Page 35 - Total War on PTSD

curtain was a blur. The nurse stepped closer and cupped her right hand around the bicep of my left arm.
I don't know how long we stood there, probably just a few seconds, but it seemed like minutes. Without taking my eyes off of that watery curtain, I said, "Ma'am, I can't do it. I'm sorry; I just can't do it." She pulled me closer to her, turned me around, and led me back the way we had come. Leaning in closer, and in a soft muted voice, she said, "It's ok Master Chief, it's ok. I understand. It's all right."
But it wasn't all right at all!
It wasn't that I had seen all that many injuries or deaths — goodness knows other units had suffered far worse causalities — but at that moment, one more was one more too many.
We walked all the way to the other end of the ward with her holding my arm and guiding my steps as I silently sobbed — a grown man crying unashamedly. I couldn't help it. As we stepped out into the hall, she released my arm and handed me a Kleenex. I dried my eyes; she dried hers too. Then she led me to the room where the General and his entourage were.
I stood at the back of the gaggle of officers; they didn't even notice that I was there. It was as if I was on the other side of a two-way mirror looking on but not part of the scene.
When the General was finished, the group broke up, and I left the hospital alone. Instead of walking toward command headquarters, I began to walk the other way. I wasn't headed anywhere in particular, just walking and thinking. I needed some time to myself.
After a while, I realized that I was about to walk into the Canadian section of the base. I had been there several times before with my boss as a guest of the Canadian General.
There was a Tim Horton's Donut Shop in the center of the compound. I went there, bought a cup of coffee, and sat outside at a small table under the shade of a scraggly palm tree to think.
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