I think mine was in May 1998. I remember thinking "Wow", so that's it. I was a little surprised I had a diagnosis such as PTSD. I did not know much about it in the way of clinical information. I thought I was just fighting an addiction problem with pain killers.
My gosh, what an awfull 3 day weekend that was. I flew to Connecticut to undergo "rapid detox". My mother accompanied me on this trip. They put you under anesthesia, then administer an opiate antagonist. When I came out of anesthesia, I had no strength, not even enough to go to the bathroom on my own. Then the next day, we got on a jet, had a transfer of flight in Newark I believe it was. I could barely sit up semistraight in a wheelchair, and I remember my dear mother pushing me in that wheelchair for about 2 country miles, clear to the other side of the airport. They got me on the plane with about 5 minutes to spare, and I crashed out, taking up 3 seats. I was cold, so a stewardess brought me a blanket, which I still have.
I can look back on that and laugh a little, but that was a rough weekend. I didn't get my strength for about 7 days.
Then Monday morning, I stayed home. I remember watching the local news on TV that morning. There was a breaking story of a policeman who got killed that morning, leaving behind a wife and 2 children.
I was in the house alone, and I remember I started to cry, for that policeman's family, who I didn't even know. I cried for several hours, then I got to my feet, and though I was still weak, I got in my truck and went to a buffet restaurant and got something to eat. I have not been back to that restaurant to this day.
I didn't think men were supposed to do this, and I never thought I would print this, but nonetheless, that's what happened.
