ptsd

Probably one of the most heartbreaking maladies I’ve ever experienced is post traumatic stress disorder. People who say, “Just get over it!” whatever "it" is, simply have no clue. The majority making that statement wouldn’t know PTSD if it bit them in the butt, and therefore can’t even being to understand the insidiousness, the malevolence of this “disorder.” It totally takes over your life, to the exclusion of relationships, jobs, taking a shower or even trying to brush your teeth.

If you remember, last year I fell and cut myself pretty badly, resulting in a tourniquet and a ride with some of DeSoto’s Finest to the nearest ER. Three months later, I was still having panic attacks when I drove into the same parking lot. I learned never to go there at night, because since the event took place at night of course that’s when the memories were the worst. I also learned that if I got there in the daytime and found myself getting short of breath, it was better just to back away from the building and go home, or someplace else not associated with the trauma. I even sought counseling. My very good friend gave me some free (but still professional) advise. She said this is one case where “no pain no gain” is a lot of hooey. If it hurts to do that, STOP DOING that. And so after six months I realized, sadly, that I would likely never be able to drive into that parking lot without reliving the terror. Trust me, staring death in the face is traumatic, no matter how it comes.

It all came rushing back to me again this week, when I dropped off the box of goodies at the Fire Station. It's been a year, but the mere proximity with people I associate with the accident was almost more than I could get through.

And to think that our combat soldiers go through it day after day, night after night, and not just for a couple of hours, as was my case, but for six months at a time. Frankly, I don’t know how any of them get on the plane at the end of their R&R. To know that you’re going BACK to hell, but do it anyhow, just doesn’t compute. At least not for me.

And when they come home, they can look forward, maybe if they’re lucky, to nine whole months of "normal life" before they have to put on their game face and saddle up either for the same hellhole or a different one. But hell is hell no matter the name on a map. And trauma is trauma, no matter how it happens.

God sits on the shoulders of the therapists, and I have the absolute utmost respect for them, in particular the marvelous group at Brook Army, but I’m not sure the majority of them can do more than sympathize with the plight of our combat military. In my heart I give them a standing ovation for trying.

But empathy comes only when you’ve been there done that threw away the tee shirt. And, frankly, I wouldn't wish the experience on my worst enemy.

buyer beware

Saw recently the suggestion on the best way to make sure the Christmas gift you buy your child is something they really want: have the child write down their wish on a list and post that list on the refrigerator door.

We tried that very thing when we were stationed with USMC in Millington, Tennessee. There were three lists on the refrigerator that year, one for each child. And we carefully explained before we posted the lists that the reason we were doing it was to give Santa something to choose from, that they would not get everything on the list, but it would make it easier for Santa to know what to bring.

Come Christmas morning there were four presents for each child, and yes, all of the items had been on the individual lists. But the youngest looked at her presents and burst into tears, and then got so angry it was incredible, throwing one of the biggest tantrums I’ve ever seen from a child of any age.

Turns out the entire month of December each time she saw something advertised on tv, no matter what it was, she had added it to her list. And for some reason she simply didn’t hear that part about not getting everything on the list.

So parents, be aware, this could turn out to be a real lose/lose situation.

getting nowhere fast

So there I was, standing in the aisle at wally world, about to select a jar of sugar free blueberry preserves, when a roly poly gentleman pushed my cart away and shoved his five-by-five self next to the display, muttering under his breath, “gotta find honey.”

I stood there in shock, while he took all of five minutes to pick up each and every kind of honey on three shelves and read the contents and then put it back and pick up yet another brand to consider. Totally oblivious to anything and anybody around him. He finally made his decision and shoved back and made a right turn and almost fell over my cart. He looked in my general direction and said, “oh, sorry, didn’t realize I was in your way.”

In my way? Are you kidding me? I looked him straight in his dumpling face and responded, “You are absolutely one of the rudest people on earth.”

It didn’t faze him one iota, matter of fact, I don’t think he even heard me, and then he and his jelly belly self was gone.

Picked up the item I needed and since it was the last on my list headed to the front of the store. Because I had more than 20 items in the basket, I got in one of the high-density lines. Noticed oompa loompa one aisle over, in the “fast lane.” I wrote my check, thanked my cashier for working, and as I headed for the parking lot saw Mister I’m So Important standing there, visibly fuming, behind a customer having trouble with a debit card.

Sometimes retribution comes quickly. And without me having to do a thing. YEA!!