I was diagnosed with PTSD about 8 years ago. I ignored it. The nightmares and flashbacks stopped. Actually everything stopped. I wasn't angry, sad, happy, or really anything else. I figured that it must be fixed. I grew up in a family of war veterans and firefighters. Every male in my faimly reached a point in their lives when they stopped having emotions. I honestly just thought this was a sign of maturity or something. I've actually started getting some help now and am told this isn't normal.
I hate it. It's like this albatross around my neck. I figured if I ignore it, I can go on functioning, but it didn't work. I sought psychiatric care more for my ADHD which I've known I had for, shoot, probably 30 years at this point. The psychiatrist was good. He kept digging, unwilling to just say "Yeah, you got ADHD, here';s some Adderall." I mean, he did prescribe Adderall, which is a game changer for me. But he started to pull back those layers, and I hated it.
He asked me about my career, how I slept at night, if I'd ever had nightmares and flashbacks. If I avoided anything. He dug into my stories, which I hate telling.
Here's what I think, but I'm told it's incorrect.
I think I couldn't hack it mentally as a paramedic. I lasted 12 years. One of my last calls was a 9 person shooting. It was horrible, and I was the only medic on scene for the first 20 minutes, literally just watching people die, unable to do anything to stop it. I had no ambulances. The newspaper and the county EMS agency used me as a scape goat and blamed it on me. We were understaffed by 6 ambulances that night. If we had just 3 more ambulances on the street, I think everyone would have survived.
Anyway, I went on with my life. Had some flashbacks, some nightmares, a few anxious nights, but eventually figured out I could just quell the storm with distraction. And it worked... I'm told a little too well now.
In 2018 I went to work in a remote bush hospital in West Africa. Bearing in mind that I'm a Physician Assistant now, not a doctor, I was way outside my comfort zone. I did the best I could, but in those years, I had more children die from cerebral malaria than I can count. I was scared and I hated it there. I was ill-equipped for the job that I was thrust into. I never planed to be treating children with cerebral malaria, doing trauma surgeries, caring for high-risk maternity cases, and managing any number of critical care cases. I thought I was there to manage blood pressure, treatment some intestinal infections, and maybe do some casts.
By the time my tour of duty there was over, I went from frustration and fear to just being numb. I mean, I felt nothing. I was at a point that my own family could die, and I wouldn't have the capacity to cry. I dare say I'm better than I was. I've had some space, but I still don't feel much. That is until one night and I was watching that marvel Series about falcon, or whatever, you know, the guys with the cool metal wings. Anyway, that dude that the government was trying to make the new captain America, he was a war vet. Dude had a difficult military life, but came out of it a hero, maybe a damaged hero, but a hero.
So at first I was enjoying the series until they started making him into a villain. Something flipped. I went off the handle. I felt rage like I hadn't felt in I don't know how long. I was capital T triggered. I saw a guy who dutifully served his country, went through hell, came back alive, agreed to continue his service to his country, but now he was a villain! He wasn't a villain, the guy was broken, just like me. He had been through hell, just like me. he once was someone who cared deeply and would have exchanged his life for any of those who died under his command.
That hurt like hell for me. Not that I see myself as a hero, but I know why i went into the military, why I chose to work in one of America's most violent cities as a paramedic, why i chose to leave my well-compensated position, a job that I loved, to serve in West Africa. When I got home, I was changed. I should have never been there. I should have never done any of it. Nobody freaking cares. I worked way too hard to just be mediocre, at best, at my job.
Anyway, I sometimes doubt I can be fixed, like I don't deserve to be. I can't even be sad when someone I can't save somebody I was supposed to. I try, oh man do I try! I honestly don't know anyone who is more obsessive about details, or studies medicine more consistently. I put every once of mental and physical energy I have into giving my patients the best care possible. But part of the problem is, i see every single patient's body, no matter how well they are, as being potential time bombs. My assumption, m train of thought with every single patient is, "what are you going to die from if I don't discover it?" I mean, I'm talking about ear infections.
I know why I do this, I can't help it. This mentality has made me a fine clinician and intensivist, but the result has been severe burnout. I can barely drag my ass out of bed to go pull a shift in a freaking urgent care clinic anymore. I'm only 42. I have AT LEAST 25 years left in my career. I really don't know how to make it. I'm looking for the exit sign, but this is all I've ever done. I've only ever practiced medicine. I have no other skills.
I need to be fixed, but I look at my dad and my uncles and grandpas (God rest their souls) and I see their zombie-like ambivalence over everything except for the occasional trigger, and I wonder if that's the best I can hope for. A life of service, the flame burned too hot too fast, and what it got me was emotional numbing.
That isn't to say I can't put on a good show. I'm funny. I can be goofy and play with my pediatric patients. I probably seem normal to most people that don't know me well, but I'm becoming increasingly aware that something's wrong.
Well, if you read this whole thing, that's pretty freaking amazing. Thanks. My therapist says I need to talk about this stuff with people, but people in my circles, we don't do that. I can't talk about it with my wife, so I'm giving this a try to see if it helps.
peace folks. Hope you guys are all on a journey to amazing mental health recovery
I hate it. It's like this albatross around my neck. I figured if I ignore it, I can go on functioning, but it didn't work. I sought psychiatric care more for my ADHD which I've known I had for, shoot, probably 30 years at this point. The psychiatrist was good. He kept digging, unwilling to just say "Yeah, you got ADHD, here';s some Adderall." I mean, he did prescribe Adderall, which is a game changer for me. But he started to pull back those layers, and I hated it.
He asked me about my career, how I slept at night, if I'd ever had nightmares and flashbacks. If I avoided anything. He dug into my stories, which I hate telling.
Here's what I think, but I'm told it's incorrect.
I think I couldn't hack it mentally as a paramedic. I lasted 12 years. One of my last calls was a 9 person shooting. It was horrible, and I was the only medic on scene for the first 20 minutes, literally just watching people die, unable to do anything to stop it. I had no ambulances. The newspaper and the county EMS agency used me as a scape goat and blamed it on me. We were understaffed by 6 ambulances that night. If we had just 3 more ambulances on the street, I think everyone would have survived.
Anyway, I went on with my life. Had some flashbacks, some nightmares, a few anxious nights, but eventually figured out I could just quell the storm with distraction. And it worked... I'm told a little too well now.
In 2018 I went to work in a remote bush hospital in West Africa. Bearing in mind that I'm a Physician Assistant now, not a doctor, I was way outside my comfort zone. I did the best I could, but in those years, I had more children die from cerebral malaria than I can count. I was scared and I hated it there. I was ill-equipped for the job that I was thrust into. I never planed to be treating children with cerebral malaria, doing trauma surgeries, caring for high-risk maternity cases, and managing any number of critical care cases. I thought I was there to manage blood pressure, treatment some intestinal infections, and maybe do some casts.
By the time my tour of duty there was over, I went from frustration and fear to just being numb. I mean, I felt nothing. I was at a point that my own family could die, and I wouldn't have the capacity to cry. I dare say I'm better than I was. I've had some space, but I still don't feel much. That is until one night and I was watching that marvel Series about falcon, or whatever, you know, the guys with the cool metal wings. Anyway, that dude that the government was trying to make the new captain America, he was a war vet. Dude had a difficult military life, but came out of it a hero, maybe a damaged hero, but a hero.
So at first I was enjoying the series until they started making him into a villain. Something flipped. I went off the handle. I felt rage like I hadn't felt in I don't know how long. I was capital T triggered. I saw a guy who dutifully served his country, went through hell, came back alive, agreed to continue his service to his country, but now he was a villain! He wasn't a villain, the guy was broken, just like me. He had been through hell, just like me. he once was someone who cared deeply and would have exchanged his life for any of those who died under his command.
That hurt like hell for me. Not that I see myself as a hero, but I know why i went into the military, why I chose to work in one of America's most violent cities as a paramedic, why i chose to leave my well-compensated position, a job that I loved, to serve in West Africa. When I got home, I was changed. I should have never been there. I should have never done any of it. Nobody freaking cares. I worked way too hard to just be mediocre, at best, at my job.
Anyway, I sometimes doubt I can be fixed, like I don't deserve to be. I can't even be sad when someone I can't save somebody I was supposed to. I try, oh man do I try! I honestly don't know anyone who is more obsessive about details, or studies medicine more consistently. I put every once of mental and physical energy I have into giving my patients the best care possible. But part of the problem is, i see every single patient's body, no matter how well they are, as being potential time bombs. My assumption, m train of thought with every single patient is, "what are you going to die from if I don't discover it?" I mean, I'm talking about ear infections.
I know why I do this, I can't help it. This mentality has made me a fine clinician and intensivist, but the result has been severe burnout. I can barely drag my ass out of bed to go pull a shift in a freaking urgent care clinic anymore. I'm only 42. I have AT LEAST 25 years left in my career. I really don't know how to make it. I'm looking for the exit sign, but this is all I've ever done. I've only ever practiced medicine. I have no other skills.
I need to be fixed, but I look at my dad and my uncles and grandpas (God rest their souls) and I see their zombie-like ambivalence over everything except for the occasional trigger, and I wonder if that's the best I can hope for. A life of service, the flame burned too hot too fast, and what it got me was emotional numbing.
That isn't to say I can't put on a good show. I'm funny. I can be goofy and play with my pediatric patients. I probably seem normal to most people that don't know me well, but I'm becoming increasingly aware that something's wrong.
Well, if you read this whole thing, that's pretty freaking amazing. Thanks. My therapist says I need to talk about this stuff with people, but people in my circles, we don't do that. I can't talk about it with my wife, so I'm giving this a try to see if it helps.
peace folks. Hope you guys are all on a journey to amazing mental health recovery