A War Within

I strode into the lieutenant colonel’s office thinking I felt better about myself than I had in a long time. Yes, I thought, this is what I was meant to do.

I was a military chaplain, reporting to the head of pastoral care at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C.

I was in the midst of helping a family whose son, wounded in Iraq, had died after surgery. I’d stood by the soldier’s bedside then worked feverishly to get his parents and brother to Walter Reed. They were due to arrive in a few hours.

I was keyed up, focused, purposeful, crisp. I felt, in fact, like I had during my own tours in Iraq in 2003 and 2005, alive in a way you can only comprehend when you know your life could be over in a flash.

I’d been home a year now, assigned to Walter Reed. Considering that I’d been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, I thought I was doing all right, at least at the hospital. Especially tonight, when it seemed I might have hit on a solution to the depression, anxiety and self-doubt that had settled over me since returning from war.

What I needed, I realized, was a mission, more immersion in heart-pounding work, something to keep my mind totally focused. I could handle PTSD. I was handling PTSD, wasn’t I?