Let's (not) talk about PTSD

How filing for my VA disability reminded me how dumb that was

It’s all so administrative after all

With the passage of the PACT Act thanks to President Biden and the Democratic Congress, veterans like myself have the opportunity to file for disability claims against a host of maladies associated with toxic exposure and other illnesses. I was thrilled to see it’s passage making it easier for many of my brothers and sisters to get care and support for many of the heartbreaking illnesses that have come from our combat service including a range of cancers and others.

At the same time the Department of Veterans Affairs made it easier for veterans with previous disability claims and ratings to file for additional claims and review their previous ratings. I am one of those veterans. When I retired in 2010 I didn’t really see myself as ‘disabled' per se.

Sure my knees were shot. I had to have my left foot rebuilt in a complex operation at Bethesda Naval Hospital. My back was already degenerated and relied on regular pain shots and physical therapy. My shoulder didn’t quite “work right” and I was struggling with depression, addiction, and suicidal ideations.

But…hey…that’s just life right?

It’s all very administrative

I had the good fortune to meet with VA leadership as the PACT Act was nearing a key milestone that allowed veterans to sign up for the new benefits and their date of eligibility would back date to the passage of the law. So, I thought I’d sign up myself and update the issues I’d ignored all those years ago.

One of those issues was my long term struggle with post traumatic stress disorder and survivors guilt. I filed the necessary paperwork and found myself sitting in a psychiatrist office this weekend as he sat in front of his laptop to ask me questions and discuss my experience.

We went through my family life. Each assignment and location of my 22-year military career. Whatever prescriptions I am on. My history of treatment for my mental health. A few dotted ‘I’s’…a few crossed ‘T’s.’ Nothing too hard.

“Let’s go through your trauma events.”

Seems simple enough. I’ll just list them and you see if they work for this.

Sure…well, 33-years ago this week two of my men were killed in a helicopter crash in Iraq at night flying a mission they had talked me out of flying due to my less Night Vision Goggle flying experience. I spent the night waiting for them to come back and we found them the next day dead in the crumbled remains of their OH-58 deep in Iraqi territory. I actually had to leave their memorial ceremony to fly an emergency mission.

CW3 Hal Reichle and SPC Mike Daniels in Iraq

Oh…three years later my pregnant wife was in a car accident while running errands for me while I sat in a training meeting with an incoming new boss. She died instantly and I had to identify her body and say good bye to her and our baby two hours later at the hospital. I was recalled from her funeral leave to deploy my company just ten days after her funeral and didn’t get a day off for 30 days. When I went to take a break that new boss basically called me a whack job for needing to take time off and “get my head together.”

Jennifer pins on my Ranger tab in 1993

Let’s see…oh…my interpreter and dear friend Bassam who had kept me safe and made my life better in Iraq was kidnapped from his shop and beheaded on camera by Al-Qaeda 4-months after I went back to the states. I had to sit in my office at Fort Campbell and act like everything was fine as I worked in secret with a group to get his widow and kids safely out of Iraq for the next six months. They landed in the U.S. the day I went back to Iraq for another tour.

Me and Bassam Sabry-Yousef in Ninewa, Iraq

Um…I suppose we can throw in my dear friend and partner in my mission in Iraq, Dr. Mohammed, being executed in the clinic I helped build for him and outfitted with equipment from my supporters in the U.S. They had blown him up in 2006 taking his legs but finally took him out by posing as patients and shot him to death in front of a number of his kids. I spent several years desperately trying to find out what happened to all of them until a reporter was kind enough to visit their village and put me in touch with them.

Dr. Mohammed and I in the clinic we built for him and supplies from home

Form is running out of room? Okay…well…we can skip Lt. Colonel Raad and Colonel Ali being assasinated, the number of enemy troops my orders killed, the damage I did to my marriage and family or my parents deaths. No need to get carried away with this I guess. Not sure if any of this counts really.

In retrospect…it’s kind of fucked up

We didn’t talk much longer. I suppose that was enough for the forms.

I walked out and sat in the car for about 15 minutes.

Wandered to lunch. Had a cider. Ran some random errands.

I called Heather and she knew. We made plans for an early dinner and some cocktails.

I’ve been in therapy for about six years. I’ve recounted these things countless times. To a large extent I’ve come to grips with all of it. It’s just my life experience and I am both better and worse for it in different ways.

But, there is something odd about sitting across from a stranger and recounting the things that have left their marks on your psyche to put them in the government record. All the loss that I carried as my own fault like a rucksack.

We all have them. I am not alone in any of this. Certainly not amongst veterans of combat. Not even among my civilian friends. Even in my relationship, as my partner is a widow herself from a tragic loss.

We all carry the weight of our experience and loss.

It’s what you do with it

I suppose it’s what you do with it that matters. I chose to spend literally decades acting like it was all nothing. Throughout, I acted out in monumentally self destructive ways that would eventually destroy my marriage and finances. I chose to think that everyone walks around with a voice in their head telling them they’re not good enough and that just a slight twitch of the steering wheel will make the end look like an accident so they can still get the insurance payments.

I thought it was just me and I didn’t need any help.

It’s not just you and you do need help. I have gotten it. I have done the work and it’s hurt. When the marriage ended I chose to keep doing the work because I saw that my life could be better if I kept digging in the dirt. Now, I’ve done the thing I refused to do for a decade and a half. I admitted I have a problem and asked for help from the VA.

I don’t know if it will be approved or my disability rating will change at all. That isn’t even the point anymore. I just wanted to put aside this last act of denial that the life I lead in uniform left a mark on me like so many others and we have to admit that and seek the help we need to manage it all.

I know a lot of people, men and women, who look like me, my age, my former rank, and more who are still in denial. Their marriages dissolve, careers tank, alcohol or worse becomes a friend. They still refuse to see that there is a better path.

You just have to choose it. I did.

The tattoo on my arm reminds me why:

I’m not done yet. Neither are you.

Now let’s get to work.

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Note: If you are a veteran and haven’t signed up for your VA benefits and disability rating yet…get on it. They have improved the experience dramatically in the last three years. You can do it easily yourself on their website with intuitive webforms and instructions. I filed on Saturday evening. On Friday I was called to schedule the various medical appointments. Yes…six days. It’s a very different experience with the Department of Veterans Affairs. Get on it.