally I’ll wait until dinner for a beer, but I knew that I needed a bit more today.  The last conference that I flew to was in Orlando last year and that about put me over the edge. If you have PTSD a few months after coming out of combat zone going through the Orlando in the middle of the Summer pilgrimage of millions of the faithful  to Wally World to see Randy Rodent and Doofey is not a fun experience.  Thanks be to God for her good care.  She ensured that my doctor had given good drugs and the airport pubs provided good beer not to mention a Chili Dog with mustard, thus by the middle of the afternoon I was doing far better than most of my fellow travelers.  It was then that the Blondie song came into my mind.  This was not the Island of Lost Souls but the Land of Unhappy Travelers.  I listened to some people’s stories and they were like “Lemony Snickets: A Series of Unfortunate Events.” Atlanta had become a vortex of very disgruntled travellers who had missed flights, been bumped from flights or delayed endlessly.  If you don’t believe in the Catholic doctrine of Purgatory just try Atlanta on a day like today.  I looked around, and though barely holding on myself I was able to find some gallows humor in the midst of this angony.  I looked around the people around me and said “Ladies and gentlemen it is my distinct displeasure to welcome you to the land of unhappy travelers.”  I actually got a few laughs.  I then made a comment about the airline, which I had not flown in a couple of years, saying “I’m glad to see that some things stay the same, our airline still has same crappy service that they had a few years ago.  As we started boarding we boarded by zones as some airlines are want to do.  I personally prefer the first come or first signed in first seated way that Southwest does things, unfortunately the government contract was no longer with Southwest. As they announced “boarding zones one through five,” I commented, “yep, you guys in zone 92 still have a while to wait.  On each flight we had bad weather, turbulence and on one flight the air condition did not start kicking in until we were getting ready to land.

When I got to my destination I heard stories even worse than mine, all focused around the vortex of doom that swirled around Atlanta.  The only place that I thought it could have gone worse was Washington Dulles, where my experiences have been nearly all bad.I survived but by the time I got to my hotel my ass was kicked.

At the end of the day I had survived.  A few beers and a bit of wine with good fellowship with friends made things better.

So to all those who have suffered today, the inhabitants of the Land of Unhappy Travelers, I bid you a good night and safe travel, whenever you get out of Atlanta.

Peace, Steve+

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Filed under Loose thoughts and musings, PTSD, travel

The Perils of PTSD

PTSD is a weird condition.  At least it is for me.  The more I learn about it, both from my own experience of it and how veterans have experienced it I am amazed.  Most of us  relive trauma, experience depression, anxiety, rage, pain, nightmares and other manifestations of  PTSD.  The more vets I meet who are experiencing these outward manifestations,  those receiving treatment and those who are afraid to seek help,  the more I am concerned about the health of our military forces.  Likewise I am concerned who have served but have either returned to the reserves, National Guard or civilian life with little or no follow up by the military or VA.   The unknown part of this is what are the long term effects of PTSD on our force.  Several things are concerning.  The rise in suicide attempts and completions, especially in the Army which hit an all time high last year is especially concerning. Expanding numbers of incidents involving current service members with PTSD including criminal acts, alcohol and drug abuse, DUI offenses and broken marriages attest to the fact that there is a problem.  I am afraid that at the present time we have just scratched the surface.  Experience shows that many who suffer from PTSD do not go into serious distress for many years.  They are able for a while to bury their pain, often “self medicating” with alcohol and drugs until finally they either seek treatment or are forced to seek treatment.  This was often the case with our Vietnam vets, many of whom are still suffering forty years after the fact.

Part of the problem lies in the bureaucratic systems that veterans deal with on a daily basis.  Systems that often cause them further harm.  I know of an officer who has both PTSD and TBI, this officer has been put through the ignominy of of telling his story for the first time numerous times to multiple “caregivers” and been often treated as if he was there to support the needs of contractors, and congressional mandated agencies, rather than for them to assist him.  Another serviceman that I know came back from the Middle East with several hundred combat missions, a Purple Heart and Bronze Star for Valor and meritoriously advanced in rank. When he returned to his unit his life fell apart due to his PTSD.  He got in trouble and rather than seeing that this hero got treatment his command reduced him in rank and tried to have him put out of the service.  Thankfully another command saw the injustice, recognized the PTSD and both helped him and are working with him to clear his name and restore his rank.  I know of another officer who not only has PTSD but a irreversible lung condition acquired in Iraq which will eventually kill him.  This officer has been shunted aside by his service and for many months was treated by his service’s medical department as if he were a malingerer before after my urging he went higher in the chain of command.  He finally did get some medical help, but has experienced a distancing by others in his service. He is expecting to be medically retired despite being a winner of two Bronze Stars in two consecutive deployments, the last where he had to be medivac’d from  Iraq to the States because of the severity of his condition.  I have met medical personnel who suffer PTSD from dealing with trauma incidents and dying soldiers in forward medical facilities.  I know what that is like, praying with,  holding the hand of wounded or dying servicemen and anointing them was far different for me than my work in a civilian trauma center.  These were men who wore the same uniform as me who were operating in the same places that I traveled when they were hit.  I can still see those young men, their wounds, burns, faces and even tattoos.

Those who deal with PTSD never really know when they will get weird.  For me large crowds at almost any place other than a baseball game can put me into a panic.  Even church is hard and I’m a priest and chaplain.  When I am really stressed or tired, have had nightmares or anxiety I can feel what can best be described as a low level electrical current running through my body.  I woke up Sunday morning like this and needed to take an extra dose of my anti anxietymedicine, I had the same thing this morning.  When we had fires that burned in the Great Dismal Swamp, the color of the sky and smell sent me back to Iraq. That was one of the events that brought me to seek help. I got up, walked out the door, saw the sky and smeeled the smell and had to try to remind myself that this was Virginia Beach and not Ramadi.  Other smells, sights and sound can either provoke a startle response or anxiety attack. Cow pastures and sewage treatment plants do this to me. I talk with others and they have the same sensation.   If I hear a UH or SH-60 helicopter I am back in Iraq as the UH-60s in our area were used for only one purpose, that of MEDIVAC.  Sirens do this to me too, Iraqi police, fire and rescue use American vehicles with American sirens.  From what I hear from others as well as my therapist.

These are just some of the stories that I have heard or experienced myself. PTSD is for real.  I will continue to add my voice to support my brothers and sisters who suffer from PTSD, those from the current wars as well as past wars.

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Journey’s

Jerry Garcia once made the comment that “it’s been a long strange trip.”  For me the rocker’s words go through me like a good classic rock guitar riff, kind of like those in the Eagle’s “Hotel California.”  My faith and life has been a strange trip.  Had anyone told me back when I graduated from college that I would be serving on active duty after 27 years and a Priest to boot, I would have asked them what they were smoking.  I think that God has a sense of humor. I would have never picked me for the job, if Paul was the least of the Apostle’s then I have to be one of the least of the Priests. Cool, that last one rhymed, you got to love that huh?

Anyway, I was talking to my shrink today about how my experience in Iraq has changed me and maybe how God herself has used it to get me where she wants me to be.  I have spent the last 27 years of “aiming high” to “be all that I can be” in something that is “not just a job but an adventure.”  God has allowed me to experience  cool stuff, see a lot of things, go to more cool places than other people ever get to go and meet really cool people around the world.

I have talked about PTSD in my blog.  I have it, but in some ways it is not a curse, despite its stigma.  My time in Iraq and what happened there as well as my return has been as much an occasion of grace, despite the many difficulties.

Before Iraq I spent endless hours in theological as well as political debates.  Since returning I find those things not quite as important as they once were.  When I tried to rejoin them I discovered that I couldn’t and that the endless barrage of hatred and negativity was causing me a lot of problems, both emotionally and spiritually.  As I backed off a bit see people, even those I have disagreement with to be people that God loves, except maybe when they cut me off in traffic or play for the Dodgers.  Even so I’m sure that God herself even loves bad drivers and Dodgers fans, because she is much more loving and gracious that I can ever be.

I have discovered an experience of God’s love in communitywith people who have the same passions that I have.  I am much less doctrinaire than I used to be.  My early writings in the 1990s had a hard edge that came across as I tried to outdo others in doctrinal correctness.  Since Iraq I’ve lost that edge.  Actually I have been slowly losing it for years after a couple of my articles drew fire from some former bishops in my church. I was banned me from publishing, a ban since lifted and forbidden to have contact with civilian priests in the diocese which I resided.  I remained faithful to my vows, endured both the bans silently while seeing those same men devastate the church and abandon it.  I now really understand Hans Kung, whose books led me to the Catholic faith proclaimed at the Second Vatican Council.

Since Iraq I have been taking personal and spiritual inventory in between periods of depression, anxiety, insomnia, chronic pain, rages and occasional paranoia.   Doing this I found that my relationship with  and love for Judy had deepened significantly.  I also discovered that the people I was closest to were those who had shared experiences of being in danger, under enemy fire and who like me had come back changed.

I discovered that sitting silently is often more valuable than having answers or trying to make up something to look like I know what I’m doing.  I’ve discovered the grace of God in the Sacraments of the Eucharist and Reconciliation and the value of kind words.  I’ve also discovered that I have limitations in what I can do and how far I can tpush myself.  Those limitations are not bad, they too are God’s gift to me.  What bothers me most now is religious or political thinking which presumes to be infallible or to know what God is saying in the absence of any clear word from God.   I am now comfortable in gray areas rather than a world of absolute black and white dualism.  Honestly for many years I needed that “black and white” world, so I have no condemnation for those who believe that way.  I have left that world, for better or worse, in both politics and religion. In doing so I am confident of the grace and love of God.  The prayer said by the Priest in the Roman Eucharistic rite at the end of the Lord’s Prayer has become a prayer of mine: “Deliver us Lord from every evil, and grant us peace in our day. In your mercy keep us free from sin and all anxiety as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior Jesus Christ.” A priest friend of mine actually adds “from every needless anxiety” to the prayer.

Yeah, I have my ups and downs. This last weekend after coming back from DC was pretty rough, but God promises to be with us with us and never leave us or forsake us.  So I guess that includes me too.

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The Stigma of PTSD

I have PTSD.  I came back with it from my tour in Iraq.  I’ve mentioned this indirectly in previous posts.

Honestly, when I went to Iraq I knew about PTSD, however before I went there I really didn’t understand it, despite having been a trauma department chaplain in an urban trauma center. I knew people who suffered from PTSD but presumed that it is not as bad or prevalent at it really is among our veterans.

It actually took me a while to figure out what was going on with me.  My assistant and I traveled about all of Iraq’s Al Anbar province working with small groups of Americans working with the Iraqi Army, Border Forces and various police and other security forces.  I worked out of a base where when I first arrived a Army helicopter went down and I was greeted with a memorial ceremony for the 5 soldiers killed.  This was followed in rapid succession by a number of mass causality events where I was busy praying for and anointing Marines and Soldiers wounded by insurgent attacks along the very roads that I would be traveling on.  In my tour I experienced a lot, while we never were in a convoy that got hit, we did take small arms fire, had rockets fly over us and had aircraft come under attack by ground fire and shoot back. We also traveled in convoys of no more than three American HUMMVs and maybe a couple of Iraqi vehicles occasionally having to examine suspected IEDs and go through areas that were rife with insurgents.  Additionally we were in meetings where corrupt Iraqi officers were relieved by their Iraqi commanders with the US advisers present.   All participants in these meetings were armed except me.  Since I came back I have seen several reports of advisers being killed or wounded by renegade Iraqi troops while engaged in humanitarian missions.   All of this took a toll, the wear and tear of constant travel in dangerous areas with minimal protection worm me down without me even realizing it.  About  two thirds of the way through the tour we came back from a mission and some idiotic bureaucratic thing was brought up at our base of operations.  I lost it.  I was kicking HESCO barriers (big wire and canvas containers that held sand and dirt to protect soft buildings from rockets and mortar fire and cussing when my assistant, RP2 Nelson Lebron puled me aside and said “Sir, you need to get some rest, it’s not worth being upset, they’re idiots.”   He was right, but it took me a while to realize what was going on with me.  I couldn’t sleep at night and when I came home was in a constant state of anxiety, sleeplessness and was terrified by noise, light and crowds.  Situations in traffic sent me into rages.  Hyper vigilant I could not relax. The noise of helicopters and sight of certain types of helicopters sent me into flashbacks.  Nightmares were common while living with a constant state of anxiety, depression and  even paranoia became normal. Even church was painful to visit. A church convocation where I had to fly through Orlando International Airport so traumatized me that I was a wreck for weeks to come.  When I came back to my unit from Iraq I found that my personal gear had been moved out of my office and placed in a trailer as the unit was going through a major reorganization.  It was not personal on their part, but I felt cast aside by the Navy when I returned.   While it was not personal I felt rejected and without a home.   Due to the effects of PTSD on my Sailors who had been to Iraq and Afghanistan multiple times I was asked to start working on ways to help those traumatized by combat and the loss of friends.

In spite of this I pushed myself hard.  I couldn’t believe that there was anything wrong with me.  Then the fires in the Great Dismal Swamp began shrouding our area in a pall of smoke the color of which looked like a sandstorm and the smell like burn pits or the acrid smell of burning debris in Iraqi towns was overwhelming. Driving by a cow pasture or sewage treatment plant sent me back to Iraq.  During a presentation by a national expert which I had arranged for my unit on the effects of trauma and combat I struggled to keep myself together. My unit doctor looked at me a the end of the day and said. “Chaplain you don’t look good.”  I told him “I’m not, I need help.” Thankfully he listened, as did my command. My CO was shocked, I was experienced and well trained, and I was falling apart.  My doctor helped me to get the help I needed. My command was brought into the situation and both my old CO and new CO expressed thier support to me. The new CO asked me where a chaplain went for help.  I met Dr Elmer Maggard at Portsmouth Naval Medical Center and started to get help.  When I transferred to be a staff chaplain at Portsmouth my department head, Chaplain Jesse Tate pulled me aside and told me that he knew my work and would support me in my recovery.  He has been good on his word.  Other chaplains at Portsmouth have been supportive even on my bad days.  My work there on the ICUs with our staff has been healing as I meet others who have experienced PTSD or combat stress reactions.  The sharing of experiences and stories of Iraq among people who have been there is healing.  Sharing time with Vietnam vets has become important for me too.  There is a brotherhood that those of us who have seen danger in a combat zone share which is deep and timeless.

I’m getting better. Chronic pain, fatigue and anxiety are moderating somewhat.  Thanks to a fair amount of medications I can sleep much of the time.

Is there a stigma to PTSD?  I do think so, thankfully at least the Navy is starting to get things right in dealing with it. I hope that the other services are doing better as well, but I am not sure.  Army statistics seem to indicate a major rise in the suicide rate for soldiers.  My guess is that  I do think that among many there is a stigma.  Getting psychiatric or psychological help is still seen by a lot of people as a sign of weakness…some things never change.

Part of my healing process is to let others know about this.  I cannot sit back while those that I served with suffer at the hands of cold bureaucracy and discrimation by others who only believe that visible physical injuries matter.  George Patton be damned but people traumatized by combat are not weak, and those who espouse Patton’s philosophy in dealing with men and women injured in this manner can go to the infernal regions.

Does this mean that I would not go back to Iraq or to Afghanistan or some other combat zone?  No, I would go and even volunteer if my particular skill sets were needed.  I would do it for myself and my fellow Sailors, Marines, Soldiers and Airmen who serve, not because I am enamoured with war,  but because they are my brothers and sisters, fellow warriors who selflessly serve.  I can honestly say that I hate war.  I have seen what it does to people and nations, I’ve seen suffering and death both of Americans and Iraqis.   Unfortunately this war will not be over anytime soon.

Today I saw an article on CNN’s web page about two Army Generals who have decided to share their experience of PTSD.  God bless them.  The link is here:  http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/03/06/generals.ptsd/index.html

I’m lucky.  While things have not been easy I’ve gotten help and support.  I know others who have not. God bless these and others who have come out about their experiences.  Keep them and all of the rest of us in your prayers.

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God in the Empty Places

This was written last year when I was doing a lot of soul searching and reflecting after Iraq. It was originally ran in my church’s online news service.  I post it here as i walk through this season of Lent in this time of worldwide turmoil. Please don’t forget those who serve in Iraq and Afghanistan, nor those who have served in prior wars. Especially those who who have reurned injured in mind, body or spirit and those who made the supreme sacrifice.

I have been doing a lot of reflecting on ministry and history over the past few months. While both have been part of my life for many years, they have taken on a new dimension after serving in Iraq. I can’t really explain it; I guess I am trying to integrate my theological and academic disciplines with my military, life and faith experience since my return.

The Chaplain ministry is unlike civilian ministry in many ways. As Chaplains we never lose the calling of being priests, and as priests in uniform, we are also professional officers and go where our nations send us to serve our Soldiers, Sailors, Marines and Airmen. There is always a tension, especially when the wars that we are sent to are unpopular at home and seem to drag on without the benefit of a nice clear victory such as VE or VJ Day in World War II or the homecoming after Desert Shield and Desert Storm.

It is my belief that when things go well and we have easy victories that it is easy for us to give the credit to the Lord and equally easy for others to give the credit to superior strategy, weaponry or tactics to the point of denying the possibility that God might have been involved. Such is the case in almost every war and Americans since World War Two have loved the technology of war seeing it as a way to easy and “bloodless” victory. In such an environment ministry can take on an almost “cheer-leading” dimension. It is hard to get around it, because it is a heady experience to be on a winning Army in a popular cause. The challenge here is to keep our ministry of reconciliation in focus, by caring for the least, the lost and the lonely, and in our case, to never forget the victims of war, especially the innocent among the vanquished, as well as our own wounded, killed and their families.

But there are other wars, many like the current conflict less popular and not easily finished. The task of chaplains in the current war, and similar wars fought by other nations is different. In these wars, sometimes called counter-insurgency operations, guerilla wars or peace keeping operations, there is no easily discernable victory. These types of wars can drag on and on, sometimes with no end in sight. Since they are fought by volunteers and professionals, much of the population acts as if there is no war since it does often not affect them, while others oppose the war.

Likewise, there are supporters of war who seem more interested in political points of victory for their particular political party than for the welfare of those that are sent to fight the wars. This has been the case in about every war fought by the US since World War II. It is not a new phenomenon. Only the cast members have changed.

This is not only the case with the United States. I think that we can find parallels in other militaries. I think particularly of the French professional soldiers, the paratroops and Foreign Legion who bore the brunt of the fighting in Indo-China, placed in a difficult situation by their government and alienated from their own people. In particular I think of the Chaplains, all Catholic priests save one Protestant, at the Battle of Dien Bien Phu, the epic defeat of the French forces that sealed the end of their rule in Vietnam. The Chaplains there went in with the Legion and Paras. They endured all that their soldiers went through while ministering the Sacraments and helping to alleviate the suffering of the wounded and dying. Their service is mentioned in nearly every account of the battle. During the campaign which lasted 6 months from November 1953 to May 1954 these men observed most of the major feasts from Advent through the first few weeks of Easter with their soldiers in what one author called “Hell in a Very Small Place.”

Another author describes Easter 1954: “In all Christendom, in Hanoi Cathedral as in the churches of Europe the first hallelujahs were being sung. At Dienbeinphu, where the men went to confession and communion in little groups, Chaplain Trinquant, who was celebrating Mass in a shelter near the hospital, uttered that cry of liturgical joy with a heart steeped in sadness; it was not victory that was approaching but death.” A battalion commander went to another priest and told him “we are heading toward disaster.” (The Battle of Dienbeinphu, Jules Roy, Carroll and Graf Publishers, New York, 1984 p.239)

Of course one can find examples in American military history such as Bataan, Corregidor, and certain battles of the Korean War to understand that our ministry can bear fruit even in tragic defeat. At Khe Sahn in our Vietnam War we almost experienced a defeat on the order of Dien Bien Phu. It was the tenacity of the Marines and tremendous air-support that kept our forces from being overrun.

You probably wonder where I am going with this. I wonder a little bit too. But here is where I think I am going. It is the most difficult of times; especially when units we are with take casualties and our troops’ sacrifice is not fully appreciated by a nation absorbed with its own issues.

For the French the events and sacrifices of their soldiers during Easter 1954 was page five news in a nation that was more focused on the coming summer. This is very similar to our circumstances today because it often seems that own people are more concerned about economic considerations and the latest in entertainment news than what is going on in Iraq or Afghanistan. The French soldiers in Indo-china were professionals and volunteers, much like our own troops today. Their institutional culture and experience of war was not truly appreciated by their own people, or by their government which sent them into a war against an opponent that would sacrifice anything and take as many years as needed to secure their aim, while their own countrymen were unwilling to make the sacrifice and in fact had already given up their cause as lost. Their sacrifice would be lost on their own people and their experience ignored by the United States when we sent major combat formations to Vietnam in the 1960s. In a way the French professional soldiers of that era have as well as British colonial troops before them have more in common with our force than the citizen soldier heroes of the “Greatest Generation.” Most of them were citizen soldiers who did their service in an epic war and then went home to build a better country as civilians. We are now a professional military and that makes our service a bit different than those who went before us.

Yet it is in this very world that we minister, a world of volunteers who serve with the highest ideals. We go where we are sent, even when it is unpopular. It is here that we make our mark; it is here that we serve our Soldiers, Sailors, Marines and Airmen. Our duty is to bring God’s grace, mercy and reconciliation to men and women, and their families who may not see it anywhere else. Likewise we are always to be a prophetic voice within the ranks.

When my dad was serving in Vietnam in 1972 I had a Sunday school teacher tell me that he was a “Baby Killer.” It was a Catholic Priest and Navy Chaplain who showed me and my family the love of God when others didn’t. In the current election year anticipate that people from all parts of the political spectrum will offer criticism or support to our troops. Our duty is to be there as priests, not be discouraged in caring for our men and women and their families because most churches, even those supportive of our people really don’t understand the nature of our service or the culture that we represent. We live in a culture where the military professional is in a distinct minority group upholding values of honor, courage, sacrifice and duty which are foreign to most Americans. We are called to that ministry in victory and if it happens someday, defeat. In such circumstances we must always remain faithful.

For those interested in the French campaign in Indo-China it has much to teach us. Good books on the subject include The Last Valley by Martin Windrow, Hell in a Very Small Place by Bernard Fall; The Battle of Dienbeinphu by Jules Roy; and The Battle of Dien Bien Phu- The Battle America Forgot by Howard Simpson. For a history of the whole campaign, read Street Without Joy by Bernard Fall. I always find Fall’s work poignant, he served as a member of the French Resistance in the Second World War and soldier later and then became a journalist covering the Nurnberg Trials and both the French and American wars in Vietnam and was killed by what was then known as a “booby-trap” while covering a platoon of U.S. Marines.

There is a picture that has become quite meaningful to me called the Madonna of Stalingrad. It was drawn by a German chaplain-physician named Kurt Reuber at Stalingrad at Christmas 1942 during that siege. He drew it for the wounded in his field aid station, for most of whom it would be their last Christmas. The priest would die in Soviet captivity and the picture was given to one of the last officers to be evacuated from the doomed garrison. It was drawn on the back of a Soviet map and now hangs in the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church in Berlin where it is displayed with the Cross of Nails from Coventry Cathedral as a symbol of reconciliation. I have had it with me since before I went to Iraq. The words around it say: “Christmas in the Cauldron 1942, Fortress Stalingrad, Light, Life, Love.” I am always touched by it, and it is symbolic of God’s care even in the midst of the worst of war’s suffering and tragedy.

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Filed under History, Loose thoughts and musings, Military, PTSD, Religion