Tag Archives: PTSD

April 19, 2009 · 21:16

The Church of Baseball at Harbor Park- Opening Day Tomorrow


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The 1972 Oak Park Little League Rams sponsored by Alex Spanos. I am to the left of the coach in the back row.

“Little League baseball is a very good thing because it keeps the parents off the streets.” Yogi Berra

Baseball is back at Harbor Park tomorrow as the Norfolk Tides take on the Charlotte Knights in their home opener. Weather could make this one a bit sporty.  Rain and thunder during the day tapering off overnight.  Hopefully my prayer vigil will succeed in persuading the Deity Herself to intervene.  This has not always been the case, a few years back the opening day was in early April.  The weather was 38 degrees with winds gusting to 45 mph coming out of center field. This was a tough game even by my hearty standards.  I finally took my ever long suffering and nearly hypothermic wife home after the 7th inning stretch.  Since then she has been wary of opening days here in Hampton Roads.

This season is cool because I have a season ticket for the first time.  Section 102, Row B Seat 2.  Right behind home plate, field level.  It doesn’t get any better than this for me.

If you haven’t figured this out yet, baseball is a passion for me.  I was out in town at a Starbucks following a meeting and I had my Tides hat and warm-up jacket.  The barista asked if I worked for them.  I simply replied “No, I’m a Priest, and a proud member of the Church of Baseball.”  This elucidated a laugh from the charmingly polite girl who promptly gave me my non-fat mocha, sans whipped creme. I’m not sure if she understood the significance of what I said, but to quote George Will: “Baseball is Heaven’s gift to mortals.”

I’ve never played for a baseball team, or softball team that won it all.  I guess in some ways I can empathize with fans of the Cubs and Giants, who wait every year to once again be disappointed as their team finds a way to salvage defeat from the jaws of victory.  This years Tides, who are the AAA farm team of the Baltimore Orioles may be up to something good.  They are 6 and 4 and seem to be playing pretty well.  They have a 5 game win streak coming into the home opener.  The Tides have 3 of the International League’s top ten hitters at this early point of the season.  Their pitchers have a team 2.60 ERA which right now is second in the league.  This is a far better start then the last few years and hopefully it bodes well for the team. When I was a kid, I used to watch the Stockton Ports of the California League when they were an Orioles farm team in the early 1970s.

The closest thing I have been to a championship baseball team was back in 1972.  I was a member of the Stockton California, Oak Park Little League Rams, sponsored by non other than Alex Spanos, the current owner of the San Diego Chargers. We were probably his first team to almost win a championship.  It seems fitting.  We wore the same colors as the Chargers and lost in the championship series, losing by a run in the final game.

I think that Little League, if you can get parents who want to run their kids teams out of the picture, is great for developing virtues that help kids later in life.  At least it did for me.  We had a great coach.  A guy named Phil Deweese. At least that’s how I think that he spelled it.  He was a great coach for us and actually spent time teaching us how to do things like hit, pitch,field and run the bases.  I did better at fielding, was a less than stellar hitter and usually played 2nd Base though occasionally I would play 3rd, Center Field or Catcher. Phil was great with us.  He taught us to have fun while working ahrd at the basics. We did well, had a great season and came close to winning the championship.  I was able to drive in a run and score a run in our one win of that series. My hitting in the playoff series was better by far than at any time in the season.He added to the things that my dad had been teaching me patiently for years in our back yard.  Unfortunately dad was deployed to Vietnam and did not see us play.

I was kind of a utility player, something that in today’s game you seldom see.  Utility players were guys that could be plugged in either in the field or as a pinch hitter.  They were not the team all stars, but could be counted on to give a solid performance.  That was me.  I kind of continued this as an adult playing softball, but more often than not ended up at 2nd base, occasional 1st or 3rd base.  I caught one year and was run over at home plate by a really big guy as I was going in the air to catch the throw from the outfield.  I landed hard enough to break my throwing arm.  At the time I was having my best year ever hitting.  After cussing the guy out I was finally pulled when it became apparent that I could not throw the ball. What is amazing to me is that I endured the pain to play another inning and even hit, an infield single.

Anyway.  This game is in my blood, God speaks to me through baseball. The ballpark it is one of the few places, besides my ICUs and a small Episcopal Church that I worship at that I can feel safe in public, praise be to PTSD.  At least the Deity has helped me in this regard.  Anyway, as I go back to my rounds about the medical center tonight I also maintain my prayer vigil for tomorrow’s weather. I can’t wait.

Peace, Steve+


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April 15, 2009 · 22:42

Death and Taxes

As usual I procrastinated on my tax return until the last minute, got it in with a couple of hours to spare thanks to H&R Block Tax Cut 2008.  Thankfully we got some of our annual contribution to the Federal Government back.

Taxes have always made me nervous.  I remember when I was a poor college student making almost nothing having to pay what was then the astronomical sum of $250.00. This was because my employer did not withhold anything since I made almost nothing.  When you are a college student working more than one job to make ends meet and not on any scholarships, even that now laughable amount was frightening.

I remember my parents always going to this old tax accountant in our town to get their taxes done every year.  I went with either mom or dad one year, probably around February of my 9th grade year.  It was a typical cold, foggy and dank California Central Valley day.  The guy’s office was in a drab, cube shaped brick building which had burglar bars on the windows.  The place looked like a jail.  The guy looked equally drab with “coke bottle” glasses, and I couldn’t imagine anyone actually working in such an oppressive environment.  He looked like a Troll. But year after year my parents would trudge down to this guy’s office to have their taxes done.  Of course this was way before the Internet and programs like Tax Cut or Turbo Tax were not even imagined.  I think it was seeing how depressing the tax accountant’s life was put the fear of God in me.  I never wanted to live like that, so I probably over-react.  I wait until almost the last minute to file frantically digging through my files, gift receipts and other documents to ensure that I file an accurate return and not end up in jail.  Doing things this way probably means that I will never get the full credit that I am do, but what can I say?  Instead of just blaming it on my parents tax accountant I can also use the stress of PTSD to explain my procrastination.  I do have to admit that the past two years have been more stressful in doing these things despite having things that make it far easier to do.

Today was also the day that I had to go in for my Periodic Health Assessment (PHA) mandated by the Navy. As far as I can tell I am doing a bit better than last year and appear to be pretty healthy, knock on wood.  I also got back up to about 4 miles for my PT run.  This made me feel really good because I have struggled a lot physically this year with various injuries to shoulders, ankles and joints in my legs. So Lord willing I think I should wake up tomorrow on this side of the dirt. I’ll check the obituaries when I wake up just to make sure.

Peace, Steve+

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April 10, 2009 · 18:55

The Long Good Friday

Lent is over and today is Good Friday and I have the duty at the Medical Center that I work at.  Yesterday I celebrated a Maundy Thursday Liturgy here, and today we had our Good Friday service.  Since I am a Priest, but in a more Anglo-Catholic type church, I get to do the “Protestant” services.  Both Maundy Thursday and Good Friday were very meaningful to me this year.  It is the first time in a long time that I have had chapel responsibilities during Holy Week and good for me to be able to share in those sacramental acts. I make sure that like Bishop Blackie Ryan, that I look at the person receiving the sacrament and give them a smile.  It may be one of the few good things that happens to them during the day or week.

In my previous posts about surviving Lent I noted how that I was going to try to be happy.  I altered a few things to do this and found that instead of being an ordeal like past years that this Lent was not too bad.  In fact with the exception of stuff that was PTSD related this was a pretty good Lent.  I actually think that I had some spiritual growth.  Kind of way cool that the Deity Herself would give that grace to me this year.

Getting back to today, Good Friday.  For some people Good Friday is simply another day, even for those that observe it.  It comes and goes, just a speed bump on the way to Easter so we can all get happy.  But those for those who live in my world, that of the Intensive Care Unit and Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, Good Friday is a year round event.

How is that so?  Well since you asked, let me tell you.  Here we live in the constant shadow of life and death.  We have flesh and blood people who suffer.  People who find out suddenly that they have an illness that will kill them. They are people who face their own mortality in what often is a long and painful ordeal.  Sometimes they face this alone and even if they have friends and family present may still feel very much alone.  In fact, they may even feel God Forsaken.  The cry of Jesus uttered from the Cross can be their own.  “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”   For some this is an incredible burden, the pain which is not simple physical, but spiritual and emotional as well.   Here at our medical center, and thousands of others, we live at the intersection of life, death and eternal life.

Today has been a busy day already, multiple calls and visits with people going through various ordeals, both patients and staff. We have a number of people on our wards who may be with Jesus by Easter Sunday. Many I have gotten to know over multiple stays here.

There are those also who spend this Good Friday like Jesus’ mother, and the others gathered with her at the foot of the Cross. These are the families and friends who can do nothing more than watch and pray, comforting their loved one and each other.  There are those who patiently and lovingly care for people, the doctors, nurses, Corpsmen and technicians all hours of the day.  There are some who think that medical professionals have an easy life.  Some may, but those that I know do not.  They are in a combat zone without the bullets knowing that every day that they come in to work that there is a good possibility of dealing with death, and certainly with the pain and suffering of those who feel forsaken.

Among the crisis there was the homecoming of a number of our Corpsmen returning from Iraq. There are babies being born and people getting well.

At the same time there is joy.  There are those rays of hope where somehow beyond all expectation someone recovers. There are the patients who despite their suffering constantly look out for other patients and the staff.  They have overcome by reaching out to care for others, and they radiate joy.    There is also joy in seeing someone have a “good Christian death.”  You know, the kind like the movies, where the dying person knows it is there time, gathers the family and friends around and gives them his or her blessing, shares stories, laughter and tears at the same time and when everyone is done, the Priest says a prayer, maybe the person is anointed, the Our Father is said and the person passes to the next world.

Today in the Good Friday Liturgy I had a short homily.  And it focused on this understanding that God is with us.  That God who entered time and space in the Incarnation is with us in life and in death.  Good Friday is they way that God puts flesh to the words of the  23rd Psalm, “even though I walk though the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me.”  Jesus enduring this death, is not a God who is distant or uncaring.  He knows what it is to not only feel, but to be God Forsaken.  The Cross is that portal by which we know God, the portal by which we come to know the mystery of the Trinity, the place where a simple Roman Officer, a Centurion gets what almost no one else gets. “Surely, this is the Son of God.”

Here at the hospital I will walk the halls, and spend my time in my ICUs, watching and waiting throughout the night.  For many here, this Good Friday will not end tonight, but Easter will come.

Well I have eaten my pea soup and bread, taken my short break and time to get back out on the floor. Pray for all who labor tonight in hospitals, those who care for the sick and dying, those who deliver babies, those who maintain vigils in ICUs and await crisis in Emergency Rooms.

On Monday I’ll be doing the memorial service for a young 4th year medical student who was killed in a motorbike accident this week.  He was just weeks from graduating and entering our Surgical internship program.  He was a good officer and promising physician.  Pray for me a sinner.

Peace, Steve+

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April 9, 2009 · 21:25

More on our Unsung Heroes-Military Advisers, Past and Present

cop-south

Iraqi COP on Syrian Border

While many people know about conventional military campaigns through the plethora of books, articles and electronic media outlets, the subject of advisers is on that is seldom touched upon.  This is true in history, journalism and media. It is not a glamorous subject.  There are few books, articles or movies on the subject.  Part of this is because advisers don’t have all the heavy duty gear that looks good in print or on TV.  They serve with foreigners, and unfortunately, many Americans have no interest in other people, their history or their culture.  So the advisers labor in obscurity.  Living among the soldiers of the nations that they are in they serve in small teams, often far from any support if they get in trouble. Advisers have often stayed after the bulk of American forces leave.

This is not new.  It was the case in Vietnam.  Take the story of Captain, later Colonel John Ripley, adviser to a Vietnamese Marine Battalion, Ripley was awarded the Navy Cross for his actions on Easter Sunday 1972.  This was hte day that the North Vietnamese opened their Easter offensive.  Ripley under intense fire blew up major highway bridge over the Dong Ha.  Supported by fires from his Vietnamese Marines he would dangle under the bridge for three hours, rigging 500 pounds of explosives to it.  His actions prevented 20,000 NVA soldiers and over 200 tanks from crossing the river near the DMZ.  His actions are recorded in The Bridge a Dong Ha. Similarly, Captain, later Major General Ray Smith was awarded the Navy Cross for his actions with a small Vietnamese Marine unit on April 1st 1972. These men’s exploits were not uncommon.  Unfortunately the majority of the Vietnam era advisers have been forgotten.  The film Go Tell The Spartans starting Burt Lancaster told the story of a team of advisers at the beginning of the Vietnam War.

Unfortunately the military itself doesn’t always treat these men and women with the respect that they deserve. Adviser tours are often not treated the same as service with “big battalions.”  The duty is not glamorous.  Many times advisers and trainers are chosen from men passed over for higher level command at the Lieutenant Colonel and and Colonel level. In the current wars I have met many of these men.  Devoted, honorable and professional, they serve in places where their decisions and example will impact Iraq and possibly Afghanistan in ways that the big battalions can never will.  Many of these men are in the twilight of their careers and many times volunteer for one last chance to serve in combat.  Others are pulled from the Reserves, and some even pulled out of retirement.  I knew men in each category.  Younger officers and staff non-commissioned officers are often pulled out of traditional assignments for adviser duty.  They often assume greater responsibility, advising and sometimes even directing units far larger then they would in a normal assignment.  They have to be diplomats, trainers, mentors, and advisers to foreign officers senior in rank to them.  In the case of some Iraqi officers, men who have served in several wars commanding troops on the front lines.  To do the job right advisers have to learn the language, culture and traditions of the units that they advise.  It takes maturity, wisdom and tact to do this work.  Junior officers and non-commissioned officers also serve in these capacities at the battalion and company level.   I had the opportunity to serve with many of these men in isolated camps, they are to be admired and congratulated for the tremendous work that they do.

Navy and Air Force personnel often are found advising medical, logistics and civil engineering units.  Likewise they are also found in reconstruction and development teams.  In these places women as well as men advise the indigenous personnel.  They often, especially in Afghanistan share the same dangers of those who advise combat  units. This was the capacity that LT Choe and LTJG Toner were killed.  She was a Medical Service Corps officer.  LTJG Toner was a Civil Engineer Corps Officer.

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Meeting with Bedouin Family

Before I went to Iraq in 2005 I knew a Marine Corps Captain who was pulled from our unit to serve as a battalion level adviser in Iraq.  In Iraq this young Marine Officer had a bounty on his head.  A Chechen sniper attempted to take him out.  The bullet hit the lip of Kevlar helmet, just above his left eye. less than an inch lower it would have gone through his forehead.  The Iraqis found and eliminated the sniper. The Captain survived and finished his tour.  He kept the helmet.  A Gunnery Sergeant serving with an Iraqi infantry company was wounded in a convoy action.  He told me his stories and how his return back to the states was.  It was difficult, but he said that he would not have missed the assignment, saying that “his Iraqis” were like brothers to him.

As a chaplain in the largest operational area I was able to see the diversity of our teams, the conditions that they lived and the people that they worked with.  I prepared by reading about the Army Chaplains who served in this role during the Vietnam War.  It was actually just part of a chapter of the Army Chaplain Corps History of the Vietnam War.  However, that chapter taught me something that I figured would have to be true.  I had to be out and about with them. I good friend of mine followed me into Iraq.  He went to a different area with Army advisers in Mosul.

My tour not only allowed me to serve with these men and women but to work with the Iraqis and see things that many Americans never get to see.  One of the more interesting events was getting to speak to the first class of female Iraqi Police Officers in Ramadi.  There were also the foot patrols with the Port of Entry teams at Al Waleed on the Syrian Border.  Our little team met with Iraqi officials and mingled among a crowd of several thousand Iraqis waiting to be processed back into the country.  Since this was the busiest port of entry into the country it was the site of a lot of terrorist activity, weapons and currency smuggling.  In another place we were with a Brigade senior adviser who had to have a Iraqi Colonel who had just taken command of a unit fire his logistics officer who was selling coalition fuel on the black market. It was a very tense exchange.  The accused officer even tried to involve me in the conversation, saying that if people followed God that they would be honest.  Our senior adviser asked him if God would approve of him betraying his country.  The officer was fired.  The senior adviser later told us that this officer had put a price on his head before this confrontation.  All through the meeting my assistant, RP2 Lebron sat menacingly to the side enforcing peace in the the tense moment.  Thankfully the new Iraqi commander, who had taken over from a corrupt General was an old pro and had the job of cleaning house.  Things got better after that.  I was with one team when one of their favorite Iraqi officers was killed while out with his troops.  Our guys were saddened by the loss.

Like I said on my previous post, these are the unsung heroes of the Iraq war and the war in Afghanistan.  Their sacrifice and service needs to be vocalized.  This part of the war is now part of my life. The story of these men and women needs to be told.  I will not let them be forgotten.

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With Advisers and Iraqi Border Troops

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April 8, 2009 · 20:27

The Dangerous and Often Thankless Duty of Military Advisers

me-and-btt-with-bedouin-kids1 Me with Advisers to the 2nd Border Brigade with Bedouin Family on Syrian Border 23 December 2007

There are a group of US Military personnel that are seldom thought of or mentioned in the wars that we are waging in Iraq and Afghanistan. These men and women from all branches of the military are those who serve as advisers, trainers and mentors to these nations security forces.  The duty is dangerous.  The advisers, be they to the military, police, or civil administrations often work in the most isolated places in these countries and are stationed in small teams with the Iraqis and Afghans that they advise.  The are often far from the “big battalions” that have lots of firepower available and often operate out of larger and more secure bases with air support close at hand.

Recently there have been a number of incidents where advisers have been killed by either renegade soldiers or police, or by infiltrators posing as security force personnel.  In one humanitarian operation a couple of Army advisers were killed in Iraq.  These men were working with an Iraqi unit in doing humanitarian work in a village. On March 27th Navy LT Florence Choe and LTJG Francis Toner IV were killed by an Afghan insurgent posing as an Afghan Army soldier.  For me these events triggered some anxiety as I remembered how many times I was incredibly exposed to danger from the same kind of events.  A couple of days ago I mentioned that I had been feeling some anxiety that I could not explain.  I finally figured it out.  It began after I read about the death of these Naval Officers serving in Afghanistan. Since then every siren, loud noise and helicopter has raised my alert level.

The advisers are drawn from all services.  They are all Individual Augments that come from both the Active and Reserve components.  They do not deploy with their own units, which means that they go to war with people that they might have trained alongside getting ready for the mission, but otherwise have not served with.  When they come home they go back to their old assignments or new orders and are separated from the men and women that they served alongside for 7 to 15 months.  In other words they are isolated when they return home and go back to places where the majority of personnel, even those who have been “in country” have no earthly idea or appreciation of the conditions that they served in and dangers that they faced.  This happened to me when I returned and I went through an emotional collapse as the PTSD that I did not know I had kicked my ass.  Sights, smells, noises, crowds, airports and in fact almost everything but baseball diamonds caused me to melt down as they all brought the danger back to me. Don’t get me wrong, my tour in Iraq was the highlight of 27 plus years in the military, the part of which I am the most proud.

I have a special place for these men and women.  I served with them in Iraq’s Al Anbar Province as the first Navy Chaplain, and on of the first chaplains of any service to be assigned to cover these teams since Vietnam.  My assistant, RP2 Nelson Lebron and I deployed together from out unit.  I had prepared well.  I had been on the bubble to deploy for months.  My background in military history and past service with both the Army and Marines helped me. Likewise my military and civilian education helped me.  Shortly before we were notified of the deployment I went to the Jordanian Army Peace Operations Training Center course on Iraqi culture, religion and society.  I had served as a chaplain in the trauma department of one of the largest trauma centers in the country.  RP2 Lebron had deployed multiple times to Iraq, Beirut and Afghanistan where he was awarded the Defense Meritorious Service Medal (no small feat for an E-5).  He is also an incredibly gifted boxer, kick boxer and martial artist who has fought on Team USA and holds more title belts than I can count.  He most recently won the Arnold Schwarzenegger Classic. I had served with him before and he knew that his mission was to keep me safe.  I don’t want to sound arrogant, but the Chief of Staff of the Iraq Assistance Group said that we were “the best ministry team he had seen in 28 years in the Army.”

When we went to Al Anbar we were sent out with the Marines and Soldiers advising the 1st and 7th Iraqi Army Divisions, The Iraqi Police, Highway Patrol, the 2nd Border Forces Brigade and Port of Entry Police.  We operated in a area the size of the state of Oregon.  In some cases it would take us 2 days by air and convoy to reach isolated teams on the Syrian border.  When you travel by air in Iraq you are always at the mercy of the weather and aircraft availability. I had the rare privilege as a Lieutenant Commander to be able to arrange all of my own air transportation.  Most people, including people higher ranking than me had to depend on others to do this for them.  We worked with our advisers to get out to them.  We would be out 5-12 days at a time with anywhere from 4 to 7 days between missions.  In our 7 months we traveled over 4500 air miles and 1500 ground miles.  Almost all of our air travel was rotor wing. We flew in CH-46, CH-47 and MH-53s and the MV-22 Osprey.  Our convoys were usually not larger than 3 American HUMMVs and sometimes a few Iraqi vehicles.  Our biggest guns were .50 cal or M240B machine guns.  Most of the time we were in places that had no large forces in position to help us if we got in trouble.  Even on the bases we were isolated.  Our teams were with the Iraqis in almost all cases.  We often ate in Iraqi chow halls and used Iraqi shower trailers.  Our advisers had us meeting their Iraqi counterparts.  We met and dined with Iraqi Generals, had ch’ai (tea) with small groups of Americans and Iraqis and got out with the Bedouins. We were in a number of particularly sensitive and dangerous situations with our advisers.  It was an incredible, once in a lifetime tour serving with some of the greatest Americans and Iraqis around. Iraqi soldiers in with our convoys would ask me to bless their trucks with Holy Water like I was doing with the American trucks.  I came to admire many of the professional Iraqi officers that I came to know and pray for the people of Iraq, that God would grant them peace. They are wonderfully hospitable and gracious.  We were often treated to food and tea by Iraqi soldiers, and civilians.  After nearly 30 years of nearly continous war, dictatorship and terrorism, they deserve peace and security.

iraqi-army-hummv-in-convoy-paused-at-road-junctionCombined US Iraqi Convoy

I had one Iraqi operations officer, a Sunni Muslim tell me that he wished that his Army had Christian priests because they would take care of his soldiers and had no political axe to grind. He said that the Army did not trust most Imams or Mullahs because they had compromised themselves during the civil war.  Another officer, a Shia Muslim came to me to thank me for being there to take care of our Marines.  He said that he, an Iraqi Shia Arab, hoped that if they had any problems from the Persians (Iranians), that we would help them.  These is little truth to what is floated that Iraqi and Iranian Shia like each other.  The memories of the past die hard in the Middle East.  When Persia ruled Iraq they treated the Arabs like dirt. Likewise the memories of the Iran-Iraq war are still alive.  Iraqi Arabs, Sunni, Shia and even Christian have little love for the “Persians.”  General Sabah of the 7th Division had us to his quarters for dinner. We had a wonderful and friendly discussion about similarities and differences in Christianity and Islam. We departed friends. The last time I saw him ws in the Ramadi heliport.  He saw me, ran up to me in from of his staff and Americans in the little terminal and gave me a bear hug, telling all that I was his friend. Another Iraqi General told me just before we left to come back as a tourist in 5 years because everything would be better.  I honestly think that he is right.  I hope to go back someday.  It would be a privilege to see my Iraqi friends again.

This is what our advisers get to do every day. Yes they are exposed to great danger, but they are building bridges between peoples of different history and culture.  They are the unsung heroes of these wars and will likely never get credit for all that they have done.  They have my highest admiration and I hope that if you know one of these men or women that you will thank them.  I pray that they will all come home safe and be blessed with success.  I would certanly serve with them again at any time and in any place.

Please keep the families of LT Choe and LTJG Toner in your prayers. A link about these fine Naval Officers is below. Peace, Steve+

http://afghanistan.pigstye.net/article.php?story=FlorenceBChoe

3rd-bn-mtt-group-with-chaplainWith “Ronin” Advisors to 3rd Bn 3rd Brigade 7th Iraqi Division

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April 6, 2009 · 22:59

Holy Week Superstitions

Holy Week is a funny thing for me.  While I generally look forward to Easter, I always have a sense of foreboding.  I think this actually goes back to childhood.  Family members dying around the time, major events and crisis’s that unfold.  My dad was in Vietnam during Easter 1972 when the North Vietnamese launched their offensive.  So I guess that I’m somewhat superstitious. This week a dear friend lost her father to cancer.  My own parents are not in great shape. My dad lost 7 pounds this month and weighs under 120 pounds.  He is doing worse and worse.

I was talking with one of our attendings today who reminded one of the nurses what weekend was coming up.  She asked why, and he said, think about it, something bad almost always happens around Easter. I patently concurred with the good doctor. My experience in other hospitals always involved really tragic events. It seems that something tragic always happens, a mass murder, a series of tornadoes that wipe out whole towns, fires that kill families, Tsunamis and other events.  This week there has been a killer earthquake in Italy.  I am not alone in the way that I feel. Snopes.com even has a page devoted to Easter superstitions.

So with a twinge of anxiety I face this week.  I do look forward to what this week means. Maunday Thursday, Good Friday and Easter.  I will celebrate each, but at the same time I feel strange. I hope that this is just a bit of PTSD and nothing more.  May everyone experience the joy that Easter  should bring and I pray that no disasters overtake anyone this year. Peace, Steve+

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April 5, 2009 · 22:16

Lenten Journal: Passion Sunday

Lent has been interesting this year.  I did a number of things different. First off I decided that I would try to be happy and not morose.  It seemed to have worked, with few exceptions my mood has definitely been better.

This year I decided to be less concerned with the physical and dietary aspects of Lent.  I actually needed to do this this year. Physically and emotionally I was not as good off as I have been in years past.  As far as Lent was concerned, I had become a slave to the season. Lent had become something to be endured, not enjoyed. Where in the past I would have done things out of a legalistic mindset and obeyed simply because it was written, I did not this year.  This meant I occasionally got a bit of meat on Wednesdays and Fridays. But again, this was not because I was simply defying the rules, I can do that well if I need to, after all I’m a Myers Briggs INTJ, rules need not always apply if they are not helpful.   But I had to do this now, because I had, like the Pharisees before me put the observance of the rules higher than my relationship with Jesus.

Spiritually, because of my emotional state I decided to let go of the daily office for Lent, and Lent only. I will be going back to it on Easter Sunday.  What had happened was that in my rigid adherence to doing it I was grinding myself down to spiritual dust.  I was not reflecting on the Gospels or other readings, I was just doing them.  I was spiritually exhausted. Prayer was becoming forced and rote. I knew that if I continued in this manner I would not be any good for anyone.  Instead of this I simply began to pray on my way to work, and my way home and when I went to bed.  I never prayed for me except in regard to being able to care for others. Sometimes an Our Father, or a Hail Mary, maybe a recitation of a couple of decades of the Rosary, maybe extemporaneous intercessions for people that I know.  Sometimes just a simple thank you to God, after all She does deserve to be thanked at least once in a while.

As far as prayer goes and seeing answers, I guess I am a bad fit in a “Charismatic” church.  I believe that God can heal people. But there were many times early in my hospital ministry that most of the people that I prayed for died.  Talk about having a complex….When I was asked if I would pray for someone I would hesitate.  I would sometimes want to ask  “Are you really sure that you want me to do this?”  Today, working in ICUs and critical care I approach prayer from a glass half-empty or there is something wrong with the glass point of view.  I am not a Pollyanna type of person.  Somewhat jaded, I can be like the Chaplain version of House MD. Yet at the same time I’ve been surprised by Her grace during this Lent.  Things that jaded ICU attending physicians and I but can only chalk up to something really unusual. Possibly even miraculous and maybe even done by the Deity Herself.  Thus this Lenten season has been marked with spiritual surprises.

Instead of beating myself to death to observe rules that were forced on us when it became easy to be a Christian following Constantine (See an earlier Lenten post here), this Lent I decided the Lent let the Deity work Her grace in me.  I decided to get out more and take part more in the life of a local parish. This has been hard since we moved here. I travelled a lot in connection with my assignments and after Iraq I got really wierd about being in crowds of people and really sensitive to noise and light. My wife belongs to a really cool Roman Catholic parish near us, but since Iraq it is just too much for me.  It is big and like I said,  large crowds of people that I don’t know, often unfamiliar worship music and too much exposure to noise and light really get to me. That’s the damned thing about PTSD, it makes simple stuff hard. I used to go to mega-churches, and now the bigger the church the scarier for me.  So I met a wonderful Episcopal Priest, Fr John,  over at the hospital who is the Rector of Saint James Church in Portsmouth.  We became friends. He invited me and I decided to to crawl out of my protective shell that I have lived inside spiritually since Iraq.  The Church is historic, it is the African American church, many of the parishioners had ancestors that were slaves, or who were themselves part of the civil rights movement. Many are prominent in the life of the city. These folks love Jesus and a lot are connected in some way with the military.  The church itself is not large, but is caring and involved in the life of the community.  The Gospel is proclaimed in word and deed.    Since my small denomination has nothing anywhere near me, this has become my local home and I hope to grow in community with these wonderful people of God over the coming years.

Today of course was Passion Sunday. We began with the Liturgy of the Palms outside the church and moved inside singing as we went.  There is nothing like a “high church” primarily African American Episcopal choir that can do both traditional and majestic hymns as well as spirituals and Gospel.  We followed with the Liturgy of the Passion followed by Eucharist.  The service cemented some things that God has been doing in me since I came back from Iraq, and what God has been working in me this season.

I hope that as I celebrate Maunday Thursday and Good Friday services at the Medical Center that God will continue that work in me, and hopefully in some way touch others with Her grace.  For once I am really looking forward with anticipation to Holy Week, for I am not alone.

Peace, Steve+

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March 24, 2009 · 23:25

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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March 23, 2009 · 21:26

God Speaks to Me Through Baseball

I went to Harbor Park to pick up my tickets for the Baltimore Orioles and Washington Nationals exhibition game today.  For me it feels like life is returning, winter in all of its bleakness is ending and spring really is here.  The seats are great, section 102 row A, right behind home plate field level.

For me something sets baseball apart from all other sports.  I think this goes back to my childhood when my dad made me learn the fundamentals of the game and weather we were attending a game in person, watching one on television or playing catch, pepper or practicing infield or pitching dad was all about the game.  Of course he was the same way with football, hockey and basketball, but the sport that he seemed most passionate about was baseball.  As a kid he was a Cincinnati Reds fan.  His mother, my grandmother who hailed from the hollers of West Virginia was a die hard Dodgers fan.  That I still wonder about to this day, but she was the same woman who as a widow in the late 1930s went to work, raised her two boys and bought her own house.  Unlike most of the sate she was also a Republican, long before West Virginia ever voted for for either President or statewide office.  Now that I chased that rabbit down the hole back to baseball.   Granny was a Dodgers fan in a land of Reds, Indians and Pirates fans, fierce and independent but unfortunately taken in by the power of the dark side.  Yet any time you went to Granny’s house and there was a game on, the television was tuned in to it.  We were immersed in baseball.

Dad alsways made sure that we got to see baseball wherever we lived. In 1967 he took us to see the Seattle Pilots which the next year went to Milwaukee and became the Brewers.  In the elementary schools of those days our teachers who put the playoff and World’s Series games as many were played during daylight hours.  I remember watching Bob Gibson pitch when the Cardinals played against the Red Sox in the 1967 series.  It was awesome to see that man pitch.   I remember the Amazin’ Mets upsetting the Orioles in 1969 and the Orioles take down the Reds in 1970.  Who could forget the 1970 All Star Game where Pete Rose ran over Ray Fosse at home plate for the winning run and the great dynasty teams of the 1970s, especially the Reds and the Athletics who dominated much of that decade and the resurgence of the Yankees in the summer that the Bronx burned.

When were were stationed in Long Beach California dad had us at Anaheim stadium all the time.  I imagine that we attended at least 30 games there and a couple at Dodger stadium that year.  We met a lot of the players and I entered the m”My Favorite Angel” contest and my entry was a runner up, netting me two seats behind the plate and having Dick Enberg announce my name on the radio.  I wrote about Jim Spencer a Gold Glove First Baseball who later played for the Yankees.  I still have a hat from that team with numerous autographs on the inside of the bill including Sandy Alomar, Jim Spencer, Jim Fregosi, Chico Ruiz and Billy Cowan.  When we moved to northern California we got to see the A’s dynasty teams including a number of playoff games.  I got to see Ed Halicki of the Giants no-hit the Mets a Candlestick on August 24th 1975.  I got to see some of the greats of the era play, Catfish, Reggie, McCovey, Garvey, Vida Blue, Harmon Killebrew and so many others.  I also became acquainted  with Minor League Baseball at this time through the Stockton Ports, who then were the Class A California League farm team for the Orioles.  I remember a few years back talking to Paul Blair the Orioles great Paul Blair who played for the Ports in the early 1960s about Billy Hebert Field and how the sun would go down in the outfield blinding hitters and spectators in its glare.

As I have grown older my appreciate for the game, despite strikes and steroids still grows.  I am in awe of the diamond.  I have played catch on the field of dreams, seen a game in the Yankee Stadium Right Field bleachers seen games in other venues and thrown out the first pitch in a couple of minor league games.  I am enchanted with the game. The foul lines theoretical go on to infinity, only broken by the placement of the outfield wall.  Likewise unlike all other sports there is no time limit, meaning that baseball can be an eschatological game going on into eternity. The Hall of Fame is like the Calendar of Saints in the Catholic, Orthodox and Anglican Churches.  There are rituals, the exchange of batting orders and explanation of the ground rules, the ceremonial first pitch, players not stepping on the foul line when entering and leaving the field of play, no talking about it when a pitcher is throwing a no-hitter and the home run trot. The care of a field by an expert ground crew is a thing to behold, especially when they still use the wooden box frames to lay down the chalk on the baselines and the batters box.

My kitchen and much of my dining room are as close to a baseball shrine as Judy will let me make them. stevejeffbaseball

Me Twins First Baseman Rich Reese and my brother Jeff at Anaheim Stadium 1970

Since I returned from Iraq the baseball diamond is one of my few places of solace.  For the first time I bought a season ticket to my local minor league team the Norfolk Tides.  Section 102, row B seat 2.  From there I will sit back and imagine the words of James Earl Jones in Field of Dreams :
“The one constant through all the years has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It’s been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past. It reminds us of all that once was good, and what could be again.”

In a sense this says it all to me in an age of war, economic crisis and division.  In a sense it is a prayer. Peace and blessings, Steve+

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March 22, 2009 · 15:53

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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