Seeking as much shade as possible, I was finding shortcuts to and from my room, to the office, to the latrine. My sleeping quarter and office were in separate buildings, and I had to walk outside to different buildings to shower and to eat. It was still in the 115-degree range. The evenings were comfortable, however, and I could wear just an army T-shirt and PT (physical training) shorts. The FOB was a salute zone, though, so I couldn’t daydream when I walked around. A soldier might salute me whether I was in uniform or in my PTs, and I’d have to return the salute. Sometimes I didn’t see a salute but heard, “Ma’am,” and I hurriedly saluted back, embarrassed.
Though it was hot, we were lucky that the mosquitoes in the area were tiny and sparse. Li had been bitten a couple of times, but I hadn’t been bitten, probably because I wore my uniform as much as possible. The long sleeves helped, plus the uniform had built-in insect repellant. In regards to animals, there were some skinny stray cats and dogs, usually hanging around the DFAC trashcans. We were warned not to feed or pet them because of rabies. Earlier, I observed two German shepherds, with handlers, sniffing for possible explosives at a checkpoint—a dangerous duty.
From time to time, I visited the FOB’s small PX to see what items might be on the shelves. There had been no shipment since I arrived, so the shelves remained bare. The manager told me I’d know when trucks arrived with supplies because there’d be a long line of soldiers outside waiting to get in.
On a quiet day, with just a couple of clients, my clinical director, Maj. Diaz, requested some paperwork and informed us that our footlockers were in country. Li and I requested that our lockers stay in KAF and not be sent to us, as we weren’t staying at Camp Nathan Smith for long. When would we leave? We didn’t know. In the meantime, stress was at a minimal yet constant level, considering we were in a war zone. No rocket or mortar attacks…yet.
We were settling in. Li and I were running the office without anyone peering over our shoulders. The meals were plentiful and good. My belly was starting to show again. It was time to cut back on the ice cream and do more walking.
This deployment wasn’t my first time being away from home for a prolonged period of time. After I graduated from Cal, I went to work as a social worker in Chinatown for a youth organization. After eight months of working, I became disillusioned about how well the agency could help troubled teens from broken homes and poverty when gangs and drugs offered an attractive escape. I was young and ready for an adventure. Rob wrote me a letter of introduction to his fencing school in Paris that would allow me to train with the French national team for one year.
I’d saved up enough money for the airfare and expenses, but then I had to convince my parents that I would travel and live alone in a foreign country. At 22 years old, armed with fencing gear and high-school French, I was determined to go. My mother was not thrilled, but in the end, when she realized that I wasn’t going to change my mind, she helped upgrade my plane ticket so that I could fly directly to France. That’s love expressed in Chinese.
Living in Paris was difficult. My high-school French was useless. I couldn’t get an apartment, because only French citizens could sign the rental agreement. Eventually, I met an English-speaking French schoolteacher who needed a roommate and we moved into an apartment in St. Maur, a suburb of Paris. I would train with the French fencing team and have lunch at the school, return back to the apartment, and then go off to a fencing club in the evening. I didn’t fence every day, though. Occasionally, I would walk around Paris, in the Latin Quarter, window-shop on the Champs-Élysée, and see a French movie, even though I didn’t understand much. I carried a French-English dictionary with me all the time, and my roommate would help me with my French. By the time I left France, I was proficient in day-to-day conversation.
There were a couple of times during the first few months when I wanted to return home. Everything was so different. A mailbox there is much smaller than ours, and in order to use the pay phone you had to first buy a jeton. And Parisians are not the friendliest people. The most bizarre thing was seeing Asians and Africans speaking fluent French on the metro and buses. I told myself that I didn’t have to stay, but maybe I saw it as a weakness, so I willed myself to stick it out. I’m glad I did. I met some wonderful people through my roommate. We were all in our 20s and many of them had traveled in the States. French people like to get together over food, with wine and cheese, of course, and talk. It would take at least half an hour to say good-bye to everyone, with the double to quadruple kisses on the cheeks. I never knew how many to do, so I just kept kissing until the other person stopped.
On a Saturday, July 16, a soldier walked in after being referred by her sergeant because of poor sleep. Li handled this case. I wanted her to do as much as possible to build up her skills and confidence.
The 113th Clinical Director emailed everyone to stipulate that all cases must be documented on the MC4 laptop electronic health record, which was not the way the outgoing BH team had trained us. I couldn’t get on the program all day. I called the service desk, a technician came over, and I was finally able to log in. The technician even helped me uninstall and reinstall the video media player program on my personal laptop computer. The previous night I had realized I couldn’t open any movies my brother Randy had downloaded to my computer. I was so happy when the reinstalled media player worked. I was going to watch a movie that night!
Then I received a call on my cell phone. Dixon, with the traumatic brain injury, had gone to the aid station and wanted me to share the intake form I’d done on her with the treating physician, who would send her home due to her many medical issues. I hoped her ANAM comparison report would come back before she headed out of CNS.
As I stepped inside the aid station with Dixon’s intake form, I unexpectedly discovered a flush toilet—only for urine, not even toilet paper. Smiling and feeling a jolt of excitement, I realized I could use it during the night, as it was in the building next door to my sleeping quarter. It was so much closer and safer than walking in the dark to a smelly, filthy Porta Potty.
Sundays were time to get my laundry done. Laundry service was free. There were two ways to do it. I could drop my bag at a laundry service—nice, but it was a bit far and took one to two days to get the laundry back. Or I could take my clothes to the laundromat near the office and an elderly Afghan man would stuff it in the washer and dryer. He’d sometimes even fold the clothes. This was a better option, as my clothes would be clean and returned within two hours.
But that Sunday morning two soldiers came with escorts, back-to-back. One was Pvt. Nolan. In his early 20s, he admitted to suicidal/ homicidal ideations and auditory hallucinations.
“I cut my wrists with a razor blade once in a while. It feels good…”
“When did you start this?” I asked.
“After high school.”
“Do you cut to feel something?”
“I don’t know…maybe.”
“And when do you cut?”
“When I think about my dad…he’s dead…”
‘You miss him?”
“I’m angry…really angry at him!”
Nolan had previously worked with a civilian psychologist about his anger toward his absent father. I didn’t identify whether he was exaggerating his symptoms, but since he entertained thoughts of hurting himself and others, he certainly didn’t belong in theater. I referred him to the brigade surgeon in the aid station, who would probably refer him to KAF for a medication evaluation.
The second soldier was Spc. Pruett, who was brought in by his unit.
“Ma’am, can you say I’m not fit to stay in the army, that I’m crazy?”
After an assessment, I said, “You’re not crazy, but it seems you’re going through some difficulties.”
“I have a bunch of problems here and at home. But I don’t like people to know my business.”
Pruett was facing multiple disciplinary charges. I recommended he stay in CNS for a couple of days for R&R (rest and recuperation): eat, sleep, and contact his family. This might give him renewed energy to face his upcoming court-martial.
Later Li and I had lunch with a civilian contractor. He called himself Dido and worked as a mechanic. We mentioned that we had a box of carpentry tools in the office, left behind by Sgt. Little. Dido was glad to come pick up the tools, which opened more space for us in our tiny office.
Many civilian contractors work in the camp. Their jobs range from cooks, custodians, interpreters, analysts, and mechanics to jobs in security, information technology, and logistics. They generally work 12 hours a day, seven days a week, for months, with opportunities to renew their job. All require a security clearance.
To my surprise, the next day, Pruett showed up, elated. The little amount of R&R he’d had was already leaving him smiling. “I had four hours of sleep,” he said. “I even Skyped with my wife. I’m cool.”
On our way to lunch, Fisher, whom I saw a week earlier, stopped me and giggled, “Things are goin’ good. I’m still doing the tapping, it’s working.” She was especially joyful because she was leaving country a few days later.
Li and I tried to meet Lt. Col. Cook again, but he wasn’t in his office.
Dixon gave me some wonderful news. She offered us her office space, saying that her unit didn’t need it. The space was about three times the size of our current clinic. It had an outer office and a larger inner office perfect for running groups. I called Col. Rabb about this possible space, and he called the CNS Mayor Cell. They and the commander agreed to give it to us. We’d get a place all to ourselves—no need to share with Finance!
Col. Rabb told us that our replacement might not get into country until mid-August, meaning we’d have at least another month at Camp Nathan Smith.
I bought a couple of knockoff DVDs from the local bazaar, at two bucks each: Captain America: The First Avenger and Mission Impossible 4: Ghost Protocol. In our office we had a projector, and watched them on the wall. Movies helped pass the time, and temporarily made us forget that we were in Afghanistan with its endless dust, intense heat, and bleakness.
During the first few weeks, Li and I began to recognize some soldiers and locals on base. Generally, however, I found most soldiers problematic to individualize. Everyone wore the same uniform and mandatory eye protection (dark sunglasses) and headgear. On the other hand, Li and I—two Asian females—were easy to distinguish, so people recognized us. Many soldiers also recognized that Li and I were Behavioral Health. I asked one sergeant in the PX how he knew I was BH, and he said, “Just look for a captain with an M-16 rifle.” Most officers didn’t carry a rifle—rather an M9 handgun—but my unit had issued me a rifle. Li thought that was because our unit was poor, with only a few handguns in its armory.
One evening while typing on my laptop in my room, I was startled when a tiny brown mouse scurried along the wall. He stopped by my luggage and stared curiously up at me with his dark eyes. My initial thought was that he was cute and maybe I should feed him. But my better judgment kicked in and I got up and opened the door. As I moved the luggage, the mouse retraced his footsteps and scarpered out of the room. I quickly closed the door and then slept deeply and soundly.
The next day, Tuesday, July 19, I worked 12 hours. Even though I was scheduled to start work at 1200 hours, I had to go in early to see Pruett, with the disciplinary problems. He was happy and rejuvenated; he was ready for whatever the army was going to throw at him. He had contacted his chaplain, who’d agreed to assist him. He was supposed to be picked up at 1200 hours but came in the office at 1600 hours, saying no one from his company had come to get him. He would stay another night at CNS.
Dixon’s ANAM pre-test came in. I met with her and compared her past and current tests. It was clear that her current cognitive ability was well below average. She knew of her difficulties and this provided some relief, as it was tangible proof. The brigade doctor had arranged for her to leave theater soon. Although Dixon expressed reluctance to leave, she realized she could harm herself and others if she were unable to do her job.
My daily schedule was to wake up at 0730 hours, walk a block to wash up, do a bit of exercise in the room (yoga handstands, arm curls with my rifle, push-ups, and sit-ups), get dressed, and go off to breakfast, which was another block away. After that, I’d head to the office around 0830 hours, see clients that dropped in or came by appointment, catch up on emails on my Afghan, Yahoo, and AKO (Army Knowledge Online) accounts and, of course, paperwork.
If it wasn’t too hot, Li and I conducted some walkabouts to introduce ourselves and generate some business. We would stop by the smoke pits (outdoor areas designated for smoking), the gym, the PX, and anywhere else where off-duty soldiers would chill so that we could exchange pleasantries or share a joke or two. These face-to-face meetings helped break the ice and to encourage them to visit us if they wanted to, either to talk or just out of curiosity.
Lunch was at 1130 hours. I was usually hungry and ate a large meal. Back to the office for more phone and computer work, maybe see some clients, and check emails. The afternoons were slow, partly because of the heat (110+ degrees) and leaving the office wasn’t a good option. By the time 1730 hours rolled around, Li and I were starving. We didn’t understand why we were so hungry. We weren’t exercising much, yet we were constantly thinking about food between meals. Maybe eating provided steady blood sugar and, being so far from home, we were constantly hoping for some familiar comfort foods.
At 2230 hours, I was in my room watching the movie The Hangover when my cell phone rang. Reorienting myself quickly, I answered the phone. The manager of the PX, a sergeant, was calling me for help with his distressed soldier, Spc. Pacheco. I quickly dressed and went to the PX. Even in the dim light, I could see that Pacheco’s eyes were red and swollen.
“How can I help?” I asked.
“My wife hasn’t been eating. I think she’s lost 15 to 20 pounds in three weeks.”
“Has she seen a doctor?”
“Yeah. She went to the doctors, even two trips to the ER. The doctors don’t know what’s going on…” Pacheco quickly added, “I want to go home to be with her, but my commander won’t give me leave.”
We brainstormed. Pacheco made a call and was able to convince his wife’s sister to help. This provided some momentary relief for him.
The following morning began with Sgt. Smith and another soldier with an Article 15 (violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice) for disrespecting a female officer. The two soldiers had shared a couple of sexist jokes with the female officer. Even after she told them it was inappropriate and to stop, both soldiers continued their bantering. She notified her superior officer. They’d had their disciplinary hearing the night before and now would be discharged from the army. It may sound unforgiving, but as a female I was glad the army wasn’t tolerating sexual harassment. I must admit, however, that I felt sorry for Smith. He would lose his career in the army, and after six years, it wasn’t the way to leave.
Even though Thursday’s hours didn’t officially start until noon, I went into the office in the morning at the usual time. This allowed me time to do the perpetual dusting, email Rob, and catch up on other paperwork. As each day went by, the 113th unit demanded more reports or for us to follow more SOPs (standard operating procedures). The clinic director, Maj. Diaz, called me and we went over the documentation procedure and clinic protocols. Moreover, he no longer wanted the clinic referred to as Behavioral Health, but rather “Combat Stress Control Center.” The former implied a diagnosis, a “crazy” label, whereas the latter referred to normal reactions to combat and operational stress-related issues, such as dealing with leadership, being away from family, financial concerns, traumatic incidents, injuries, and death. I agreed with this.
Pruett dropped by and said, “My unit is going to pick me up today.” Two days later than planned. But with his newly acquired happy-go-lucky attitude, the lateness didn’t bother the soldier. In fact, he would have been glad just hanging around the camp for the rest of the deployment.
I saw a new client, Staff Sgt. Vasquez. Tall and striking, she had hazel eyes that seemed dull and blood-shot, with dark shadows underneath.
“I can’t think, can’t sleep, I can’t turn things off,” she said. “This is my second deployment…I should be used to this, but…”
“What else is going on?”
“I miss my husband and baby girl. She’s two.”
“What else?”
“I hate my job, it’s meaningless…”
I taught her tapping. Vasquez chose to tap on “information overload” at work. She copied me and tapped, starting on the side of her hand and then the top of her head, eyebrow, side of the eye, under the eye, under the nose, the chin, collarbone, and, lastly, on her side under the arm. Her initial Subjective Units of Distress (SUD) scale rating was a 10 (10 indicating the highest level). After one round, it went down to an 8.
“What makes it an 8?” I asked.
“Well, there’s work, lots of it, but it doesn’t go anywhere. Just shuffling paper from one pile to another pile,” she replied.
We tapped for, “Shuffling paper, lots of it.” Then the SUD went to a 5.
“What’s left, what does the 5 represent?” I said.
“It’s a waste of my time, my talents. I could do more.”
We tapped for, “Could do more. Waste of talent.” Then the SUD went to a 0. In a matter of minutes, with three rounds of tapping, her distress was neutralized. The stunned glow on her face was priceless. She asked more about tapping, and I demonstrated to her how to use it for falling asleep.
“Tap 30 minutes before you sleep, since you are putting energy into your body,” I explained.
“Tap on the side of the hand and say, ‘Even though my mind is racing 1,000 miles an hour, I choose to turn it off. I choose to be pleasantly drowsy, to have peaceful dreams, to sleep throughout the night, to be rested, and to be ready for the day’s challenge.’”
Vasquez shook my hand and said, “Thank you for joining the army to help soldiers.”
Her sincere response helped me keep going.
We didn’t have any clients the following day. It was a good thing, as the opportunity came for moving into our new space. We “procured” furniture from the old office—anything that wasn’t nailed to the floor. Combined with what remained in the new office, when we were finished, we had two desks, two office chairs, file cabinets, pillows, a folding table, two folding chairs for clients, and a large, rectangular, red wool carpet. All of this created an open, inviting area. Without the advocacy of Dixon, this wouldn’t have happened. On behalf of all soldiers needing combat stress control support, I couldn’t thank her enough. Now it was just getting the computers and phones working. I hoped that everything would be ready to go by the next day.
That night I wrote Rob an email. Actually, I told him, some things in Afghanistan were better than at home: 1) free laundry service; 2) no need to shop, prepare, cook, or wash dishes for any meal (plus there was plenty of food and drinks—all you wanted); 3) not much cleaning to do (no mop or vacuum cleaner—yet); 4) free gym membership, even though I wasn’t using it; and 5) time to catch up on my movies. I must think of the positive stuff.
Rob’s response to this list was that Camp Nathan Smith was ideal for retirement. Yeah, right!
On Saturday, we were getting the phone lines and computer lines connected in the new office. At least the right people were coming in to do the work. I told Col. Rabb about our space and that we had to share it with Preventive Medicine (PM). I thought it would be good if PM could use the Finance office space instead and had suggested this to Capt. Maxim. She hesitantly agreed, but later told me she needed our new space and the partnership of helping one another. I acknowledged the help medical had given us and that we definitely wanted to continue that relationship. So we returned to the original agreement of sharing space in the new office. Everyone was happy. The captain guided me to two conference rooms, one next to our office and one behind our office, which we could use for therapy if need be. One conference room had a large wall-mounted monitor; with a laptop, we could show weekly movies in the room. I mentioned this idea to the Mayor Cell, and it was a go. All we had to do was pick a day for Movie Night.
By Sunday our office was fully functioning, with phones and computers. I sat at my desk, looking around and enjoying the comfortable space. It was another quiet day, with only one client. Pvt. Joseph ambled in, standing six-foot-two and weighing two hundred pounds. With a red face and in a prickly tone, Joseph said, “I’m mad as hell. I just found out my wife wants a divorce.”
“And what do you want?” I asked.
“I want to go home and fix this.”
After taking a thorough history, I advised him to seek legal consultation from a local attorney in his city. Joseph revealed he was sleeping only three hours a night. Since Joseph understood he couldn’t go home until his tour was over, he was willing to learn tapping to lower his anxiety.
Tapping on the side of his hand, Joseph repeated after me, “Even though I’m mad…I’m angry. How dare she want a divorce…I deeply and completely accept myself.”
Then tapping on the acupoints on his head, face, and torso, Joseph said, “I’m mad. Divorce. Angry. Mad as hell.”
Joseph initially reported a SUD level of 8. After one round, it went to a 4. Joseph said he was pissed, and now being more specific, Joseph echoed my words, “Even though I still have some anger, even though I’m still pissed, I deeply and completely accept myself.” Then tapping on his head, face, and torso, Joseph said, “This remaining anger.” After the second round, his SUD went to a 1. The edge in his voice was gone. He was visibly calmer and gave me a grateful smile. I also taught him how to tap for sleep, encouraging him to use it before lights out.