The Minefield at Home : American Veterans Speak on Post War Life

New York Times October 25, 2009, 9:00 pm
>
> The Minefield at Home : American Veterans Speak on Post War Life
> By
> Michael Jernigan
> In August 2004, while on patrol with my Marine unit in Mahmudiya, Iraq, I
> was severely wounded by a roadside bomb. My wounds included a crushed
> skull and
> right hand, traumatic brain injury and the loss of both my eyes.
> I am not alone. In the past eight years, many of the 35,000 American
> soldiers wounded in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have returned home.
> But many of
> us have also returned with deep emotional wounds, and those are harder to
> see.
>
> In fact, they're often invisible, which is why so many returning soldiers
> feel so lost back home. Those of us with post-traumatic stress disorder -
> I'm
> one of them - feel like strangers here, carrying around a burden many
> people are unaware of or just can't understand. The possibilities for
> misunderstandings,
> collisions and alienation are great.
>
> Rewind to 2005. I am sitting in the house alone in the dark. I do not know
> where the light switches are. What does it matter anyway? I cannot see
> light.
> I get up to get another beer and discover that I have run out. No fear,
> though - I'll go find the bottle of Johnnie Walker I have somewhere in the
> back
> room.
> I hear a noise outside. I freeze. I am running through the worst-case
> scenarios. Where am I in the house? How close is my rifle? Be quiet,
> listen, and slowly
> make your way to the bedroom. Good, I've found my rifle next to the bed,
> right where I left it. I feel safer. I am still listening; I don't hear
> anything
> else. Still, I will stand here in the dark with my head on a swivel
> listening to everything within hearing. Is that not my first general order
> as a Marine?
> It is quiet. I am calm now, reassured that I am not under attack. Let's go
> back to what we were doing. That bottle of Johnnie Walker is in the back
> room
> in a box somewhere. I stop and pause. I should bring my rifle; it makes me
> feel safer.
>
> Fast forward a couple of years. I am married. My paranoia is not as bad,
> but still there.
> One night, I am taking my wife, Leslie, out to dinner for a "date." As we
> walk to the table with the help of my guide dog, Brittani, we hear a
> voice: "Doggy,
> Mommy! There is a doggy!"
> "Yes, it's a doggy," the mother says. "You have to sit down and finish
> your dinner."
> The child asks loudly why he can't bring his dog to a restaurant. As I
> walk by the table I lean down and say: "This is Brittani. She is a working
> dog. She
> is my eyes." I cannot see the look on the boy's face. I know that people
> are sometimes taken aback by my appearance. My left eye socket is empty
> and my
> right one usually has a prosthetic with an emblem or logo. (I even have
> one with diamond studs.)
> We sit down. The waiter hands me a menu, I hand it back to him and say:
> "You can have this, I gave up reading!" I can only imagine the
> conversation that
> takes place when he returns to his post and starts talking to his
> co-worker.
> After dinner, we get up to leave. I imagine what the other diners are
> thinking: "He gets around very well for a guy who can't see." What they do
> not notice
> is that I am holding my wife's hand and she is guiding me through the maze
> of tables. I often get frustrated in restaurants because the tables are
> always
> closer together than is comfortable for me. Brittani also does her best to
> make sure that I do not knock over the tables as I pass. Despite all of
> this
> help I still bump into tables and chairs. In the past, I have even hit
> them so hard that I've knocked someone's drink over.
>
> Other problems remain. I fly off the handle. My emotions often come out
> quickly and unchecked. I often behave in ways that I do not understand.
> And most
> times, it seems, the people around me understand it even less.
> It is 2008 and I am back in school. I am walking to class at Georgetown
> University. I stop right next to a flight of steps leading to the Levy
> Center. This
> building is not my destination; it is just a spot where I stop to get my
> bearings on an old campus that can be difficult for someone with
> disabilities
> to navigate. Someone walks up and grabs my arm to turn me to face the
> staircase. Did this person ask me if I was lost? Or even utter a word
> before deciding
> to grab me? No, because I am a cripple and it's O.K. to manhandle me. My
> reaction is quick and angry. I jerk my arm out of his hands and spin on my
> heels
> with the bearing of a United States Marine.
> "Get your freaking hands off me. You think you can grab me? Try it again
> and I'll break you down shotgun style!"
> I am now in a horrible mood. I have to ground myself. What just happened?
> This individual saw a blind person standing in front of some stairs. He
> probably
> thought that I did not see the stairs and needed help. So he reached out
> and grabbed me to spin me around to find the staircase. As usual, he did
> not say
> anything. These would-be helpers never do. Maybe they do not know what to
> say. I do not know what they are thinking at that moment, but I can tell
> you
> what happens to me. I immediately flash back to Iraq.
> I am standing in a crowd of Iraqis. We are trying to push the gathering
> crowd back to clear an area. All of a sudden a large Iraqi man wraps his
> arms around
> me. I cannot move. I cannot bring up my rifle to defend myself. The only
> thing I can do is reach my Ka-Bar (a combat fighting knife). You can
> imagine what
> is to happen next.
> It is a war and you cannot just grab a Marine and think that you will walk
> away unharmed.
> This is where my head goes when I am touched unexpectedly. I know the man
> who grabbed me on the Georgetown campus was just trying to help. Why do I
> become
> so angry so quickly? Why do I threaten physical harm? I do not know. It
> happens so fast that I do not even think, I just react. That is what we
> are trained
> to do. It is the difference between a live Marine and a dead Marine.
>
> I've come to learn that responses like the one at Georgetown are common to
> people suffering from P.T.S.D. I've begun to understand my own experience
> a little
> better and am making progress. But there is still the innocent, ignorant
> student who grabbed my arm. How will that gap be addressed?
> Hopefully, President Obama's signing of the veterans spending bill last
> Thursday will help raise awareness of problems like these. But there is
> something
> we can do that no legislation can: educate.
> Throughout history, warriors have been taught not to speak of their
> emotional struggles. Earlier generations of American veterans mostly
> suffered in silence.
> That tradition can change.
> We can share our experiences - today more rapidly and widely than ever -
> so that this generation of soldiers can let others know about those
> struggles without
> embarrassment or shame. So that when the worlds of the soldier and the
> civilian meet, they'll come together, not collide.