On April 14, I hopped on a shuttle from my home to San Jose Airport’s USO building, where I met my first sergeant from the 113th CSC unit. He was exactly what I imagined a career soldier to be: standing tall in a well-fitted uniform, with a ruddy chiseled face, gray hair in a crew cut, and a blunt personality. From there, 15 of us traveled by van for the three hours to Fort Hunter-Liggett, located 25 miles southwest of King City, California. Arriving at the fort, I carried my duffle bag to a 40-bunk barrack and ended up on a top bunk. I would have preferred a lower bunk, but there were none, as the 113th CSC women soldiers were sharing the barrack with another unit. I was at least happily satisfied that there were beds, lockers, showers, and flush toilets, unlike at Camp Bullis.
The 113th CSC Medical Detachment consisted of 44 soldiers. There was Col. Rabb, commander; his executive officer (XO), Capt. Gillespie; 1st Sgt. Schumacher; and several psychologists, social workers, occupational therapists, and behavioral health specialists, along with administrative staff. There was a wide range of ages, from 19 to me, the oldest member of the unit. The young soldiers were full of energy, both nervous and excited about the upcoming deployment. For some, there was endless chatter, laughter, and listening and dancing to music. Others were quiet, going off to the laundry room and talking softly on their cell phones. I had learned that a few had joined the army for the educational benefits while others were pursuing a career in the military. I learned of three soldiers in the unit who saw it as an opportunity to get away from poverty, dysfunctional families, and abuse, and as an opportunity to travel. One woman had enlisted and hoped to become an officer after completing her college degree.
Many of the older soldiers had careers as behavioral health professionals in their civilian lives and had joined the army to offer their expertise and support. My commander and another officer were previously deployed and worked for the Department of Veterans Affairs. As part-time soldiers and part-time civilians, they were already familiar with the challenges of deployment and soldiers returning home. Other officers in the unit had begun their career in the army as enlisted soldiers, who then moved up the ranks and received their commission (officer status) upon completing their college education. For many, this was their first deployment to the Middle East; it was necessary to go and they hoped they would be promoted later.
The older soldiers were mainly worried about surviving the next three weeks of training. I was, too. It wasn’t clear how physically demanding it would be. At least a road march wasn’t on the schedule!
What was on the schedule was an introduction to different weapons, qualification on the M16 rifle/M9 handgun, first aid, land navigation, combative training, urban operations, convoy operations, counter-IED (improvised explosive device) training, how to establish security, and how to evacuate a casualty. Most days began with waking up at five in the morning, breakfast at six, and first formation at seven. One benefit of sharing a barrack with 39 other soldiers was that I didn’t have to set my alarm clock—at least 30 different alarms went off every morning.
The trainings themselves weren’t difficult. All the instructors were excellent and wanted to ensure our success. What was difficult was wearing and carrying all the required equipment: boots, ACU (Army Combat Uniform), CamelBak hydration system, assault backpack, Kevlar (helmet), IBA (armor vest), and the M16 rifle with a scope. This collection of combat gear is called “full battle rattle,” or “kit.” It weighed 35–40 pounds. The weight was especially noticeable when walking up a hill, which we had to do most days in mid-80-degree temperatures. Once we got to the top of the hill, breathing heavily, sweating, and legs weak, we needed to rest a few minutes before continuing to the classroom.
One afternoon between trainings there was an informal competition to take apart and put together a M249 Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW) light machine gun. This was voluntary, and since I’d never touched one before, I wasn’t interested. There were, however, seven male soldiers sitting on the floor each with a SAW, practicing for this event. I noticed one young junior enlisted soldier, “Mike,” repeatedly complete the process with ease. In the meantime, Sgt. “Paul” was fast, but struggling from time to time, and therefore slower than Mike. During a break in the practice, I approached Paul.
“Sarge, I’m a sports psychologist. Would you mind trying something to help you perform better?”
I’m not sure if he was just humoring me or it was because of my rank, but Paul said, “Yes, Ma’am.”
I quickly told him about EFT, or Emotional Freedom Techniques, also known as “tapping.” It’s a version of acupuncture, except it doesn’t use needles. By tapping two fingers on certain (meridian) acupoints on the face and torso, it affects the flow of the body’s energy and releases disturbing emotions, such as fear, depression, and anxiety. It also eases or eliminates physical pain, alleviates stress, clears limiting beliefs, and has been found to be helpful in cases of PTSD. I’d been using EFT for the previous six years in my private practice for sports performance enhancement, and I found it effective and easy to teach to others.
In Paul’s case, feeling anxious and pressured to go as fast as possible, he made mistakes.
“Sarge, follow me and say what I say.” While tapping on the side of the hand, we said, “Even though I’m nervous, I deeply and completely accept myself.” We did this three times.
Next, Paul tapped a few times on his collarbone, then under his eye, his collarbone, and on his side under his arm as he said the word, “Nervous.” (Generally, for sports, I learned to use this shortened version of the standard EFT tapping protocol.) Completing the tapping, I then had Paul slowly practice taking apart the SAW, placing each of the dozen pieces beside him on the floor in a specific place so that he could easily retrieve them. Just prior to the competition, I had Paul tap again for being nervous. Within minutes, the competition started. Mike and Paul were even, but soon Mike took the lead. Twenty seconds later Paul caught up, but Mike quickly went ahead again. Toward the end, a minute and a half into the competition, Paul took the lead and held on to win. Paul joyfully jumped up off the floor and pointed toward me and shouted, “My coach! My coach!”
I was thrilled for Paul’s victory.
While at Fort Hunter-Liggett, I had to go through the Soldier Readiness Processing Center (SRP). The army wanted every soldier to have current immunization shots, blood draws for HIV and glucose (if over 40 years old), complete medical, dental, hearing, and vision exams, and to meet with legal, financial, human resources, as well as the chaplain. I had to go to each station, each of which required a sign-off. There wasn’t a mandatory sequence, so I tried to find the shortest lines. Others had friends hold their place in one line while they went through another. Regardless, it was an all-day process, as nearly 150 other soldiers were preparing to go to Kuwait, Iraq, or Afghanistan. There was no formal lunch break. A book, a tablet, or a game on the smartphone helped pass the time.
During the 21 days of training, the 113th CSC unit transitioned from reservists to active-duty soldiers. About 40% of the unit was cross-level—that is, not originally assigned to the organic unit—so there were many new faces, different personalities, different ranks, and different expectations about deployment.
My commander, Col. Rabb, is African-American and a licensed social worker, which lent me some comfort, as he understood the profession from a minority point of view. The commander asked me to be the unit’s counselor. This isn’t an official army position, but the commander had found that having someone in this position had been helpful for him and his unit in Iraq seven years earlier. I was flattered but had mixed feelings about accepting the position. I was already overwhelmed with the day-to-day training and I was concerned that the added responsibilities might be too much. Other officers were more experienced than I was, and my lack of experience in the army might be seen as a limitation. Despite this awareness, I realized I could provide the unit with a fresh point of view. So I said yes and asked the colonel for a written description of the position so that I fully understood my role.
This truly provided me a chance to do what I had originally desired to do: counsel soldiers. Within the first week of training, I was set to work, as several leaders were concerned about a young female soldier. Pfc. (Private 1st Class) Gestar was distracted, teary, and anxious.
“Your squad leader is worried about you,” I said.
“I’m not sure I can do this…”
“What makes you think that?”
“I just don’t want to make any mistakes. I don’t want people to think I’m not a good soldier.”
I discovered she had expectations of herself to perform her job perfectly, fighting her own high standards rather than any levied from the outside, and she was feeling uncertain of her skills.
I introduced tapping to her, tapping on her doubts, her limiting beliefs of being a good soldier. Tapping on the hand, I had her repeat after me:
“Even though I don’t think I’m good enough, I am a good soldier.”
“Even though I’m afraid of making mistakes, I am a good soldier.”
“Even though I’m worried about what others might think of me, I am a good soldier.”
Then we tapped the acupoints on the face and torso saying, “Not good enough. Mistakes. Worried.”
Lastly, I asked, “Are you willing to learn and to ask questions?”
Looking down, she muttered a soft yes.
The next day I noticed a sense of calm and ease with Gestar.
“Do you want to deploy?” I asked.
With more assurance in her voice and looking directly into my eyes, she said, “Yes, Ma’am.”
Her yes came with a caveat: as long as there was someone to teach her. I reassured her that she wouldn’t be alone, that there would be noncommissioned officers and officers to advise her. Throughout the rest of training, she was the “perfect soldier”—punctual, first to qualify, first with a clean weapon, and participating wholeheartedly and confidently in all phases.
I became friends with three female captains: two social workers and one psychiatric nurse. The psych nurse was my bunkmate—she had the bottom bunk. All three captains had been in the army for more than 10 years. One captain had 17 years of experience. There were also three male psychologists in the unit. All were even-tempered and professional, in their 40s and 50s.
Unfortunately, within a week, the psych nurse had to return home, unable to deploy because of a recurring shoulder injury. The great perk was that now I slept in the lower bunk, making it much easier to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night!
On May 2, 2011, it was all over the news: US Navy SEALS and CIA paramilitary forces had killed Osama bin Laden at his compound in Pakistan. President Obama declared, “Justice has been done.” Would this stop our deployment? I didn’t know.
On May 4, the last day at Fort Hunter-Liggett, we turned in our bed linen and packed for the trip home. We also had to pack for Joint Base Lewis-McChord (JBLM) in Washington, our mobilization station, where we were to report on June 1, 2011. I had to decide what I’d need in JBLM, since the unit would transport the duffle bags for me.
In addition to spending quality time together before I had to report, my husband and I threw a party for his upcoming 60th birthday, our also upcoming 31st wedding anniversary, and my deployment. We hosted it at a neighborhood restaurant, whose owner and chef is the father of one of the students in the fencing program Rob and I run. Sixty people celebrated with us. Rob and I weren’t able to sit or eat much, as we moved around the room talking to our friends, thanking them for coming. After dessert, we had a slide show. Rob had scanned dozens of old photos for it. It was a nice reflection of our lives together, the places we’ve traveled and the things we have accomplished.
Since the age of sixteen, I’ve been involved in the sport of fencing, first competing on the national and international levels, and now coaching. Six years ago, Rob—who is not only a French-trained fencing master but also a chiropractor—and I started a youth fencing program at Halberstadt Fencers’ Club in San Francisco. We do this part-time, four days a week, developing youngsters into fencers. In our view, along with teaching the sport, we foster the children’s attitudes, cultivating mental and physical flexibility that is fundamental to their happiness and well-being.
On my last day at the fencing club, Rob and I threw a pizza party for our young fencers. This was an opportunity for me to have some closure with my students, who I wouldn’t be seeing for a year. I was touched by how the parents sincerely appreciated me for teaching their children. I always believed in helping children gain self-confidence, to deal with pressure and learn resiliency, as this is more important than the number of medals won.
During the remaining weeks before deploying, I packed for immediate travel and items I wanted Rob to send to me later. I filled small postal boxes with lotions, bed sheets, socks, vitamins, pistachio nuts—anything I thought I would need or want in Afghanistan. Fortunately, two days before leaving, I received an email from the 113th unit that each soldier would be issued a personal footlocker, which would be sent to Afghanistan. Feeling relieved, I packed all the boxes in my duffle bag for later repacking in my footlocker.