On My TBI Exam
An Interesting Question Posed
Howdy,
Last week, I schlepped about 45 minutes from home to get my noggin’ checked out. My dear mother, who was in town for my birthday, made the trip with me. She was there to see me leave for Baghdad in 2006 and through my five subsequent deployments, so it was only fitting that she accompanied me to this event. We had come full circle in this little journey.
Fortunately, the examiner was a retired Navy commander who did a tour in Khost Province (khattarnak - Pashto, for dangerous). We probably bumped into each other somewhere along the way. That was good; it put my mind at ease (no pun intended).
After chit-chatting about the wars, we started with a barrage of questions. Again, I’ve never met this man before in my life. Despite having military records full of tests confirming that I’ve had multiple Traumatic Brain Injuries, I have to prove to the VA that I have a banged-up head. It’s awkward and foolish. Why the VA cannot simply take the DoD’s word for it is one of G*d’s great mysteries, though I’m sure it has to do with rules and regulations (the bane of my existence).
So, for 30 minutes, we went through all the TBIs. We discussed my problems with short-term memory. I often forget where I parked my car or wander around the house aimlessly until I remember what I’m doing. I have dizzy spills. They get so bad that I often get nauseous. Then there are the migraine headaches. Those bad boys can put me on my back quickly and without warning. There’s also a bunch of other stuff: sensitivity to light, an inability to concentrate, mood swings, etc. As I’ve written previously, my combat PTSD is mostly in check, and I’m coming to terms with my moral injury, but the TBIs are having the most significant impact on my physical well-being.
After we passed some exams and questions, he posed a fascinating question. Out of nowhere, he stopped, looked at me, and said, “With all these ailments, how did you function so well? You were a commander. How did you do it?”
This was the hardest question to answer out of the thousands the VA has asked. I actually stopped and thought about it for a few minutes before replying.
And the answer is that I was always honest with people about my problems. Admitting mental health issues is not very common not only in America but especially in the US military. Everyone has a reputation to uphold. Everyone is angling for the next promotion, school, or big ticket to the meritocratic prize at the end of the rainbow.
I don’t know. That never really appealed to me. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to do great things. I dreamed of rising to full bird and running a Defense Attaché Office at a busy embassy, but not at the expense of trying to hide my problems.
I was blessed to command troops twice and lead them in combat operations once. Those were some of the best days of my life. Many commanders were far more effective than me. However, I had a knack for connecting with my troops and getting them to buy in.
I did that partly by being honest with them. My commander’s support team knew about my combat ptsd, my TBIs, and my moral injury. I always felt it helped explain the reasons for some of my behavior.
Why does he ask for the same thing all the time? (I forgot that I asked you)
Why does he have the lights low? (headaches)
What is that strange music coming from his office? (meditation, homey)
Why does he get startled easily? (combat PTSD)
Did he forget what he was saying? (yep)
You get the picture. I always felt it made me more human. That’s a good thing. I hoped that by being honest about my mental health issues, I created a permission structure for them to face their demons, whatever they may be.
My honesty helped build a team and create a culture of accountability and teamwork because I needed their help to be successful—just like they needed each other and me. We were accountable to each other, and that meant being honest (as you can be) about problems.
Nobody is indestructible. Everyone has weaknesses. Why not admit yours and have people help you be more effective? Play to your strengths and find people who can offset your weaknesses.
That was my answer to the doctor. He nodded his head.
At the end of my explanation, he looked at me and said, “I bet you were a good commander, brother.”
I had my moments.
Until next time.
IMO, this post shows the absolute best side of you (not that you don't have tons of good qualities).
I feel that you are describing my life. What with severe depression that started at age 7 (don't ask why), leading to extreme social anxiety, leading to a virtual inability to speak, I feel that every step forward has involved rearranging gigantic obstacles, pressures, and forces within me, so that I could advance 6 inches at a time, leading eventually to a PhD.
The necessary quality we both share is atomic level determination.
Finally, I think when your mother went with you to the psych evaluation, she was joining you on your last deployment. How appropriate.
“How did you do it?” A lot of this also relates to being in a constant mental state of survival mode, which means you focus on the mission at hand rather than those slow degradations over time that you don’t notice because you’re literally living moment-to-moment in the fluid sense of time passing from the first-person perspective. At least that’s how it was with my shit. Other people will take notice of your changes before you do, and by the time you realize there’s something wrong you’re at that point of view where self-discovery is kind of like a layered onion made up of carpet rugs, and every time you peel one layer of carpet back you see the roaches all scatter out who have been living under there all along without your knowledge. Either that or your behaviors led to a life crisis that forces you to look back in greater detail as to how you got to where you are now.