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Discussion in 'OFF-Topic / Misc.' started by cougar32d, Nov 17, 2007.
anyone here have any experience with PTSD? any thoughts or opinions, let me know what you think.
My brother did - 2 tour Vietnam Vet. Had it for almost 10 years. Back then the VA and media did little to help because the media didn't like Vietnam Vets.
Being around his fellow Vets helped - he got with guys who were going through the same problems. Eventually time healed his "wounds."
Anyone who has been under fire has suffered at least a little from it.
PTSD is taken far more seriously than it has been in the past.
But UKs health system is unable to deal with the numbers.
Are you trying to find out some info?
cougar - if you need help or info, please feel free to PM me anytime. I had to live with my brother for a number of years as he chased his "demons."
Although my opinion is only an educated one I have read quite a lot of medical papers released from the Australian government and other sources. It was hard going to read at times.
Something I do not like to talk about is what I saw in Nam. I was there
Aug. 1966 to July of 1967. Was in Da Nang, Chu Lai, Toy Hoa and a
couple other places. Got medevaced to Da Nang, then to Tachikowa.
After I got back I was put in Balboa Naval Hospital for 91 more days.
PTSD bites almost everybody who's been in the field.... I had my bouts
with the demons, and Joe will tell you they can be scary. It put me
into a bottle and kept me there for eight years. Most of the regulars
know me to be a card carrying member of AA.... this is why. Back then
there was no real treatment. They gave me lots of Valium, pheno barb
and one or two others I've forgotten the names of. I found that you
need some one close to unload on.... and I've got a good woman who's
heard it all and who stood by me when I woke up screaming. That's been
forty years ago and I still have bad dreams.... not the screamers I use
to have, but they're bad enough to wake me... and Edna Mae.
I don't know if the VA or the Military Hospitals have a treatment for it
or not. Cougar.... you can PM me if you need something, also.
nasty guys if anyone minds talking about it why did nam provoke it ?
my grandfather was in WW 2 and he said he didn't get PTSD.
IF it is sensitive to some people just tell me to can it and i'll drop it.
PTSD has been known by other names over the years, shell-shock, battle fatigue, flak happy and others. The thing is that being in the field and under fire affects people differently.It never completely goes away and triggers for flashbacks are sometimes out of nowhere. Time does have a tendency to lessen most triggers, but nightmares come and go, as does a feeling of hyper vigilance and uneasiness.
Alcoholism, drug abuse and depressions are symptoms of a greater problem that is often misdiagnosed or ignored completely. The VA is poorly trained to deal with PTSD cases, even today. I spent many years after exiting the service inside various alcohol bottles myself. Like Charles, a good woman and sobriety have been good therapy. I'll be a decade long friend of Bill this January myself.
Next March (the 13th) I will be a "Friend of Bill's" for 36 years ! Like Eric, it's
one day at a time.....
I don't minds discussing PTSD and it's problems, but I don't wanna talk about
the alcohol i've almost got under control but i have slipped a few time but the nightmares, anger, yelling,and flashbacks i don't have control of.all the V.A. seems to want to do is drug us (vets) into a state of semiconciousness and then forget about us. but i do have a wonderful wife (also an OIF vet)who won't let me slip too much. aussie1001 if you want to pm me i can try to answer any questions you might have.p.s. what's a friend of bill?.............thanks guys-josh
Josh: A "Friend of Bill's" is a member of Alcoholics Anonymous.
This is a way one member recognises another.
You can PM me also..... I'm not an authority on PTSD but maybe
I can help.
I feel fortunate that I did not come back with PTSD. I think something that really helped me was the fact that my wife was really supportive.
Never had the problem with alcohol but that might be because my Dad is "Friend of Bill".
Also Couger if you wish to talk to another OIF Vet you can PM me at any time. I might have a good understanding of what you are going through since I was there myself.
With 24 years of dealing with traumatic incidents I can safely say that PTSD is not just confined to the Military.
During my Military service we regularly dealt with injury and fatal accidents, sometimes involving people we shared barracks, and beers with. Now as a voli Firefighter I am still involved with major and traumatic events.
In the mid 80's the support mechanisim in place was going to the bar, getting smashed and "hardening up".
From my late 20's to mid 30's I found it exceedingly hard to form relationships with anyone due to never trusting they would be around long enough, and knowing they could not understand the things my eyes had seen and my ears heard.
Yes I too drunk way too much without realising I was p!ssing my life away sip by sip.
Fortunately I found a person (Married for 10 years a couple of weeks ago). I could talk to her and do so without worrying if she understood or not.
She listened and let me talk out the demons even when she had no real idea what I was talking about.
This turned my life around.
Now we have support mechanisims in place through the service, and I also ensure that informal debriefs and "peer checks" are made across all members who attend any major or serious injury event.
If you feel this is BS, then read this, it was written by an outstanding member of the NZ Fire and Rescue Service who understands.
It is freely copyable with his permission.
Several years ago I wrote this true account (at least, true as I saw it) of a motor vehicle accident ("MVA") on State Highway One just north of Plimmerton. It was published in the New Zealand Listener, and on the internet on several sites around the world. I have received a number of messages from people who felt positive about it, including a school in the United States who are using it in their anti-drink driving classes, and a paramedic whose wife said that it allowed her to understand his work for the first time.
If you have an educational use for "MVA, 1am", please feel free to use it.
Frantic scurrying in the back of the truck, bunker coats, reflective jerkins, latex gloves under our leather ones. Suddenly there, all leaping into the black unknown through our different doors. Grabbed the High Pressure hose from its reel, undid its brake, dragged it like a mad bastard towards the knot of police and stopped drivers who were standing on the roadside, looking down into the deep ditch where the car was bound to be. Late model, white, balanced precariously about 45 degrees over on its side, straddling a narrower but even deeper ditch. The ringing cold air betrays the darkness - "Three trapped! Three trapped!".
A figure in street clothes runs, grabs Ian, demands a scoop stretcher. "We don't carry those, ambulance'll be here in a minute". "Jesus! Every decent fire engine's got them on! ****!" he accuses, plunges down the bank again onto the unstable car. The police seemed too preoccupied to care, so we leave him there, carry on. For now we won't dispute his ownership. I run back to 351, find the heavy rescue line. Returning with it nearly ran straight into by a guy with a skinhead, covered in blood. Two ambulance guys and a cop grab him, guide him away. "I need to go back down, I need to go back!" The driver? His eyes wide, really wide. Sirens approaching from all directions, helicopter or the thought of one in the distance.
I slide down the steep bank, but loose control, crash towards the bottom, skittle two firefighters - yelling, they think the car is falling on them. They forgive, I don't... Who the hell am I? F@king shyte! Who the hell am I?
My job to ensure the car doesn't tip over onto the rescuers working around the low side. Tie a heavy line to the central roof support, yelled for every free person on the scene to hang onto it. Someone hears, frantic action, tension in the air, tension on the line. Later its necessary to cut the roof off, the line being shifted to the back roof support. I call for the centrepunch to break through the rear quarterlight window, the only unsmashed window in the car. I realised then that there was another kid in the back seat, so I got a blanket to protect their face from the breaking glass.
For quite a few minutes we cover him, touch his shoulder, talk to him. I stare at a deep cut in his arm for several seconds before I slowly realise why its attracted my attention - its not bleeding. Should have realised this boy was dead, but no-one told us. Pull the blanket completely off and see the deep wound in his back where his spinal column had been. We cover him again, but a bloodied hand and one foot in its pristine Doc Martins boot are at such unnatural and strange angles the blanket is too small to cover them.
Three probationary firefighters, never seen anything like this before. We keep talking to them as we have time, trying to help them focus on what they’re doing... every few minutes I look again and find them staring at the body, or at something in the distance I can't see. Their lives will never be exactly the same - not worse really, just not ever the same. Something taken, something given. Perhaps they already knew.
Working with the heavy, awkward Jaws of Life... cutting the roof off... it's necessary to move one of the oxygen bottles... the only place it would be out of the way was the back seat.... an older fireman reaches over and places it in the arms of the dead boy.... "don't think he'll mind" he mutters to himself, smirking embarassedly when seeing I've heard him.... two half laughs.
Two most seriously trapped, both front passengers, the girl on the boy's knee. Now utterly wedged between the seat, the crushed wreckage of the dashboard, the wall of the ditch the car had come to rest in. A deathly embrace. A woman's whimpering and faint screams, continuously for the hour it takes to get her out. Its a good sign, she's got the energy to fight.
"Leave me alone! Leave ME! I'll get myself out! LEAVE ME!!!!".
A bloodied arm shoots from the wreckage, grasps a fireman by the collar, has to be prized off. We are hurting her so badly, so very very, very badly. We're her friends, her worst tormentors. Words of rationalisation in the air, thoughts in every head, rebellious notions in every guts.
Both with broken legs, severe internal damage, many less serious injuries. Chantelle, the woman, had bit her lower lip almost completely off. White teeth showing through fruit pulp flesh. Both covered in blood, some their own, some from their dead friend who must have been crammed up against them both immediately after the crash. A knot of ambulance officers crowded in amongst it all, their bright yellow jackets heavily stained with blood and other body fluids. The milky white roof lining lying on the grass, a very large, visceral stain in one corner, still liquid.
Finally we get the boy out too, carried his stretcher awkwardly up the steep bank to the waiting helicopter. Brown bottle glass crunches underfoot.
At least one dead, probably more by today. These six kids chose an unnewsworthy way to be irreparably damaged and to die. You probably won't hear any more about it. Maybe it'll get a paragraph in the Post tonight. Shame there wasn't a cute dog in there to rescue.
Crushed cars don't have simple angles.
As a carload of six drive north a man thrashes through a horrible dream... a young man is going to die, nothing can be done. Nothing can save him. He wakes suddenly, sweating. Ten minutes later he still lays there, wondering what it might mean. He’s seen a lot of real death that hasn’t affected him like this dream has. The familiar thin fire siren whine steals into the room. He pulls the blankets over his head like a child. "Aren’t you going?" asks his wife, rolling towards him. "I can’t!" he says, "He’s already dead - there’s nothing I can do. I can’t go to this one". Its 1am.
A probationary firefighter has just got home after his first real fatality. He moves awkwardly, afraid to touch anything with his hands that seem to him pulped now, fruit pulped like those lips. He’s afraid of leaving bloodstains where he touches. His fingers look normal, but he’s caught it somehow. Everything hurts.
Oh so bloody true.
Yeah sounds pretty messy, really puts you off going into the army......
Here's an unofficial website on what I assume to be PTSD affecting recent veterans.
If we add the 6,256 suicide victims from 2005 to the “official” 3,865 reported combat casualties; we get a sum of 10,121. Even a low-ball estimate of similar 2004 and 2006 suicide figures, would mean that the total number of US casualties from the Iraq war now exceed 15,000.
That’s right; 15,000 dead US servicemen and women in a war that--as yet--has no legal or moral justification.
That's a lot of casualties !!
"The Smirking Chimp" "an unofficial website on what I assume to be PTSD affecting recent veterans"
It's a Far-Left Loon site
No, I'll go even further. It's a HATE AMERICA site
Just read through some of the topics and links. It's disgraceful
The website has nothing to do with PTSD
I could tell from the title that they aren't exactly giddy with the current state of affairs. Regardless, this line- "15,000 dead US servicemen and women in a war that--as yet--has no legal or moral justification. "- is a real knockout punch.
I work in a psych hospital, we have specialized program for PTSD
I know it's in Canada but they do alot of work with Canadian milatary