secondary PTSD

POST TRAUMATIC STRESS AWARENESS

/ Katie Wigington / 1 Comment
JUNE IS NATIONAL PTSD AWARENESS MONTH
Every year I focus on Combat PTSD because that is what I have studied the most.  I usually write something about it. I usually explain what it is. Everyone should know these two things by now. If you don’t know—look it up. Google it, google it with my name you’ll find several articles and one radio piece.
So this year I am including a different angle of PTSD. This year I’m writing about how these soldiers, sailors, Marines & airmen who were once hailed as heroes by the general public, are often treated with disdain when they suffer from PTSD. I say suffer… I mean suffer. They suffer, their families suffer, their friends suffer, but most of the people who reaped the benefits of their service and sacrifice, they don’t suffer at all. Some of them don’t even have the decency to vote. The whole freedom thing– shat upon.
TO FULLY UNDERSTAND…
PTSD you have to live it. Not necessarily have it—but live it. If you have a loved one who has PTSD (also called PTS) then you know about the anxiety attacks, the anger issues, the nightmares, the confusion, the depression, the total lack of giving a shit, and the inability for some to function without caretakers. The drinking and drugs are mostly by-products, but surely part of the problem. And, sadly- the saddest of all, is that sometimes they give up and commit suicide. 22 Veterans commit suicide a day. 22 A DAY.
Trips to the VA are too confusing for some. Go to this office for this paper and that office for that paper and go see this guy in that building or this lady in this building and then when you’re through come back to this building but don’t see me see Dr. So & So … and so on and so forth. If you are not suicidal before going there – you may well be afterward. People, us civilians, do not know that.
People ask why did you join the service in the first place?  There are as many answers for that as there are people in the service. After 9-11, a lot of them joined.  Even though most of them grew up with Vietnam War Vets in their family, and Korean Conflict vets too, they heard stories, they knew Uncle Joe was never the same after Vietnam. They knew the story of Aunt Peggy who was a nurse in Vietnam then came home and drank herself to death.  But, they joined.  Some of them joined for noble reasons, some were running away from what they were in, some were thinking of their future, some wanted the free education, most of them—did not think they would die. Most of them did not think they would lose arms and legs and eyes, and hearing and skin, and I bet none of them thought they would lose their minds.
I have studied PTSD now for about 9 years. Before it walked through my door, it walked through the doors of people I knew. When I heard them talk about their loved ones, sometimes it was with anger or confusion and sometimes it was with an abundance of empathy and love. Sometimes – all of the above. That made me realize that I needed to fully understand the complexities before I wrote about it or met it head-on.
PTS has become pervasive among our troops. We managed to turn a blind eye to the Vietnam veterans that came home with it. We called them drug addicts (and baby killers)  and threw them away. But things are different now. Some people know better, and those people spend every waking hour doing something about it by educating everyone they meet—PTS is not a made up condition. It’s not a weakness. It’s a wound. It’s a scar. It’s a war within.
STOP BLAMING THE WARRIORS…
They were mostly 18 years old when they joined. They had no idea what death and destruction would do to them. (And most of their parents had no idea either.)  Even those that thought they might know— thought they were smarter than everyone else—they didn’t know either. So instead of blaming the warriors or even the wars that have already taken place, start finding ways to make peace in the world. Start finding common dominators instead of differences. Stop using religion to hate. Stop voting for war. And sure—the bad guys are the bad guys, and they have to be dealt with—but don’t sign up our troops until all other avenues are exhausted. Don’t be a knee jerk. Don’t hate just because. Try to figure out why.
Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), and PTS are the signature wounds of the Middle East wars. Studies show that 14-20 % of Veterans from Iraq (OIF) and Afghanistan (OEF) have PTSD.  50% of those with PTSD do not seek treatment. Out of the half that seeks treatment, only half of them get “minimally adequate” treatment (RAND study) 19% of veterans may have a traumatic brain injury (TBI) Over 260,000 veterans from OIF and OEF so far have been diagnosed with TBI. Traumatic brain injury is much more common in the general population than  previously thought: according to the CDC, over 1,700,000 Americans have a traumatic brain injury each year; in Canada 20% of teens had TBI resulting in hospital admission or that involved over 5 minutes of unconsciousness (VA surgeon reporting in BBC News) 7% of veterans have both post-traumatic stress disorder and traumatic brain injury. The rates of post-traumatic stress are greater for these wars than prior conflicts.
HOW CAN WE HELP?
I’m glad you asked. First- have compassion. Don’t assume someone is a bum or a drug addict or a loser because their life isn’t going the way you think it should. Families and loved ones need to educate themselves as much as possible. And if needed, get your own counseling to help you navigate the difficult days.
Clearly, it’s best to let the professionals deal with such a delicate issue. But it’s good to understand some of the triggers and help the Vet avoid them if you have the opportunity.  Check the link for more information.
You can donate to organizations that help veterans with PTS and /or TBI. (see below)
You can volunteer to help navigate the VA process (there is training available)
Just Listen – don’t ask any questions if you are not a combat veteran. Empathy does not extend to knowledge.
A safe way to check in without being intrusive is to ask on a scale of 1-10 how are you doing?  You’ll be surprised how many of them will tell you the truth.
If you know a vet that you suspect has PTSD, carry the VA Hotline number and offer it to him/her.

 

FOR MORE INFORMATION
National Center For PTSD
Donate to:  (vetted)
Hearts Toward Home International
The Pathway Home
Wounded Warriors

Crazy Days- Parental Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

/ Katie Wigington / 1 Comment

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My phone went off at 11:12 last night- just as I was drifting into REM sleep. I looked at the screen and Nick’s name and number staring back at me. In the one-second that it took me to pick up the phone and hit the answer button, my heart raced and every terrible thought that could squeeze into that time frame, did so.
I hit answer, heard a strange echo noise, and instantly I was thrown back in time to satellite phone calls and sometimes mortars in the background, a 2-5 second delay. Nick? Nick? Nick? No answer…fear racing though my veins like ice water. Time stopping.
Wait. He’s not in Iraq anymore. He’s been home for 5 years.
This is my self-diagnosed Secondary or “Parental” Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Five years later, I still have heart palpitations when I get a late night call. Anxiety attacks when I haven’t heard from him for more that a week. Even though I know he was getting off work around 11PM and even though I know, he is not in Iraq… I sort of live with this constant underlying fear.
I stayed on the phone repeating his name longer than I should have. Listening, making sure he wasn’t being mugged. It was a butt dial. He didn’t mean to call me. I text’d him just to make sure. “I think you butt dialed me.”  “I did, sorry.” “No prob. xox nite.”
“Goodnight mom, Xo”.
It took me 2 hours to go back to sleep.
I know all parents have this to some extent. We all fear that middle of the night call. It can never be good news. An accident, jail, sick… it’s never a call at 3 AM to just say I love you. 
If I were the only Marine parent that had this disorder, I would probably keep it to myself. The truth is though– I started seeing this pattern amongst us during their deployments five years ago. Our inability to turn the car that last corner to our block, for fear the US Marines were parked out in front, delivering the news. Bad news.  Months of sleeplessness, night after night lying awake, waiting for a call, an email or instant message. Killing ourselves with good karma, buying brownie points with God, bartering our souls. I swear to you God, I will never ask another thing of you. Never.
Mood swings, depression, anger, confusion, memory loss, are all part of the deal. And when it didn’t go away after one year, or two years, I knew we had ourselves an issue. It’s a bona fide disorder, which almost no one knows about.
Five years later– the symptoms remain the same. Everything is magnified. I remember that first few weeks when Nick got back from Iraq and I wrote “Please Tie Your Shoes” an essay about how even though he was home I was still going to worry. Little did I know. So little.  
I’m sure I drive my son crazy. I study him as if he’s the statue of David by Michelangelo. Like he is this amazing work of art and I am looking for flaws, the pieces chipped away by time or vandalism. Like a mother gorilla, sometimes, I want to groom him. Make sure he’s clean and presentable. And maybe smack him a little in the process – for good measure.   I always ask “How are you doing?”  He knows what I mean. Sometimes I get a straight answer. Sometimes he just walks away from me. I abhor smother mothers and yet, I have become one.
I took anti anxiety pills for a short time, but I don’t like to take drugs so I toughed it out as much as I could. Still, I have days when my heart races and I feel sick to my stomach. I have to reel myself in and understand what is going on so I can function. Many of my Marine parent friends have these same symptoms.
I remember when Nick was actually in Iraq, I went to the doctor for some stress related thing. She asked me what was going on and I burst into tears and told her. She put down her chart, stood up and gave me a hug. A good hug, the kind a mom gives her kid when they really, really need a hug. Then she wrote a prescription for sleeping pills and Xanax. If only hugs worked.
I wish a hug could fix PTSD and P-PTSD. I wish I could hug my kid every day before he walks out his door- but he’s all grown up- and while he still gets a good hug from me when I see him, an everyday hug from mom is no longer an option. I wonder if he has noticed, when I do get a hug from him, I hang on a second longer than I ever did before.
Intellectually, I know that PTSD is the direct result of a traumatic experience. And we parents, while traumatized by months on end of worry and fear, do not witness our buddies being blown up, or have sniper bullets whizzing past our heads, or mortars going off 30 feet from where we are sleeping. For us it’s a direct result of knowing that your child is in harms way for months on end and you can’t help. You can’t do anything about it.  All the praying in the world barely makes a dent in the fear. Pride is not enough to sustain bravery. We run on fear.
I feel bound to understand this because I want to help bring recognition to it whatever “it” is – and because I would like to help other people who think they have lost their mind-all due to fear.
I need to tell myself the next time the phone rings after 11PM- while I am still in partial slumber, It’s probably a butt dial. Take a deep breath. Because even if it’s bad news, I’ll need to take action. Being paralyzed with fear won’t help a soul.