Note from the desk of the opinion editors:
It is easy for us to forget the sacrifices American soldiers serving abroad make to represent our country. In a charged partisan climate in which the actions of civilian commanders are scrutinized and used as fodder in mudslinging campaigns, we can overlook the thousands of ordinary Americans making us proud in extraordinary conditions.
This is the ninth part of a series that will appear every Monday this semester where we will publish the journal of Liz O'Herrin, a UW student who kept record of her experiences in Iraq and has decided to share them with the readers of The Badger Herald. We present this journal in hopes that you can gain insight to a small piece of the Iraq experience for American servicemen and women
JUNE 16
Yesterday I got sent to Lifeskills, the cleverly named suicide and [post traumatic stress disorder] counselors. My PTSD checklist score was exactly 30, which is apparently the cutoff for counseling. I was so pissed. That was my first time ever going to counseling of any sort. The counselor gave me the creeps — she was the prototypical feel good weirdo shrink. Talk about the blind leading the blind. Of course my whole shop found out my score was high, everyone made an "O'Herrin went off the deep end" joke or two. It was funny, but at the same time I can see why we have a serious problem treating PTSD among war veterans. No one takes it seriously. And if you do admit it is a problem, you are viewed as being weak or not able to handle it. Everyone else is just fine, why do you have a problem with it? No one actually says this, but it is clearly written on people's faces. The questions on the PTSD checklist were ridiculous though:
Are you easily startled? Do loud noises bother you? Do you feel as though you are on alert? Do you have trouble falling asleep at night?
I mean, come on. Are you serious? Loud noises? I got sent to counseling because I answered the questions too honestly — a mistake that smart military members go out of their way to avoid. Usually I am good at that. Chief brought me into his office after I got sent to counseling, sat me down on his nice leather couch. He sat next to me, not at his desk. I explained what had happened. With one short statement, he made me feel better than anything a shrink could have said. I swear to myself never to take good leadership for granted again.
People have been talking about us leaving for the past month. That makes time crawl. Feels like we will NEVER leave. Currently, our itinerary for us leaving has at least seven stops before we get home. That really sucks.
JUNE 18
Today I volunteered at the hospital. I worked in the Emergency Department. We had casualties.
JUNE 19
We had another incoming today. The moment before one hits always freezes in my mind. That split second you make eye contact with the person across the room, before you dive to the ground and squeeze your eyes shut. Those few agonizing seconds of waiting for the inevitable — what the radar has already proven — the only questions being those of magnitude and proximity.
I did compository tool kit inventories with Captain. It was fun. He can be goofy when he lets his authoritative guard down. We inspected tools and we talked about what we think the other is like in civilian [aka real] world. Back at the flight office after inventories, a huge crack and boom. A staff sergeant came running into the office from outside, his eyes bugging out of his head. "I sure hope that was a controlled detonation, because that was f'n loud." We are all momentarily stunned, there was no warning klaxon. "Put on your gear!" yelled Captain. Threw on my gear and ran into the storage office, because if something hits I want to be by people I love. And I love my roommate (and she is a nurse!). She is wedged under her desk, caught in the middle of a phone call home. "Gotta go, gotta go, I love you I'm OK love you bye." Her dad will probably have a heart attack after that phone call. I've been here, and I've been the person at home receiving the phone call. The receiving end can be much harder on your nerves.
Everyone freaked out right after the boom, but now that we all have our gear on everyone is laughing. It is just how we deal. It's kind of crazy, the elation/hilarity of the minutes after a mortar attack. Being here feels like playing paintball on steroids sometimes.
It turns out later it was a controlled detonation.
