.Surviving Fort Hood
Just as there is no way to explain the internal agony of war, there is no real way to explain what happens in its shadow. This is the domain of tortured minds that may never heal. This may very well be the legacy of Fort Hood.
Forty years ago I was a Marine returning from the war in Vietnam. I returned having been badly wounded in the chest and both legs. I tried to find solace in my scars but could not. I had abandoned my buddies only to come home to unchartered waters. Soon I found myself more terrified in peace than I was in war.
There is no way to sort through the nightmare that took place at Fort Hood. Soldiers are not supposed to die on their way to war and they most certainly are not supposed to die at the hands of those who care for their health.
Warfare has a way of making us into something that we are not. I once cuddled a dying Marine who desperately wanted to believe my lie that the medical evacuation chopper was just minutes away. As I watched him die I felt that I was losing part of myself with him. I still see his face in my sleep.
Could it be that the psychiatrist we want to hate saw the unbearable suffering of warriors he was tasked to treat? Could it be that he identified with the suffering of those he treated at Walter Reed Army Hospital? Did he become one of us, another soul tortured by war’s anguish? I cannot forgive this man who betrayed us but I must try and understand him nonetheless.
The toll of war has sounded for generations. My uncle, Perry Truman Brixey, was a Marine 60 years ago. He led 45 men onto the inferno of Wake Island. All but five were killed in action. I look lovingly at my uncle and know that it was his destiny to be forever connected to these gallant warriors just as it is my providence to be connected to those who died in my midst. Frater Infinitas — “brothers forever” — beats in the heart of every Marine.
The government has failed us. The concept of post-traumatic stress disorder was coined to give unequal experiences a dubious uniformity. Clinicians cannot cure P.T.S.D. with therapy and anti-depressants. P.T.S.D. is an illness that cannot be treated, only placated. Those who suffer this affliction must look deep inside themselves and determine that they will live in sunshine as much as their soul will allow. This is why, as I have argued through the years, actual combat veterans, not just clinicians, must facilitate P.T.S.D. groups to give them legitimacy with participants. The Veterans Affairs Administration and the Department of Defense have ignored this counsel in favor of the “scientific” validity of their clinical staffs.
Did warning signs go unheeded at Fort Hood? This question will surely get attention in the coming days and weeks. Should everyone reluctant to fight in war be given a pass? I think not.
In a few short days another Veterans’ Day will be celebrated. There will be parades both large and small saluting those who stepped forward to serve this nation. This is a painful period. Yet we should look to those who serve this country well. If we do, we will survive this pain.
Home Fires
Forty years ago I was a Marine returning from the war in Vietnam. I returned having been badly wounded in the chest and both legs. I tried to find solace in my scars but could not. I had abandoned my buddies only to come home to unchartered waters. Soon I found myself more terrified in peace than I was in war.
There is no way to sort through the nightmare that took place at Fort Hood. Soldiers are not supposed to die on their way to war and they most certainly are not supposed to die at the hands of those who care for their health.
Warfare has a way of making us into something that we are not. I once cuddled a dying Marine who desperately wanted to believe my lie that the medical evacuation chopper was just minutes away. As I watched him die I felt that I was losing part of myself with him. I still see his face in my sleep.
Could it be that the psychiatrist we want to hate saw the unbearable suffering of warriors he was tasked to treat? Could it be that he identified with the suffering of those he treated at Walter Reed Army Hospital? Did he become one of us, another soul tortured by war’s anguish? I cannot forgive this man who betrayed us but I must try and understand him nonetheless.
The toll of war has sounded for generations. My uncle, Perry Truman Brixey, was a Marine 60 years ago. He led 45 men onto the inferno of Wake Island. All but five were killed in action. I look lovingly at my uncle and know that it was his destiny to be forever connected to these gallant warriors just as it is my providence to be connected to those who died in my midst. Frater Infinitas — “brothers forever” — beats in the heart of every Marine.
The government has failed us. The concept of post-traumatic stress disorder was coined to give unequal experiences a dubious uniformity. Clinicians cannot cure P.T.S.D. with therapy and anti-depressants. P.T.S.D. is an illness that cannot be treated, only placated. Those who suffer this affliction must look deep inside themselves and determine that they will live in sunshine as much as their soul will allow. This is why, as I have argued through the years, actual combat veterans, not just clinicians, must facilitate P.T.S.D. groups to give them legitimacy with participants. The Veterans Affairs Administration and the Department of Defense have ignored this counsel in favor of the “scientific” validity of their clinical staffs.
Did warning signs go unheeded at Fort Hood? This question will surely get attention in the coming days and weeks. Should everyone reluctant to fight in war be given a pass? I think not.
In a few short days another Veterans’ Day will be celebrated. There will be parades both large and small saluting those who stepped forward to serve this nation. This is a painful period. Yet we should look to those who serve this country well. If we do, we will survive this pain.
Home Fires
posted by madtom at 10:51 PM
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