He was medevac’d to Memorial University Medical Center in Savannah, Georgia under heavy sedation. For Lindsey it was the worst possible nightmare. “I didn’t find out about what had happened from the chain of command. I found out from a neighbor. You can’t imagine what it was like driving to the hospital. I was so scared.” It wasn’t long before doctors determined that John would be paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of his life. “It was pretty tough getting that piece of news. At first my mind was a blank.”
There was one positive event out of what was a catastrophe of monumental proportions for the Weinburghs, and John is quick to describe it. “The Army flew my brothers back to see me, and for a couple days their visits overlapped. We took a lot of photographs of the three of us together because we so seldom are. I just wish it had been under different circumstances.”
In April, John was transferred to the Veterans Spinal Cord Hospital in Augusta, where he would remain until mid-September. “I was supposed to be discharged in May, but then I began to get some feeling in my toes; I was able to move my hands and arms a little and I was able to kick my legs enough that they decided to keep me there. They wanted to find out what would happen next.” The wait extended from weeks to months, but he had reached a plateau. During fire drills, when the fireproof door to his hospital room was shut tight, his fear of closed doors would kick in. “I panicked but I couldn’t get up and get out. Part of me knew I was being irrational; another part was in fear or fight mode.”
Meanwhile Lindsey had moved the family back to Nebraska, and with the help of America’s First, a former military housing service that had been privatized, retrofitted a house for John’s arrival. It was during this time that the Armed Forces Foundation paid for daycare for the children. Ramps replaced stairs. Doorways were widened and the knobs replaced with handles. The bathroom sink and shower were remodeled, and a lift was installed so John could get in and out of bed. By the time John arrived it was done. At first Lindsey stayed at home to care for him, but the toll it took on their relationship was obvious to both of them almost immediately. “When you’re taking care of a member of your family, the intimacy can make it difficult,” Lindsey explains. “I didn’t want a thank you every time I brought him something, but I began to feel resentful.”
“She never got out of the house. With three kids plus me to take care of, she was going crazy. I wasn’t that easy either, not just because of my paralysis. It was hard to make peace with what had happened to me. On the other hand, what am I going to do? We have three little kids.” They decided to take the Army up on the offer of nursing care. Nurses come three times a day, 7—9 a.m., 12—2 p.m. and 3—5 p.m. From 9 until 12 on Monday, Wednesday and Friday a van picks John up and takes him to physical therapy, and on Thursday mornings friends take him to his church to play cards.
On June 1, 2008, John was discharged from the Army. “Now that we’re done we want to help other families who are going through the same thing,” John says. “We’ve learned a lot about what you need in a house when you have someone in my condition and kids. Why not share that knowledge with other vets and their families?”
In August 2008 John and Lindsey moved into their new home.
MEDALS
5 Army Commendation Medals, 4 Army Achievement Medals, 3 Good Conduct Medals, Global War on Terror Sevice Award, Global War on Terror Expeditionary Award, National Defense Medal, Liberation of Iraq Ribbon, Overseas Ribbon, Non-Commissioned Officer Professional Developement with #2 Award.
“Every member of every community should be prepared to offer a hand, if asked, to a returning service member or his or her family. We all need to share the responsibility of understanding the roadblocks to reintegration faced by service members and their families. It’s the least we can do considering the sacrifice they’ve made.”
—From After The War Zone, A Practical Guide for Returning Troops and their Families, by Laurie B. Slone, PhD, and Matthew J. Friedman, MD, PhD
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PREPARING OURSELVES TO HELP WITH THE JOURNEY HOME
By Barbara Tine
When the Iraq war started and I realized that there wasn’t anything more I could do to stop it, I needed to channel my emotions and energies somewhere. What made sense to me was that if I couldn’t do anything to stop our soldiers from being sent over, perhaps I could do something for them when they returned. At that time, I didn’t even know anyone who was in the military; I’m not a health care professional, and I didn’t know what I could do. I just knew I needed to do something.
Even though my father was in the Air Force and I was born on base, he served during peacetime and we never thought of ourselves as a military family. So when the war started, I really didn’t know much about our military or the culture. And I didn’t know what to say to someone in uniform other than the standard “thank you.” That really troubled me. I was afraid to say the wrong thing, but I felt worse about not saying anything. I’m sure I’m not alone in this. Since historically, less than one percent of our population serves in the military, many of us don’t need to pay attention, so there is a general lack of understanding of our people in uniform. We saw this in the citizen outrage over the lack of equipment for our troops, our shock at the conditions at Walter Reed, and the ongoing concern about medical care. Many of us just assumed that our soldiers were being taken care of.
This war is affecting all of us in ways we don’t even understand, yet it will continue to have an impact on us for a long time. In an effort to lessen the negative impacts, civilians need to figure out what they can do to help make the veterans’ transition home as smooth as possible. Most of us have members of the Reserves or National Guard living in our neighborhoods and we don’t even realize it. The challenge for these families during times of deployment is that they don’t have a military base where they can get support. And many feel that while they’re dealing with all that comes with having a loved one deployed, those around them don’t seem to realize there’s a war going on.
I started to educate myself on the issues by searching online for stories or posts for and about soldiers/veterans. I did a lot of reading about PTSD and the other issues our returning troops face. And I followed the stories of local soldiers. One story in particular moved me to action. It’s the heartbreaking story of Jeffrey Lucey, a 23-year-old Marine who committed suicide in 2004 after returning home from Iraq. Hearing his parents and sister tell his story at a local event was powerful, and getting to know them personalized the issues of the “return home” for me.
I went to “Welcome Home” celebrations for returning troops and other events where there were soldiers or veterans. Most importantly, I got involved with the Veterans Education Project (VEP), a local group that has been working with veterans for over 26 years to help them tell their stories in classrooms and in the community. Through my involvement with VEP, I came to appreciate the power of storytelling, both for the listener and the veteran. Many veterans say that telling their story is part of their healing process, and it gives the listener a firsthand, intimate understanding of war.
In many of the articles and books that I read I came to understand the need for shared responsibility for war and its importance in the healing process of many of our veterans. Our government makes the decision to send our soldiers to war, and as citizens of this country we must accept the responsibility, sharing the burden and the consequences for our military’s effort, in more active ways than just paying our taxes. This can be very difficult, especially for those of us who work hard to stop war. However, I think that we learned from Vietnam the importance of separating the war from the warrior.
Everyone’s military experience is different, and every soldier doesn’t have PTSD, but war is a life-changing experience and everyone has a story. And the very least we can do is listen to these stories. If we start educating ourselves and creating places that are welcoming and supportive of our veterans and their families, we will be ready for them when they are ready to tell us the
ir stories. For many, it will be years before they get to that point. They need to get home and readjust to family life and get back to their jobs before they can start processing their experiences. There is also a reluctance by many to seek help, especially early on.
Since the “return home” takes time, one of the biggest challenges right now is the difficulty in reaching the younger veterans. We’ve learned that it is important to support the family so that it can in turn support the soldier. And this outreach should be to all veterans. There are many veterans from past conflicts who are still on the “journey home” and in need of support and a chance to tell their story. There are also many veterans who have worked through their experiences and are a wonderful resource to other veterans as well as living history for the rest of us.
One way we’ve started the education process in western Massachusetts is through local faith communities. Two wonderful examples of what can be done are the efforts of Wesley United Methodist Church and Congregation B’Nai Israel. Each have members who felt called to do something for our troops but struggled with what to do and how to get started.
Wesley Church began by first reaching out to the veterans within their own congregation. It came as a surprise to some just how many of their members had served in the military. While they’d known each other for years, they didn’t know about their military service. Many of the veterans were eager to help educate the congregation and to develop a project of outreach to the community.
The church hosted two workshops: one was targeted to interested laypeople and the other to clergy. The workshops included mental health professionals, a military chaplain and, most importantly, veterans and military families. The workshops were well received and started an important conversation and collaboration with others interested in doing this work within their own faith community. During Lent, the church held a series of discussions called “The Wounds of War.” Veterans were invited to share their stories of preparing for war, combat and the return home. One Vietnam vet told those gathered that this was the first time (outside of therapy) that anyone asked him to share his story. The church also does ongoing outreach to the local VA hospital and military families, and has become a resource to other interested groups and individuals.
B’Nai Israel’s response was to work with the town’s Veterans Service Officer (VSO) to offer the professional services of members of their congregation for things like landscaping, carpentry, plumbing, electrical work and job hunting. The VSO is vital because he knows the folks who are in need of assistance. The congregation members also coordinated with the active duty soldiers and veterans group at the local university to collect items to send to area soldiers currently serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. And to help educate the congregation, they invited a veteran and a military family member to share experiences with them during a service.
No matter what kind of “community” you belong to or what your profession, you can do something. It might be to call your Senator or Congressman to advocate on issues that impact our veterans. Or you can support the efforts of a local veterans group. You might start by finding out what efforts and resources already exist in your community. Talk to your local veterans’ agent to find out what the needs are. Talk to veterans you know. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if every school, faith community, police station and town hall in this country had a list of the resources available in their area to offer our veterans and their family members?
And remember that while we might not be able to “fix” things for a veteran, we can be there to walk with and support him/her on the “journey home.” While that might seem too simple, just showing that we care is often the most important thing we can do.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Near the end of this project, the task of gathering together a few more photographs, a missing publicity release, or someone’s medals and commendations—housekeeping, really—became an opportunity to circle back and speak with the service members profiled here to get an update on how they were doing. Sylvia Blackwood-Boutelle was redeploying to Iraq for a fourth time; Chris Harmon had been laid off from Norfolk Southern Railroad and was looking for work; Tyler Boudreau was pulling together a coast-to-coast bike trip for vets; the Weinburghs spent Christmas in their new home; Heather and Josh were planning a wedding; Rob Kislow was about to graduate from Northampton Community College while Nathan Toews was starting second semester of his freshman year at Dickinson College.
With the economy in a tailspin, some—Chris Harmon, Duval Diaz, Jon Campaz and William Berger among them—were facing yet another bout of unpaid bills, reordering of priorities and cutting back. For others, like “Bear,” John Weinburgh and Richard Gutteridge, it wasn’t the prospect of severe financial insecurity that haunted them; it was their own struggles with depression. Yet everyone was hopeful and certainly everyone was stronger—if generosity of the heart is any indication. Every conversation ended with the same questions: What else can I do? How else can I help?
This is no adequate way to thank the courageous and compassionate men and women who inspired Hidden Battles. Only through your unrelenting commitment to tell your story was this project possible. You allowed us into your lives and shared your innermost selves with clarity and candor while you coped with daunting emotional, physical and financial challenges. And through these stories you continue to wage battle on our behalf.
I am also deeply grateful to this book’s contributors—experts in the field of mental health from psychologists, psychiatrists, scientists and surgeons, to social workers and volunteers. You crafted thoughtful and important work on the subject of how we help our veterans cope with TBI and PTSD far beyond anything I could have imagined when I asked for your participation. Moreover you honored my requests for rewrites and met the project’s deadlines with equanimity and grace.
I am particularly indebted to my friend and colleague of many years, Patricia Driscoll, President of The Armed Forces Foundation, who believed in this book from its inception and made it possible with her generous support, enthusiasm and bold vision. It is because of Patricia and her leadership of the Foundation that thousands of military service members and their families have made it through their worst of times. To AFF staffers past and present, Matthew Berry, Ross Blankenship, Karna Sandler, Jim Dempsey, Wendy O’Neil, Bryan Lane, Lew Deal, “Judge Julie” Mogenis, “Uncle Joe” and Monika Finch and Tanya Finch, the Wasserman family, Alexandra Selekman, Kathleen Schumacher, Doug Stone, Anthony Guglielmi, Wyatt Smith and Meagan Vargas, I am so grateful for your support. A special recognition goes to Rebecca Woolson of the AFF who compiled and annotated the comprehensive and remarkably accessible resource section of this book.
Many contributors and others also acted as editors and advisers, making invaluable suggestions and introductions to both peers and veterans. Jim Mitchell, Alice Psirakis, Ivy Scricco, Barbara Tiner, Dennis Stone and Debra Ruh of TecAcess, Theresa Rankin, National Community Educator of Brainline/WETA, PBS, Jon Dodson of the WRAMC Wounded Warrior Mentor Program, Combat Stress Officer Lt. Colonel Cynthia Rasmussen and Dr. Barbara Romberg, President and Founder of Give an Hour, thank you.
Bill Yamanaka championed this project to Army Brigadier General Loree K. Sutton and her excellent staff at the Defense Centers for Excellence in Psychological Health and Traumatic Brain Injury, and thanks to Bill, Colonel Chris Williams, David Egner, Crystal Colman, Captain Edward Simmer, Commander Anthony A. Arita and Mike Long. To General Sutton, I am humbled by your compassion and depth of understanding of this issue. Thank you for writing a stunning foreword.
I am also grateful to Bill Outlaw of the Department of Veterans Affairs, who gathered together the “best and the brightest” physicians and researchers as contributors, and navigated the book through a maze of clearances and approvals, all the while patiently and politely responding to my “nudging” emails and phone calls “to see how we are coming along.” A special thanks also to authors Dr. Mathew J. Friedman and Dr. Laurie B. Slone, who generously offered conte
nt from their excellent guidebook, After the War Zone: A Practical, Guide for Returning Troops and Their Families.
From the get-go everyone agreed that the proceeds of Hidden Battles should go to wounded veterans with TBI and PTSD, but that would not have been possible without an extremely generous and caring publisher. Huge thanks to Casemate Publishing CEO David Farnsworth who took this project without a moment’s hesitation, and to Jed Lyons, President of the National Book Network and his wife Blythe who were the conduits to Casemate. To editor Steven Smith, my heartfelt thanks for your wisdom, enthusiasm, patience, sense of humor and knowledge of writing and publishing, and for sharing the joys of launching not only books but also daughters. Thanks, also to Casemate marketing guru Tara Lichterman, and the public relations firm of Conway Associates where Paula Conway and Denise Mciver worked wonders to bring attention to this book.
I am as always indebted to my loving husband, Richard, and the lights of my life, my daughters Julia and Emily. I am also infinitely grateful to my father, USAF Colonel (Ret.) Ray Brim, who served his country with honor and valor during WWII as pilot of a B-17 Flying Fortress on 24 missions over Germany. You are and always will be my first patriot. And to my mother, Patricia, who was stricken with polio at age three and yet overcame her disabilities to live eighty-five extraordinarily courageous years, the last twelve of them as an amputee, you taught me resilience. Thank you.
ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS
INTRODUCTION
Patricia P. Driscoll is the President of the Armed Forces Foundation, an organization devoted to improving the quality of life for our troops and their families. Under her leadership, beginning in 2003, the AFF (www. armedforcesfoundation.org) has grown from $100,000 a year to over $3M a year, has helped thousands of families in crisis, and has managed to maintain its goal of 96.4% of all contributions going directly to recipient programs. It has grown from a small single location foundation to a nationwide effort with volunteers and AFF “out stations” all over the country, and has been recognized publicly by former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld and President George W. Bush as one of the top military foundations in the country. Patricia is also the CEO of Frontline Defense Systems, LLC, a woman-owned, 8a-certified company that provides solutions for the intelligence community and the Department of Defense relating to advanced technologies. Originally from El Paso, Texas, Patricia has spent a great deal of her career deployed all over the world implementing solutions for the US government and US corporations. Since 1997 she has consulted on trade relations, border issues, narcotics and surveillance systems, testifying before Congress on these issues.
Hidden Battles on Unseen Fronts Page 27