Consider the psychological cost incurred by the men and women in our military. They give all that can be given to protect us. A list of what they miss will astound you. How many birthdays have their wives and children celebrated without them? How many holidays like Christmas and Easter are spent alone? How many wedding anniversaries have been celebrated without being celebrated?
A “Command Referral” to Mental Health means the Soldier’s commander is alarmed. The Soldier is ordered to submit to a psychiatric evaluation, a procedure with potentially dire consequences. Unlike most Soldiers treated in Military Mental Health Clinics, those referred by their commander come involuntarily.
“Tell me why you are here today, Sergeant.”
“What I do off Post is none of the Army’s business!”
“What happened off Post?”
He looked away from me. Defiantly, he said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
The Soldier was charged with assault and battery. He “struck the owner of a local motorcycle company during an argument over unacceptable engine repair,” according to the referral. “It took three men to pull the Soldier off the owner.” The charges were dropped, but the Soldier was barred from the premises. “If the Soldier is a danger to the public, can he be helped?”
“SGT, your military record is good. You have served honorably with five combat deployments. Your commander wants to help you.”
“Look, I know how the military works. The brass wants confidential information to use against me.”
“SGT, what you tell me will be treated confidentially and will enter no report to your commander if deemed irrelevant.”
The SGT said nothing. We both sat quietly. Nothing was more important than the Soldier sitting in front of me. I did not indicate that my time was limited.
Five minutes passed slowly before the SGT spoke.
“I see from the wall that you were also in the Army. So you know some of the issues we face in Mortuary Affairs. Yeah, I have PTSD. Certain odors throw me into a flashback of living Hell.
“Doctor, why are you writing down what I’m saying?”
“I want to understand what you tell me. I will read my notes out loud to see if I have it correctly.”
“Alright. I just wanted to know.
“Suddenly, unexpected noise startles me. I get rageful. I apologize to my wife.”
“SGT, can you describe the worst combat trauma you experienced?”
“Do I have to tell you about it?”
“There are no ‘have to’s in my office, SGT.”
More silence. The SGT is wondering if I can handle his trauma, whether I can help him handle it, and if I am worthy to hear it. While listening to Soldiers share their combat trauma, I am on sacred ground. I behave accordingly.
“Telling my trauma makes me ashamed of what I did when it happened.
“In Mortuary Affairs, we work in pairs. I feel closer to my battle buddy than to my brother. A unit reported a casualty that they were unable to recover.
“As we walked towards the remains, our truck radio received an urgent message. I went back to the truck. The enemy had planted an explosive on the remains. When my buddy tried to remove the Soldier’s dog tags, the blast killed my buddy, blew the remains apart, and knocked me unconscious. Days later, I woke up deaf in a field hospital. Most of my hearing slowly returned.”
Silently, tears streamed down his face. He sat erect in his chair. His head was bowed in shame for not saving his brother.
Neither of us spoke. It was a sacred ten-minute moment.
“Your battle buddy knows you could not save him. His death was unavoidable and heroic. You survived the enemy’s evil intent. You can get paralyzed in irrational guilt, or you can live with a meaningful mission, leaning on God’s promise: “No one will be able to stand against you all the days of your life. As I was with Moses, I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you.” Joshua 1:5.
“Two things prevent my flashbacks. I can hold my 5-year-old son in my lap and smell his hair. I can also ride my bike fast. The rushing wind on my face takes away the odor of decaying flesh.”
“I discourage speeding on your bike. You know it’s dangerous. But the use of olfactory recollection of favorable memories by smelling your son’s hair is a remarkable method.
“Take clippings from your son’s next haircut. Place them in a plastic sandwich bag to keep in the pocket of your uniform. Whip it out to replace the offensive odor of decaying flesh.”
The plan worked. His anger lessened. The Soldier, soon convinced his terrible flashbacks could be controlled, regained his faith in God. After three months of steady improvement, a favorable report was sent to his commander.
Similar cases are described in my book, Sacred Ground, the Psychological Cost of Twenty-first Century War, 2014.
Robert S. Brown, MD, PHD a retired Psychiatrist, Col (Ret) U.S. Army Medical Corps devoted the last decade of his career to treating soldiers at Fort Lee redeploying from combat. He was a Clinical Professor of Psychiatry and Professor of Education at UVA. His renowned Mental Health course taught the value of exercise for a sound mind.
