Sunday, November 29

This morning, I finally went to the doctor. I refrained from telling my wife where I was going because I didn’t want her to worry about me. After my patience had reached its limit in the busy waiting room, I told the doctor about the nightmares I have been having and the flashbacks. Taking extreme consideration not to make myself sound like I was crazy, I did not explain any of the nightmares in major detail. I just said that they were all memories of fighting in the war. Right when I was about to go into detail about the battles of the war, he said that he had heard enough and diagnosed me with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD. He said that it was very common among Vietnam War veterans. As soon as he told me that they used to call it “shell shock,” I knew exactly what he was talking about. I had heard stories about shell shock from my fellow soldiers and they described it as the most horrible disease in the world. The suffering that men experienced during the war lived on through the disorder because of the constant reminders of battle. The doctor said I would most likely have flashbacks when smells or sounds like those of Vietnam reminded me of the battles so it would be wise to avoid any reminder of the war. Not able to diagnose the full extent of my condition without knowing the time period of my symptoms, he told me to consult a therapist so she could monitor my symptoms and my case. I left the office in a trance with the number of a psychologist that he recommended.

PTSD… PTSD… PTSD. I had heard those four letters together multiple times but I never thought that it could happen to me. Just like in battle when you never think that it will be you who is blown up next, I never thought I would get a disorder from the war. The stress of Vietnam must have triggered a reaction in my brain so that I would never forget the horrible things that happened. That’s what the doctor said. I can’t help but wonder if God is punishing me for killing the Vietnamese people. Maybe He is angry with all soldiers and veterans because of the murder and destruction that they spread to innocent people. More importantly while I’m on the subject of judging soldiers for their actions, what will my family think? Will they constantly think that I need to be watched like a baby? I don’t want to become a stranger to them because they are afraid that anything could remind me of the horrors of the Vietnam War. I have decided not to tell them anything so that they do not treat me differently. Hopefully, this is the right decision because I cannot think of an alternative. For once, there is no Plan B.