Ice in the Sand

A story by Jim Dymo

“Count to ten, just count to ten,” I told myself, waiting for the bombs to hit.  I had been trained for this moment.  Are my thumbs stuck in my ears? Check.  Is my mouth open? Check.  My eyes are covered, along with my face, by my hands.  “Ouch,” I remember thinking, with my hands pressing against the milkcrate floor.  I call it the milkcrate floor because the floor felt like somebody laid thousands of milkcrates, upside-down, to walk on as a floor.  Except, the openings were about 2 inches: just far enough apart to hurt when lying down on them.  Or, was it the blaring alarm in my eyes that was causing the pain?  Either way, ten seconds seems like an eternity when visualizing the worst possible scenarios over and over, in my head.  However, this time it was not training.  It was real - and my ten seconds were up.  This time I was still dressed in my battle uniform, or the one Soldiers wear on the News when they are training in the “woods.”  I grabbed my weapon – a standard issue M16 – and headed out the tent door.  Yes, I said “tent.”  Bombs are falling, and this guy is in a tent.  Once I crossed the makeshift “hallway,” I reached the tent where our leaders resided.  All that could be seen was an empty room with a flapping tent wall that was half-open.  Then came the “boom.”

The explosion did not injure me, physically.  Neither did the other few dozen I experienced while deployed to Iraq.  They did have a consecutive impact, however, on my mental health.  This impact, oddly, would not be a major problem for years to come.  The experience of somebody trying to take my life has had a significant impact on how I view the world.  My thoughts create a very dark response to situations, if I allow them to do so.  I had to learn to capture my thoughts and mold them into the reality of living at home, or back in the United States.  This means I had to learn to no longer be “on guard” or alert at all times.  Interestingly, this was just one of many areas of my life impacted.

 “Does it ever go away?” I asked the old Sailor.  He had been a part of the Korean Conflict in the early 1950’s.  He looked at me with his serious, stern eyes and replied, “Never.”  PTSD was the subject, or the label put on our condition by medical experts.  The problem with the condition is that there is no remedy; or at least not one the old Sailor had found in his last 50 years.  How does one convey what this feeling is to someone who has never experienced it?  Well, imagine the feeling of fear – a constant anxiety of winning the “lottery” while deployed - mixed with the strength from adrenaline.  Now imagine that once you have the feeling, it never leaves you.  This is a taste of what Combat PTSD feels like - the feeling the old Sailor and young Soldier had in common.  To say PTSD is life-changing would be an understatement, as it not only affects the afflicted, but it affects any, and all, of his or her relationships.

Another area impacted would be the relationships that will forever be imprinted with past memories.  There are times when a Soldier finds it hard to be a father and a husband.  Just picture being ripped from the battlefield and thrown back into the responsibilities of everyday life.  That would require some adjusting!  But through hard times comes the chance to change and grow.  Although there are times I would love to take back (especially when it comes to my family), we are enhanced by our experiences.  We are changed by our failures, not out successes. 

Speaking of mistakes, I recently spoke to a police officer. “He wouldn’t stop staring at me, and it made me lose my cool,” I told the Police Officer.  There I was, dealing with another flashback: all because another man was staring.  This was just one incident of many over the last few years that influenced my life negatively.  How could a man let himself stoop down to the level of physical violence, especially a man that is supposed to emulate self-control and civility?  “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder changes your brain,” the Doctor said to me at the next week’s visit.  This change – abrupt as it is – can turn a teddy bear into a Grisly bear without a moment’s notice.

I had just returned from spending thirteen months in South Korea.  My son, the youngest of my four children, looked me in the eyes and informed me that, “I don’t have to listen to you.  I only have to listen to my Mommy or Mawmaw.”  Infuriated that I had been challenged – by a four year old – I responded swiftly and decisively with, “Oh you think so?”  Well, he did think so, and it has taken seven years to repair the damage of being away from my family for two years!

“It does get better, studies have shown that over 20 or 30 years – with the addition of therapy combined with medication – symptoms have been shown to decrease, if not completely disappear,” said the Psychologist.  To say life with PTSD was all negative would be demeaning.  Although there are lows, there are highs as well, and I would change nothing.  Well, maybe a few less conversations with Police Officers.  As frightening as some moments were, they will forever be emblazoned into my memories.  However, despite the toll PTSD puts on my life, I will respond to the mental, physical, and relationship problems with zeal and focus, ready for the next challenge.  After all, it is pointless to remain as cold as ice because of memories from the hot desert.