On Saturday, June 2, after a one-hour bus ride to Philadelphia Airport, and waiting for five hours for my flight, I boarded my flight to SFO. Five and a half hours later, I landed in San Francisco. I couldn’t believe that this moment had finally arrived. I was home!
Rob picked me up. We kissed and shared a long heartfelt hug. The first thing I wanted was Chinese food. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any parking near the restaurant, so we ordered to go. At last, arriving home and eating some long-awaited delicious food, I was truly happy!
My adjustment to being back lasted a long time, however. In mid-July, I was still feeling like a stranger in my own home. While I was away, Rob, with contractors’ assistance, had remodeled the kitchen and built an entertainment center. I didn’t understand how to use the new microwave oven or dishwasher or even turn on the flat screen television. All the clothes in my closet overwhelmed me. It took me nearly five minutes to select a hand towel from the linen closet. This reminded me of the movie The Hurt Locker when the soldier played by Jeremy Renner returned from deployment and couldn’t decide what box of cereal to buy at the supermarket.
I enjoyed seeing my family and friends.
I enjoyed the cool, crisp, foggy air against my skin.
I enjoyed eating my favorite foods again. The first few bites were an endorphin rush, with all my taste buds awakened and eager for more flavors.
I enjoyed sniffing different fragrances of freshly cut lawns, flowers, soaps, body lotions, and shampoos.
I enjoyed wearing vibrant new clothes and shoes.
I listened to and soaked up the quietness.
I especially enjoyed, in the middle of the night, the clean bathroom just seven steps from by bed!
I was concerned the first time I got behind the wheel of my car, as I hadn’t driven in so long, but it came back easily. What was scary was my fast and reckless driving! I’d changed. I had always been a considerate and careful driver. I’d gleaned that many redeploying soldiers seek out activities that are daring and filled with adrenaline. Perhaps being on constant edge when in country, in an environment of prolonged unknown danger, with the muscles primed for flight or fight, the body develops a need for the adrenaline rush. I’d also noticed that I was easily startled by loud and unexpected noises. I was especially triggered by the thumping sound of traffic and news helicopters flying over the city. I was alarmed when people were behind me, impatient in grocery store lines. And, at times, without reason, I was irritable.
I tapped to ease my anxiety and, though it was helpful, my jumpiness didn’t stay away. Perhaps I was too close and couldn’t see my problem objectively. Perhaps I couldn’t or wouldn’t allow myself to delve into the specific details. Perhaps I didn’t tap enough. Was I suffering from PTSD? How could I be when others soldiers had it much worse? How could I have it when I provided care for others? Did hearing their horrendous experiences cause my PTSD?
After two and a half years of denial, I finally admitted to myself that I couldn’t control my angst, hypervigilance, and tearfulness. It was affecting my work. I sought treatment, and was diagnosed with PTSD. I don’t believe one incident caused my PTSD, but the constant fear and frequent attacks in Afghanistan as well as listening in my office to veterans’ combat experiences triggered flashbacks.
Eventually, with the passage of many more months in the safety of familiar surroundings, my uneasiness lessened. During my adjustment, I was grateful for Rob’s patience, support, and understanding.
Sometimes it felt as though I had just woken up from a coma, or recently recovered my memory after a period of amnesia. Many things were familiar, though, in fact as if nothing had changed, like my desk, items in my drawers, people in my neighborhood. I’d returned to helping with the youth fencing program. Many of the younger students I’d never seen. The older students had grown; some were now taller than I. Rob’s lessons had changed while I continued to teach the old stuff.
My 11 months in Afghanistan gradually became a distant memory, a dream. I had to remind myself that I had been there, where I believed time stood still. Nevertheless, all the experiences and memories of deployment were timeless. On the other hand, the time since arriving home was flying by. I find the experience of time and the perception of time a conundrum.
After several months at home, I returned to my Army Reserve unit, 2D Medical Brigade, in San Pablo, California. There were many new faces, and a few I recognized. I had to admit I walked around proudly, with my combat badge on my uniform. I was no longer just a reservist, but a combat veteran. I had learned a great deal about how to run a combat operational stress control office and how to manage the many issues that soldiers face.
My Mandatory Retirement Date had been approved and extended for two more years with the Army Reserve, which would require one weekend drill a month, two weeks of annual training a year, and the possibility of deployment again until December 31, 2014. With my retention bonus, I bought an army dress-blue uniform, not realizing how seldom I’d need to wear it.
I applied for unemployment insurance benefits with the Employment Development Department (EDD). With the benefits, I had to report that I was actively seeking work. I updated my résumé and went to the Human Resource department of the San Francisco Veterans Affairs Medical Center. Although I didn’t receive a call from them, I did meet with a clinical social worker employed there, a referral from Col. Rabb.
I discovered that the VA only authorizes two therapeutic techniques to deal with PTSD: prolonged exposure (PE) and cognitive processing. Though familiar with both, I would use neither, since both require the veteran to reexperience the trauma(s) again and again. This is extremely painful. One veteran gave a telling summary of how he and others experienced PE: “It tore off my scab, but the wound was still there, rotting, and then the sessions were over. I was told I was better, but I wasn’t.”
I wouldn’t have fared well at the San Francisco VA Medical Center. The previous year had convinced me more than ever that I would primarily use EFT (tapping) with veterans.
After just one round of tapping, soldiers were noticeably relieved and calmer. Soon thereafter, soldiers added more details about their problems or expressed issues that they had kept to themselves for years. Feeling the positive profound result, it was then easy to encourage soldiers to learn how to tap, something they could do on their own in a matter of minutes in order to release the past, current, or anticipated problems—“preemptive tapping,” as one soldier called it. The ease of learning and applying the tapping technique was an important element of EFT, because I often met with a soldier just once.
A week after a mandatory meeting with a job service representative at the EDD, I walked over to the nearby SF Vet Center. I handed my résumé to the office manager and asked who would be reviewing it. The team leader, Lance, spoke to me and said apologetically that there was no opening. I told him I understood, but added that I hoped I would be considered if a position opened up.
Within a week, Lance called me saying that vet centers had a new program to hire OEF (Operation Enduring Freedom) veterans, and asked if I was interested in interviewing for a position as a readjustment counselor. I enthusiastically said yes. I went back to the Vet Center and met with Lance and a clinical psychologist. Soon after the interview, I was offered the position. And I was welcome to use EFT.
After waiting six months to clear all the hiring requirements, I started my job at the center in March 2013. My experiences in Afghanistan gave me credibility: a personal understanding of tragic deaths, physical and psychological injuries due to war, and the constant angst soldiers must shove aside in order to complete the mission.
The San Francisco County Veterans Service Office refers veterans to the center for PTSD evaluations and possible treatment. These veterans are in the process of submitting a service-connected disability claim with the Department of Veterans Affairs. The disability claim is for injuries that were incurred in or aggravated during their military service, such as physical conditions and/or mental health conditions.
I saw few veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan. More Vietnam veterans than those from the current wars are referred. They were in an unpopular war, often hiding their involvement, feeling proud of their service yet feeling they had done something wrong. Mental health services hardly existed when they returned home. They are now in their late 60s and early 70s. Since they were combat veterans, the counseling services are free, for individual and group sessions. I can meet with them as often as they find it helpful.
Since returning home, many Vietnam veterans have silently suffered from PTSD, depression, or anxiety disorders resulting in years of alcohol/drug abuse, failed marriages, and terminations of employment. This is the first time they’re seeking help since education, jobs, and relationships are no longer a distraction for them. What has surfaced is their short-tempered, isolating behaviors, and nightmares.
Vietnam veterans often declare: “I was fine all these years. Shit! Why am I so angry all the time? I don’t like family gatherings. I cry easily now when I think back on the war. Why am I so weak? How could it be from Vietnam? It was 45 years ago!”
As I work with Vietnam veterans, my treatment of choice continues to be EFT. Once there is a rapport, I provide veterans an introduction to the technique. Sometimes I focus on their physical pain. This is less threatening for them than to confess their emotional distress. Relief is often rapid. Veterans are in disbelief, but this gives them hope after years of pain. They return for more sessions.
For others, I have them tap on specific events, memories that continue to haunt them: their first kill, dreaded missions, or their helplessness in watching their battle buddies die.
I prefer EFT because once they’ve used this simple technique they can use it anywhere, anytime. For example, they can tap in their car while stuck in traffic, or they can tap while in a noisy, crowded shopping mall. They notice an immediate quietness in their mind and body. Whether they believe in the technique or not, they often feel a lowering of stress and an increase in calmness—enough to take the edge off. Enough to walk away, to take a few deep breaths, to realize getting into an altercation isn’t worth it.
My hope when working with Vietnam veterans is for them to encourage veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan to seek help sooner rather than later. Many younger veterans are busy getting a degree, finding the perfect job and the perfect mate. In the meantime, they are ignoring or locking away their emotional pain, just as the Vietnam vets once did. But PTSD continues to fester in the mind and body. And when the body’s energy can no longer contain it, symptoms will erupt and there follows a realization that something is wrong.
Researcher Bessel van der Kolk, MD, explains the mechanisms of trauma in his book The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Van der Kolk asserts that trauma literally rearranges the brain’s wiring. Most important, the book presents innovative techniques such as neurofeedback and EFT as methods for reprogramming the brain and reclaiming lives in the process.
I appreciate the opportunity to help heal the lives of the combat veterans I work with: veterans from World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Gulf War, Iraq, and Afghanistan. For years, many of these veterans have suffered traumas that have been frozen in time. They suffered silently, unable to share with anyone who wasn’t there. It remained frozen until their health started to deteriorate, or alcohol or drugs no longer numbed their feelings or erased their horrid memories. Traumas are not just hardships to overcome, however. They can be transformative. There is no doubt that soldiers are different after a war. Initially, the changes are reflected in negative symptoms of rage, nightmares, hypervigilance, anxiousness, or depression. They struggle, and after enduring the struggle, many start to heal. They learn to integrate the past with their new life, which gives them strength, wisdom, and joy. This resilience gives a new purpose of who they want to be, what they want to fight for, and the pursuit of a meaningful career. This is called posttraumatic growth.
On November 2, 2014, at 1725 hours, I stood at attention for my last formation as a member of the US Army Reserve. Although I was interested in continuing my service, the army was unwilling to offer me, at 62 years old, another extension, feeling it was time for me to go. I saluted and watched the lowering of the US flag. I was called up by the first sergeant, who announced to 2D Medical Brigade that I was leaving after nearly five years of service.
In a relatively short amount of time, I’d gained an important perspective on the army and I’d met many selfless, exceptionally brave men and women. I am honored to have served them and to have served with them.