A week of contemplating combat stress...

I saw this in the Washington Post the other day. It reminded me of my recent time at Fort McCoy, where the sound of small arms and artillery from the dozens of firing ranges is almost constant and added to that are the sounds of various pyrotechnic devices (mortar and rocket simulators). I don't know what a battlefield sounds like, but probably something like that. That stuff is LOUD. I imagine that someone returning from Iraq or Afghanistan has problems relaxing and sleeping when they are demobilizing with that in the background, not to mention what it would be like for a Soldier with PTSD.


At the COSC course this week I have seen a wide variety of presenters from all three service branches. I've learned some useful things and I've learned that I already know a lot, which is comforting. At the very least, after having gone through this course, I won't go to Afghanistan wondering if there are things I don't know that the Army expects me to know. One of the take home messages is: wait until you get there because it is different everywhere. This is comforting on the one hand but disturbing on the other. It essentially underlines a major difficulty that the DoD has right now in dealing with behavioral health problems; that they are overstretched and don't have a coherent and integrated policy. Sound familiar?



There's been a ton of information presented this week on combat stress, PTSD, sexual assault in Iraq and Afghanistan, marital problems, drug and alcohol problems, suicide and homicide, but the overall message has been a metaphoric pat on the back for us, the wink, wink, good luck, goodbye, hang on for the ride, we are making this up as we go...

I know what I am expected to do, which is more than most people can say, I just don't know what the conditions will be. I have gathered that we go outside the wire a lot, visiting the Soldiers who are most at risk at their FOBs and COBs and radio relay stations. The scientist in me crunches the numbers, and is reassured. The chances of me getting blown up are pretty darn slim. Just to put this to bed, I hold on to thoughts of something like the Butterfly Effect, and imagine that my efforts in that theater and my words and deeds back at home will have triggered something meaningful, regardless of the trajectory of my life. That seems maudlin and dramatic, but that's okay. I suppose I'm forgiven for thinking a few dramatic thoughts about my own mortality in the context of shipping myself off to some foreign war, even though I'm more likely to die in an MVA on my way to the grocery store. What gets me is that somehow if you die on the way to the grocery store it is just dumb-tragic-luck, but if you volunteer to fight in a foreign land you have to take responsibility for the potential consequences of that extraordinary choice.