I was tired. It was mid-morning January 3rd and all I could think about was getting back to bed when the day was over. My fourth or fifth mug of coffee rolled around uncomfortably in my empty stomach.
Most folks are over their New Year’s celebratory hangovers by that point but mine was lingering. Not the headache or nausea just the fatigue. I didn’t sleep well Monday night and Tuesday morning saw me staring into the mirror at 0530 with familiar bags under my eyes and a grim determination to gut my way through the day. Work kept me awake into Wednesday morning, and only allowed for a brief nap before I was awake and on the road.
Three days into the new year and my goal of getting more sleep was dead on arrival.
When I got to my desk I was running on depleted levels of adrenaline and cortisol bolstered by caffeine. By 0930 we were in the field, and I was a zombie struggling to string together coherent thoughts, never mind trying to learn how to use the new SCADA system we were installing.
I leaned back against our work truck to stare blankly at the gas power plant we’d parked in front of. Its cooling towers droned out an endless howling note as they belched steam into a low and dark overcast sky. The cold damp air combined with the diesel smells of the truck, the noise of the plant, and my exhaustion to set off a visceral flashback.
I think “triggered” is the current, if overused, term.
A wave of dizziness washed over me as my body remembered being on the deck of a cutter pounding its way down the Oregon coast in winter. The ground wasn’t moving, and I couldn’t smell or taste salt in the air. Reality and memory overlapped uncomfortably as my guts heaved and I nearly threw up a pot’s worth of coffee.
I shut my eyes to blot out the powerplant and all the visual information that didn’t match the memory.
The sensations faded quickly. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes then rubbed hard on the stubble on my scalp to try and interrupt the sensory feedback I was getting. I was trying to distract my nervous system with new data, anything to help break up the physical memory of being back on that boat. I read somewhere that the nerves that transmit pain signals don’t work in parallel, you can “jam” the pain signals with pressure or another sensation.
The episode left me hunched over my knees, in a cold sweat. It left me feeling angry for some reason.
I don’t know if my coworker recognized it or not. He’s a Marine, an adoptive father, and now a granddad that’s looking to retire in the next few years before he hits 60. He sees a lot more than he says. I’ll spare you the gory details of his life, but the last five or so years have been hell on him, and he’d suffered another major blow to family over the New Year’s and Christmas break. I must have looked bad because despite the emotional pain and stress he’s been under he asked if I was ok. It surprised me to the point I didn’t know what to say so I just looked at him. The anger evaporated like alcohol in the sun and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. I just nodded and yawned to hide my face as I stood up.
We stood there in the cold damp air, leaning against the truck, and silently watched the steam. There are times when I wish I smoked just to give my hands something to do. He pulled out a can of tobacco and thumped it three times before putting in a wad. I guess I’m not the only one.
I asked how he was holding up before I blurted out that I’d just had an episode like some kind of crazy person. He vented at length about everything under the sun, obviously happy to have someone to let him unload for a minute. It felt good to be focused on him instead of me, to know that someone else has a ton of problems and they’re somehow making it through, somehow still smiling. He’s one of the good ones.
I’ve been thinking about that little moment all week now.
The words flashback or trigger warning remind me of police body camera footage of veterans deep in the throes of a PTSD episode where they’re hunkered down peering through the sights of a rifle they put down a long time ago. That, or medical training videos of domestic abuse survivors having anxiety attacks that leave them shaking in a corner.
I never thought I’d be the veteran who couldn’t hold down a job. I hadn’t seen combat, hadn’t lost a battle buddy to enemy action. I was a puddle pirate and a comms guy at that. POG all the way. I was leaving the service because I wanted to. Yet, between 2018 and 2023 I had 14 jobs.
Three days into 2024 I found out I was part of another veteran statistical group. The ones that have flashbacks for no damn reason. I’m just lucky this one only left me disoriented and emotional. It took me another four days to realize what the hell happened.
That same coworker recently started using a CPAP; some mornings you can see the strap marks on his face. Thinking back over what he’s told me about his struggles I have to wonder how many of his health problems are symptoms of prolonged stress or even PTSD. I wonder how many of mine are from things that I never even considered harmful or dangerous.
I’ve written about sleep deprivation, stress, and fatigue before, so you’d think I’d have a handle on it by now. Guess that puts me in yet another vet demographic; the ones who have a hard time acknowledging they have problems.
I guess the point to this rambling admission is that if you recognize the symptoms of a problem, good! Thats the first step to solving it, and often the hardest. The next step, taking action to address the problem, isn’t much easier. Especially considering how we’re trained to handle malfunctions.
Every piece of equipment on a Coast Guard cutter (or any piece of military hardware) has an idiot proof instruction manual printed on its cowling or in a binder chained to it. Hell, even the M2HB .50 cal machine guns have misfire and hot gun procedures printed on the backside of their mount shield plate in case you forget.
People do not have troubleshooting flow charts tattooed in a convenient easy to read place. There isn’t a procedure drilled into our heads to recognize let alone solve non-military problems when they’re staring us in the face. I think that as vets we sometimes forget that.
Bad PT scores? PT more in your off time!
Pull trigger, no boom? Tap Rack Bang!
Truck won’t start? Check the fuel tank, then battery!
Night terrors and anxiety? …uh, Motrin!
Medic humor aside, there is hope. First off, much like me and my stressed-out coworker, there are people out there willing to help and or just listen. Second, once you start picking away at your problem and figuring out the causes, you can build your own flow chart for working through it. Third, like everything else in your career this is going to take time and repetition to correct.
Be patient and celebrate the small wins.
___________________________
K.C. Aud has made a career of being lucky and has managed to find something positive in nearly every poor decision he’s ever made, even if it was only a new perspective on how not to do something.
Enlisting in the U.S. Coast Guard in 2010 he became an Operations Specialist (radio and navigation) and did his first tour in Georgia guarding submarines from drunk fishermen. In 2014, tired of the heat and the bugs he transferred to a 210-foot medium endurance cutter in Washington state. The cutter then regularly deployed to the hot and buggy west coast of Central America to hunt down drug runners. Aboard USCGC Active he traveled 94,194 miles and personally handled enough cocaine to keep a small country high for a decade. Somewhere in there, he learned to write, if not spell.
Three years later, daunted by the prospect of spending the rest of his career in a windowless command center, he separated from active duty. After 13 different jobs ranging from beer brewer to dairy farmhand, to machinist, to Navy civilian contractor, he reenlisted in 2020 as a Coast Guard reservist, changing rates to Maritime Law Enforcement Specialist. When not helping the Navy assets in the Puget Sound troubleshoot radios, he’s on drill in Seattle doing water cop stuff and or flailing away at his keyboard. Though married and now a father, he misses the mission.
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