fifteen dollars well spent…

Chris can’t sleep. We’re used to the nightly triage, the patrols, the blood on his hands, and the screaming. Though he’s been sleeping better, he’s no where near sleeping normally.  So, when he came across a small white noise machine I was excited he wanted to give it a try because his frustration about being able to sleep had turned to total apathy. He knew he would never sleep well ever again so there was no point in trying.

Apathy is a bad state to allow these soldiers to get into so I’ve been fighting a losing battle against it. Everything I try seems to work for a short time or in a small way, but last night Chris switched on the soft noises of the rain forest and slept. Deep heavy sleep. He slept.

The machine made by Conair is small, has a timer and a night light, and it costs only $15. When Chris woke in the middle of the night he reached over and turned back on and fell back to sleep. Instead of laying there focusing on the dream, he focused his attentions on the birds and sounds of rain.

Small steps forward. Soldier on.

 

fitness…

Once upon a time, I was a fitness instructor.  I loved it; it kept me in shape and full of energy, but best of all it heightened my mood.  Chris and I have talked about starting a fitness program for quite a while.  Unfortunately, his anxiety and stress keep us from being able to join a gym or walk too far from the house.

Today, my parents gave Chris and I an eliptical machine.  Both Chris and I used it for twenty minutes.  He was feeling restless and anxious and now he’s feeling better.  I’m hoping very much that the reports are correct and exercise will help with his PTSD symptoms.  I’m keeping track, like always, to see if there are solid results.  Cross your fingers.

 

new year, new plans…

I haven’t been here is such a long time it seems. Life with someone who suffers from PTSD is crazy at times, but we manage. And, on November 30th, we managed to get hitched. It was a civil ceremony in a little office at the county assessors office.

We’ve been basking in the glow as well as working on our house. Chris is a master at trim work and now I have the most amazing box windows and fireplace. Last week we added a cornice and a curtain over our sliding glass door. Fresh paint and the two front rooms of the house are almost complete.

Even so, sitting here with wet hair under grey skies, I’m pressed to keep my mood at an even level. We’ve had some ups. We’ve had some downs. But all in all we are two very lucky people. Lucky in ways most people won’t even encounter.

Though Chris had another episode of being unable to speak just yesterday, I’m heartened by the fact he’s sleeping through more and more nights. I never thought I’d feel such need to take care of someone before I met him. Without getting into the details of my former life, I was in essence an unnecessary component in the household. Now, I’m needed and it feels good. I feel purpose again.

With the new year coming in just a short time I’ve decided against “resolutions”. Resolutions have become a source of failure to me. I’m making plans. I’ll spare you all the details which I am keeping safe in a handwritten journal, but I encourage everyone to make plans of your own for the coming year. And throughout the year let them shift, let them change, because life is not straight forward. Life is not linear. It’s an wave to be swept away with, not an itinerary to be followed.

Run with the bulls, fly with the eagles, and live like this is all the time you’ve been granted because it is. Use it up and don’t dwell on perceived or past failures. Let them go, move on, live.

Happy New Year.

 

Sgt. David W. Budwah, may you rot…

I understand the allure of the “hero”. When we see a young or old service man or woman who bears or wears the hard earned trappings of combat, people stop and take notice. What I don’t understand is a brother to these heroes stepping into line with them when he knows he hasn’t earned the right.

Stolen valor, to be blunt, chaps my arse so I like to make sure people know the names of those who’ve committed this ugly crime.

Sgt. David W. Budwah has been added to a too long list of names in the hall of shame.

Budwah faces eight counts, including making false official statements, malingering, misconduct and larceny. They carry combined penalties of up to 31 1/2 years in prison and a dishonorable discharge.

Prosecutor Marine Capt. Thomas Liu declined to disclose terms of the plea agreement.

Neither Budwah nor his lawyer, Marine Capt. Kelly Repair, returned calls from The Associated Press.

Budwah is accused of bluffing his way into 33 events last year, including six rock concerts, two Washington Nationals baseball games, a Washington Redskins football game and a World Wrestling Entertainment “Monday Night Raw” show. Sponsored by various civilian groups, the events often included special recognition of injured service members in attendance.

Budwah also is alleged to have worn eight unearned medals and decorations on his uniform, including bronze-star campaign medals from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Other unauthorized decorations included a humanitarian service medal denoting work on the 2004 tsunami relief effort, the government has said.

And as usual, my favorite.

The government claims he faked post-traumatic stress disorder in July 2008 in hopes of leaving service early and was sent to the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, where he began bluffing his way into wounded-warrior events.

Mr. Budwah, may the pain of every soldier suffering from PTSD that didn’t get the help needed because you were enjoying the attentions of a doctor be passed on to you ten fold. May the horrors you claimed play on the movie screen in your mind so that even when you close your eyes the images haunt you. And may all your brothers turn their backs on you. You make me sick.

Marine sergeant to plead guilty in court-martial case

 

eureka…

That’s right. Eureka. I have discovered something helpful. Benny, our cat, likes to open the cabinets. He also likes to close them, hard. Well, with Chris’ PTSD this is a bad thing. A bang in the middle of the night results in him stiffening, sitting up, and almost hyperventilating.

Last night however, I was able to stop this without waking him up fully. And it was simple. I mean like why didn’t I think of this two years ago simple.

I leaned over and whispered “it was Benny, lay back down.” Usually I would say Chris, it’s okay. But calling his name wakes him up, which is also distressing to him. Telling him it was Benny soothed him and allowed him to lay back down without having to wake up.

It was still a bad night, but at least that’s a little triumph.

 

why would you do that…

Chris and I are moderators on an online forum. It’s often not fun to moderate for many reasons, but the forum itself is a wonderful place to connect with people who share an interest. Unfortunately, there is a need for us as sometimes people forget themselves and post up things that are just not acceptable. Mostly it’s overly sexual images, sometimes however it’s something different for different reasons. Tonight I saw something I’ve never seen before and hope to never see again.

We have a great deal of military members there, many who have served or are serving in a combat zone. Chris is one of them. Tonight an image was posted that he happened upon first. I’ll spare everyone the details, but this was an image of someone who’d died of massive injuries.

I’m still greatly angered that a former member of the military who knows our membership quite well would feel it was okay to place this image on our forum. The general public may not understand the impact these images have on combat vets, but these veterans’ brother and sister soldiers should know and exercise some compassion. They don’t need more pictures in their head, more material for nightmares.

So a hearty thank you goes out to this member for the pain caused this evening. Next time, you’re gone.

 

secret circus…

Outside the door, Madeline, an 8 month old border collie, whines. She’s just gone out, but regardless, she wants to come back in. Let me in, her whines now barks, she seems to say.

The reason she wants in? She’s sure we’ve unpacked the circus we hide from her on a regular basis.

Yes. Secret Circus. That’s what we do while the dog is outside. We have the tent, and the rings, and the cat even wears a little jester outfit – if you knew my cat, this would create the most amazing image of a flailing scratching biting storm of kitteny wrath in your mind – zebras, elephants, and a lion that eats children.

What? You don’t believe me?

Well the dog does and she’s sure I set the circus up two seconds after she exits the house because she begins the whine the moment she’s outside. It must be because of the circus.

Yup. The dog believes I have a circus and I have decided to encourage this belief. I’m getting a giraffe.

 

losing voice…

I didn’t know when I fell asleep how bad Chris’ panic attack was this past Friday night. In fact, I’m usually very diligent about staying up with him when his anxiety gets the best of him.

But, I fell asleep.

Around one in the morning, I woke to the bed shaking violently. It was Chris’. He was trembling so bad he couldn’t talk… or so I thought. His left hand, the injured one, curled up against his chest and Chris shook. I started my usual questions, but this time it was different.

He said nothing.

No, he didn’t have a blank stare, he was conscious, and he knew where he was. He couldn’t physically speak. His tongue pushed up against his teeth and his lips parted, but he made no noise. We tried very hard to communicate, but it was frustrating, and frightening, for both of us.

I’d not really considered how important our voice is. His voice, the aspect of him that had drawn me so close, his beautiful Irish accent, gone.

After about an hour, he began to find the ability to make noise. First it was a “wa wa wa” noise like he was searching for a word he couldn’t find. This frustrated him and out of now where he threw his head back in the pillow and said “fuck”.

Ok, with that, I knew his voice was there. We just had to find it. Another hour and he was able to state simple things, but every word was a struggle and we both were tired. So, I convinced him this was temporary and we needed to go to sleep. This of course was after about thirty minutes of me insisting he go to the hospital because I feared he’d had a stroke.

I was sure he’d be fine in the morning. He was moving his left hand and arm, speaking in very simple sentences with stuttering and hesitation, but he was communicating.

Sleep and it’ll be fine.

In the morning I crossed my fingers. Please please, let him be fine. Let’s hear that accent.

It took almost 24 hours for Chris to regain his voice. Saturday was a struggle, but all day his speech grew better. The stuttering and hesitation finally gone late that evening.

We’re afraid but for different reasons.

See, he’s afraid it will happen again and this time it’ll be permanent, I am too.

He’s afraid I’ll leave if it does… And I’m afraid I did him a great disservice by not forcing him to the hospital. A choice that he’ll have to pay for later.

I hate this war.

 

teach an old dog…

I have learned a hell of a lot over my years on this earth, but of course most of it was about becoming an adult and learning how the world around me works. There have been some new lessons however, lessons I think most people will learn at some point or another depending on the directions their lives take.

I learned fathers forgive. They may need time, and maybe even space, but they can forgive even the worst trespass, doubt. I learned not to doubt my father. It’ll never happen again.

I learned that people who have never experienced mental illness, either in themselves or a loved one, will never understand the implications having this sort of issue brings. And I’ve learned that’s okay, because I can write and I can talk and I can educate those who are willing to learn. I’ll forever be an advocate for those who cannot be one to themselves.

I learned I’m human. I will never be perfect though I labored under the desperate need to be. I will make mistakes, I will be weak at times, I will cause pain, and I will fail. This however is not a black mark on my permanent record, it’s not a reason to start over. It is not the ruin of everything I have built. I learned mistakes make me human. I’ll remember to learn from them instead of letting them tear my sandcastle down.

I learned to say I’m sorry for the mistakes made against others. This, I have found, is the truest test of strength. No two words have been harder or more important to say than “I’m sorry.” I’ll not hesitate in the future to offer those words when I am wrong.

And I learned, old dog that I am, to be happy and let others do the same. I’ll disagree with people, I’ll be disappointed in rejections, and I’ll have days that are bad. But, I will find enough happiness to bear the bad times because they are far fewer than we tend to believe. Happiness is the true measure of a life lived.

 

what is wrong with you…

I posted this over on NotAlone.com in the forum, but thought it warranted a place here.

I haven’t been around all that much lately. July was a PTSD free month. No, Chris still has it, but this month I chose not to bring up the subject, or think about it more than I had to. We had no appointments at the VA, we had nothing but a free month with my youngest son, and I stepped back from his PTSD and only delt with it when I was forced to.

Yeah, we still talked about Iraq. But I did no research. Instead, we started removing the old hideous water feature from the backyard. We planned a garden for next year, we planted a truck load of plants my father sent over, and we started a cactus collection.

There were still those nights, nights of triage, nights of thrashing and battle scenes. But in the morning, I didn’t mention them and we went about our business. I’ve even began bringing my clay studio over to the house and Chris found a new love in clay. He’s been creating little tiki heads for the door locks on the car he’s restoring.

I learned something this month. I can forget about his PTSD, put it aside for a time. Instead of just doing it once in a while, I’m going to set about doing it more often. Chris seemed to flourish without my constant focus being what was wrong with him.

So, I’m going to focus on what’s right with him and with me.