Greetings
I am presently 69 and am blessed to see this side of grass. I served in HS 6 and HC 7 (Seadevils) as a rescue crewman in Vietnam. I served with the finest men I have ever known. I was in Vietnam 6 months in 66...4 months of 67, 11 months of 68, and 6 months of 1970. We flew the HH3A, the Navy version of the Jolly Green extraction helo.
I had trouble admitting to PTSD, when I was a lad, the guys from WW2 that had it were looked on a little different. You see, you are supposed to suck it up, take the pain, that was what the men of the old age did. (they actually didn't but that was the thought of the day.
My wife would sometimes come into a room, look at my face, and ask..."what are you mad about?" I had no answer, anger, like pain, is just there, something to live with, something to control; that is what the old wisdom was. Finally a friend said I needed to file a claim, I agreed and than shook him off....we did not file claims, we endured, took the pain, suppressed the anger, we were tough. Finally in 1992 I went in and talked to a VA psychologist...he asked many questions, and I lied marvelously...I am ok...just have bouts...we all have them...I am no different...real men did not whine to some wimpy doc in a white lab rat coat. But I still was awarded 10%...89 dollars every month. I never told anyone, I felt like I was betraying the guys I served with, the pilots we didn't rescue...those guys that never came home and I was rewarded 89 dollars every month for that guilt.
I knew it would get better in time, well I am still waiting for it to get better, it doesn't because those guys are always with you, and the mortality of them not coming home is always there. Instead of getting better, it actually got worse. Last year I was reevaluated, same scenario, questions you do not want to answer, and you still do not answer them completely, because that would make you look like a full blown suicidal fruitcake and they, the folks at the VA upped the ante to 50%.
The money does not cure the pain, it is still there. The faces of some that did not make it back is still there. The realization that your squadron was more committed than your nation to final victory is still there. The wars in the Middle East seem to aggravate and relive the memories.
Knowing the outcome, would I do it again....if I got to serve with the same guys, in a heart beat, they were the greatest guys in the world. I see them every two years at reunions and that does seem to help, we laugh, drink a little, laugh some more, drink a little more and find we have lost the original point at where our collective laughter was directed and find that funny. We always have a table, set with formal dining protocol, Chair tipped up, glass turned upside down, for those in our squadron that will not be joining us tonight. I miss those guys, everyday.
I am presently 69 and am blessed to see this side of grass. I served in HS 6 and HC 7 (Seadevils) as a rescue crewman in Vietnam. I served with the finest men I have ever known. I was in Vietnam 6 months in 66...4 months of 67, 11 months of 68, and 6 months of 1970. We flew the HH3A, the Navy version of the Jolly Green extraction helo.
I had trouble admitting to PTSD, when I was a lad, the guys from WW2 that had it were looked on a little different. You see, you are supposed to suck it up, take the pain, that was what the men of the old age did. (they actually didn't but that was the thought of the day.
My wife would sometimes come into a room, look at my face, and ask..."what are you mad about?" I had no answer, anger, like pain, is just there, something to live with, something to control; that is what the old wisdom was. Finally a friend said I needed to file a claim, I agreed and than shook him off....we did not file claims, we endured, took the pain, suppressed the anger, we were tough. Finally in 1992 I went in and talked to a VA psychologist...he asked many questions, and I lied marvelously...I am ok...just have bouts...we all have them...I am no different...real men did not whine to some wimpy doc in a white lab rat coat. But I still was awarded 10%...89 dollars every month. I never told anyone, I felt like I was betraying the guys I served with, the pilots we didn't rescue...those guys that never came home and I was rewarded 89 dollars every month for that guilt.
I knew it would get better in time, well I am still waiting for it to get better, it doesn't because those guys are always with you, and the mortality of them not coming home is always there. Instead of getting better, it actually got worse. Last year I was reevaluated, same scenario, questions you do not want to answer, and you still do not answer them completely, because that would make you look like a full blown suicidal fruitcake and they, the folks at the VA upped the ante to 50%.
The money does not cure the pain, it is still there. The faces of some that did not make it back is still there. The realization that your squadron was more committed than your nation to final victory is still there. The wars in the Middle East seem to aggravate and relive the memories.
Knowing the outcome, would I do it again....if I got to serve with the same guys, in a heart beat, they were the greatest guys in the world. I see them every two years at reunions and that does seem to help, we laugh, drink a little, laugh some more, drink a little more and find we have lost the original point at where our collective laughter was directed and find that funny. We always have a table, set with formal dining protocol, Chair tipped up, glass turned upside down, for those in our squadron that will not be joining us tonight. I miss those guys, everyday.
