Li and I were shocked when Command Sgt. Maj. Veneklasen marched into our office one morning. I wasn’t sure if he had come in for therapeutic help or just to harass us. But he was relaxed. In fact, he was extraordinarily nice and shared with us that this was his 10th deployment. When he returned home, he’d submit his retirement packet, which by then would be 24 years in the army. Apparently, he just came by to chat.
Veneklasen didn’t stay long, as Capt. Edwards came into the office. Edwards was there for a command-directed evaluation because, during a urine collection for drug testing, he dropped his trousers down to his ankles in view of many soldiers—inappropriate behavior, especially for an officer. Higher command wanted an evaluation to see if other things were going on with the captain.
“You know all urine samples have to be witnessed, but the Porta Potty is too small. So my witness stood outside. I left the door wide open. What’s wrong with that?” he said.
The captain was cooperative during the interview and completed a 45-question survey, assessing symptoms of distress, social roles, and interpersonal relationships. He’d return for a computer personality inventory assessment.
Soon after Edwards walked off, a platoon sergeant escorted in Pfc. Turner. His face was thin, freckled, with a frown. Turner had been in the camp one month and found it difficult adjusting to deployment.
“How can I help?” I asked.
Turner said, “I’m not happy with life. My sergeant says I’m a slacker. I’m not…just miserable all the time.”
“Miserable about…?”
“My aunt and two cousins died before I left for Afghanistan. I want to go home to my wife and kid.”
He admitted having anxiety attacks and thoughts of hurting himself and others. I referred Turner to the brigade surgeon for a medication evaluation. The doctor placed him on an intense 24-hour buddy watch and prescribed Ambien and Paxil. Turner and his escort would return to the aid station the next morning.
It was Movie Night. We showed Rise of the Planet of the Apes and we had the largest crowd yet—10, if you count Li and me. Just as we were starting the movie, the mail came, and I finally received my vacuum cleaner. We also received a large box of Seattle’s Best coffee from Soldiers’ Angels. Now we had more bartering power!
On Thursday, I went to the aid station at 0800 hours to meet with Turner, from the day before. While Turner was having his vitals checked, his escort told me that the soldier admitted lying about the death of his relatives and his threat about harming himself and others. During the session with the brigade surgeon and me, Turner confessed.
“I know I shouldn’t have lied. I just want to go home.”
I advised Turner of the drawbacks if he couldn’t complete his tour and to reflect on the reasons he’d joined the army a year earlier.
“I joined to support my wife and son, and to make my sister and brother proud of me.”
Turner would remain on buddy watch, return to work, and use the MWR (computer/phone) to contact his wife.
Edwards came back and completed 344 computer questions to scan for primary clinical issues. The results indicated nothing significant in the area of depression, anxiety, or psychotic disorders. So now I just needed to complete a Mental Status Evaluation report for his commander.
After Edwards left, I went to the aid station again so I could meet with the brigade surgeon and Turner. This time Turner flashed a grin.
“I talked to my wife. She’s doing good. She even sent me a picture of my son holding a stuffed black-and-white pony. I’m ready to go back to work.”
Apparently, when a soldier is on buddy watch, they generally sleep in the TOC (Tactical Operations Center) where there is always someone watching the soldier, so that they can’t harm anyone, including themselves. In this case, Turner slept without a blanket, because there wasn’t one there, and he swept and mopped the place. He missed his usual freedom and comfort, which, compared to the previous two days, was quite good. Everything is relative. The brigade surgeon called this “Plan B,” and in this case it worked quite well. Turner was motivated to return to work and to finish his deployment, realizing that he could ask for help from the chaplain, Combat Stress, and the aid station if needed.
Edwards came in to hear the results of his mental status evaluation.
“Captain, your report showed no clinical evidence of mental or personality disorder at this time. You’re fit for continued duty,” I said.
Pleased, the captain said, “I joke around sometimes, maybe too much. I guess I better tone it down.” The captain had good insight; he didn’t want his chain of command to take any more notice of him—unless he was receiving an award for outstanding service. “You won’t see me again,” he said as he turned for the door.
After Edwards left, Mayer (who had been shot) came in after his appointment with the brigade surgeon, which, for the third time, had been rescheduled.
“For some reason, the doctor is too busy to see me…” With a tired sigh, Mayer added, “I still can’t sleep, I have night sweats sometimes…I even took three of the four sleeping pills, but it only worked one night.” Grabbing his neck with one hand, he winced in pain.
Wishing I could do more (as noted earlier, he wasn’t interested in continuing with the tapping), I said in a quiet voice, “I suggest you keep trying to meet with the doctor.”