Battle Ready: Memoir of a SEAL Warrior Medic

by Mark L. Donald

  19

  FINDING PEACE

  I have never advocated war except as a means of peace.

  —ULYSSES S. GRANT

  I joined a new team near Khowst, an ancient, dusty city near the Pakistan border 225 kilometers south of Kabul. To the north of the city was the rapidly expanding Forward Operating Base Salerno, which held the 352nd Combat Support Hospital, a multifunctional aviation task force, and some of my old friends from the 10th Mountain Division. The group I was assigned to primarily operated out of Forward Operating Base Chapman, a smaller, moderately fortified compound three miles southeast of the city. The team was tasked with a number of missions, but the only thing that mattered to me was the peace that had come over me once I touched down in Afghanistan. All the noise from the outside world quieted as my mind focused on the black-and-white elements of the battlefield. I wasn’t sure if it was the combat environment or being surrounded by my teammates, some of whom I felt were experiencing similar difficulties, that calmed my nerves, but it really didn’t matter to me. I was back, this time to help build the infrastructure the country needed to sustain its newly formed government.

  I looked forward to training Afghanistan’s security forces, working with the local leaders to strengthen ties with their national government, and reaching out to the native people in surrounding areas in hopes of increasing the cooperation necessary to quash the al Qaeda insurgency. It was textbook asymmetric warfare that Army Special Forces Operational Detachment Alpha teams had been working for nearly a year. However, operational commitments had grown at a steady rate, requiring specialized personnel, and I would be one of them.

  As the helicopter approached the firebase, I could see the remnants of the Soviet aircraft lining each side of the airstrip. As we touched down, I saw a vehicle rolling toward the helo pad and assumed it was my ride. I grabbed my bags and low-ran toward the truck, to be greeted by an old friend and mentor.

  “Great to see you, Maark,” Doc C said in his New York accent.

  “Good to be here, Doc,” I replied as I shook his hand and jumped into the truck. Doc C was a Special Forces medic who somehow managed to spend the majority of his time assigned to the Ranger Battalion. He, too, had moved up from the enlisted medical ranks to become a physician assistant, just as I had done. Only Doc C had done it years earlier, setting the example for special operations medics from all the services, including myself. He was getting closer to retirement but was as hard as ever, and I felt better knowing I would once again be working side by side with my mentor and friend.

  “I’m sorry about the loss. I knew Chief from Ranger Bat, and he was a hell of an operator,” he said, pulling into the gate.

  “Thanks, Doc, but right now I just want to get back to work.”

  “I know you do,” he replied in a voice echoing years of experience. I could tell he knew what I was feeling. Doc C had more combat time than any other PA I knew and performed exemplarily every time, earning him the prestige of being one of the few men to make the Ranger Hall of Fame—but also validating my theory that the stressors of combat may affect someone at home but dissipate in war.

  “Did they tell you they shut down the clinic at Shkin?” he asked.

  “I found out the day I departed. It crushed me. After all the work we put into it, they didn’t send my replacement.” Doc C was the man who started the campaign to build the clinic, and I was sent in to finish what he’d started.

  “No worries, I’ve got a plan.” He went on to explain how he was able to recruit two Afghani doctors willing to work in Khowst and Shkin, a monumental task considering how dangerous the border areas were. One of the men was already seeing patients at the medical clinic the Special Forces team had built just outside the compound walls. “All I need now is approval,” he said with a smile. A classic special operations maneuver: Get it done first, then ask for permission or forgiveness later. Still, reviving a program that was shut down was a little much for any operator. If he hadn’t been such a well-renowned medic with an impeccable war record he’d never get away with pulling shit like that, but he was and he did.

  We arrived at the medical hooch, our living quarters for the foreseeable future. “It’s just the two of us in here,” he said as we walked into the living quarters.

  I spotted a small folding board game sitting on the rickety table he used as a desk. “I see you brought your Scrabble game. Are we going to have time to play?” I asked.

  “Plenty” was all he said as we started bringing my gear in. Once everything was stowed he turned to me and said, “You doing alright?”

  “I’m fine,” I answered. “Hell, Doc. We actually have a real building to live in this time, and this one even comes with a mattress,” I said jokingly as I lifted up the two-inch Afghan sleeping pad that lay on top of the wooden bed frame.

  “You know what I mean,” he said, walking over to me. He looked me in the eyes, sighed, and said, “It’ll get better.”

  “Thanks, Doc, but does it ever end?” I asked as we walked over to the comms hooch to get me read in.

  “No” was all he said.

  It didn’t take long for me to adapt to the familiar routine of war. I was once again living in the monochrome parameters of combat, and the demons that haunted my sleep retreated into the darkness of my psyche. The missions at Khowst were not as intense as at Shkin, but they were just as dangerous. After Mangritay, I never questioned myself again, but I also never felt the same about going into battle. I had proven to myself I could still perform under fire despite coming within inches of losing my life, and after experiencing the mental hell I went through in my office back home, I wasn’t afraid to die; in many ways, I welcomed it. I lived through ambushes that no one should have survived, so I resigned myself to the notion that if I were to end up on the X again I probably wouldn’t be coming home. It wasn’t that I doubted my abilities or those of my teammates; it was simply a matter of statistics. No longer would the apprehension about an ambush dominate my mind as we moved toward our target. Here my nemesis would be the enemy’s rockets, mortars, and improvised explosive devices.

  IEDs were the poor man’s artillery, and the Taliban was quickly mastering the nuances of remotely denoted bombs. The mission tempo was high, and so was the stress. The bombs were nearly impossible to detect from a moving convoy, and no area was safe. IED attacks were just as common on deserted highways as they were in the streets we traveled around the city. Firebase Chapman was well fortified but still within striking range of enemy rocket fire from a nearby mountain, or mortars from within the city of Khowst.

  Over the next couple of months I felt the need to go on every mission. It may seem odd, but I was far more comfortable engaging in a direct firefight or even an ambush than dealing with indirect fire or an IED. As a SEAL, I was trained to react and counterattack and had a modicum of control over the situation. However, the random nature of rockets, mortars, and IEDs never took into account the skill set and experience of the warrior. It was simply a game of chance, adding new demons to my psyche that I wouldn’t find out about until my next trip home.

  HOME AGAIN

  My time at Khowst eventually came to an end, and I once again returned home for rest and relaxation and quality time with the family. The first few days were filled with enthusiasm, and I was effectively managing all the colorful input that irritated me before I left, but there were changes going on that even I couldn’t deny.

  Ever since I could remember I’d had a persistent, mild headache. At first I thought it was because I was dehydrated, so I began carrying a water bottle with me wherever I went, but time and constant infusion of water proved that wasn’t the cause. More concerning to me, I began noticing trouble focusing on what I was reading, hearing, or even watching on TV. I would often find myself confused to the point of reaching for words, despite knowing what I wanted to say. Over time my problems would fade, but they never seemed to disappear. They’d sometimes reappear at the most inopportune times, and I felt li
ke my intellectual capabilities were riding a yo-yo of clarity, but it definitely wasn’t a showstopper. I learned how to work with it.

  The constant time apart was taking its toll on Korrina, so I decided a weekend getaway might be just what we needed to get reacquainted. I wanted to make it a special occasion, so I rented a convertible and drove home to pick her up, proud of myself for the big surprise. However, it didn’t take long before a dark storm started brewing inside of me.

  Traffic had always annoyed me, but after repeated overseas tours I found the anxiety caused by bumper-to-bumper traffic to be nearly unbearable. To counter the maddening nervousness I experienced during a traffic jam, I’d started leaving for work extremely early and staying late, but this only added to my difficulties at home. Debris in the road or the homeless walking up to the car panhandling for money would raise my heart rate because it reminded me of the modus operandi of suicide bombers and how bad guys planted IEDs.

  I pulled up to the house and honked the horn. Korrina loved the car and was looking forward to the trip to wine country. We packed a couple of light bags, jumped in, and headed west, with no particular agenda other than to relax and enjoy each other’s company.

  We drove for two hours with no problems and caught up on conversations that had been neglected for months. Korrina seemed very happy for the first time in ages and was finally beginning to unwind when suddenly, pop! A rock flew out from underneath the driver’s-side front tire and crashed into the bottom of the car. The sound was reminiscent of an AK-47, which immediately took me back to being on the X. I downshifted and floored the gas pedal, yelling, “Move, move, move.” I maneuvered past two cars, then braked hard and turned quickly onto a side road. I then whipped the car around to ensure I was able to escape farther down the road if I needed to. My heart was racing, and once again anger consumed my body. As I brought the car to a sudden stop I flung the door open, jumped out and peered down the road, trying to assess the trapped vehicles that didn’t exist. Realizing what had just happened, I walked back to the car and sat down in the driver’s seat and grabbed the steering wheel.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Korrina yelled.

  “I don’t know,” I yelled back at her, eyes red and watery with shame.

  “OK, I understand that you don’t want to see anyone because you’re afraid it will damage your career.”

  “I’m not afraid!” I yelled, cutting her off.

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” she yelled back.

  I gripped the steering wheel as if I were trying to choke the car to death. She waited a few moments to allow the situation to cool down, then continued in a much lower tone.

  “Mark, I can’t help you if you won’t let me in.”

  “Well, I’m home now, so if you want to talk we can talk,” I answered sarcastically.

  “Don’t lie to me. More importantly, stop lying to yourself. We both know you’re going to lock yourself up in that damn room like you always do. When you do come out, the rest of us walk around the house on pins and needles, careful not to say or do anything that will set you off or send you back upstairs into your damn isolation chamber.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” I answered in a tone that didn’t welcome an answer. “I’m the medic, I’m the guy everyone is supposed to come to. What kind of doc would I be if I were the one with the disorder? Would you rather have me drink it away with the boys? I can take care of this myself.”

  “That’s just it, Mark, you’re not supposed to treat yourself. You know that.” She spoke in a voice on the verge of yelling and crying. “You need to talk to someone. If not me, then find someone, because what you’ve been doing hasn’t been working.”

  I knew she was right but just couldn’t admit it to myself. I’m a SEAL, damn it! I had been given the tools to handle anything life throws at me. Besides, if she really knew what I’d gone through she’d realize this wasn’t a manifestation of mental weakness but a display of mental tenacity. Not everyone can box things up and store them away. Sure, I was taking excessive amounts of medications, but that was only for my sleep, and the only alcohol I was consuming was to supplement what the drugs could no longer do on their own. I wasn’t some basket case. I remembered what I learned in my early years watching the older veterans turn to the bottle at the local watering hole, each one of them in his own way telling me not to use drugs or alcohol as an escape. This wasn’t a weakness that needed counseling; this was a display of strength! I just needed more time.

  “Mark.” Hearing her voice snapped me back into reality. “This is only stressing the rest of us out. You’re making life much harder on everyone.”

  “How, by coming home and telling everyone how much I love them?” I immediately fired back, adamant that I wasn’t the problem.

  “Yes! Yes.” The car fell quiet as her answer set in. “Mark, I love you and I’m not going to leave you,” she said in a soft, sincere tone, “but you come in for a few weeks, maybe a month if we’re lucky, then zip back out again. No one knows where you’re going, and that’s fine. I serve in the same navy as you and understand the need for operational security, but half the time we never know when you’re coming home. A week turns into a month, and a month into who knows when. How can I, how can we prepare for that?”

  “So why does it matter when I come home? It’s not like I’m out gallivanting around,” I said.

  “If you can’t see it in me—” She paused, then fired back, “Think about what you’re doing to the kids!” The car got deathly quiet. We both sat and stared straight ahead for what felt like eternity. “Summer is right around the corner, and both of the kids will be here. You need to think about being home for part of it, and not coming and going through the revolving door you constantly use. It only disrupts our routine; they need stability, not uncertainty, in their lives.” She lowered her voice even further and softly said in a tone that echoed the sadness in her heart, “It’s almost better if you just stay gone.”

  I continued staring straight ahead, not wanting to accept any of it. I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “Mark, if you think Tabetha is isolated from all of this by living in New Mexico, you’re wrong. It’s great that you visit her every time you go back home, but you’re still missing all of her major events in life.”

  “I call,” I said with a tired voice. “I call all of you as much as I can.”

  “Honey, it doesn’t help when the call is interrupted by a boom and the sound of gunfire in the background.”

  I angrily interrupted her, feeling she was covering the same ground she walked moments before. “No one knows when the firebase is going to be attacked! It wasn’t like I said, ‘Hey, it looks like we’re going to be rocketed. I think I’ll go outside and place a call home with the satellite phone.’”

  “But I don’t want to hear that!” she cried back at me. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, remembering the distinctive sound of incoming rocket fire and how vulnerable I felt each time it happened, and realized I felt the same way now. Korrina reached over to pull my face toward hers and said, “I don’t need to hear that. I just want you home.” I knew she was right. I was making things worse for the people I loved. I knew I had to do something, but I wasn’t ready to talk, so I did the same thing at home that I was doing everywhere else. I boxed it up and locked it away, figuring the colors would either fade to black and white or I’d deal with it later, but now wasn’t the time.

  I spent the next month with the family, even taking everyone on a vacation for a couple of weeks. It was the first time since I could remember that I felt truly happy, but I knew once we returned home it probably wouldn’t stay that way for long. I needed to get back to the uncomplicated world of black and white, so once again I jumped on the next trip that would take me back to the simpler world of life and death.

  20

  ADRIFT

  “There is no peace,” says the Lord, “for the wicked.”

  �
�ISAIAH 48:22

  I kept my sanity by bouncing back and forth to Central Command. At first it was my only means of finding peace, but later it satisfied a different need. The whirlwind of adrenaline, anger, and fear related to combat had become a drug, and I was addicted. As a SEAL medic in combat, I was required to control my emotions during periods of extreme danger and immediately assess the situation and react within my limitations in the face of death. To me it was the greatest test of strength and fortitude for the noblest of causes, protecting the lives of others, and the operational tempo was more than accommodating. There were never enough men to cover all the missions and even fewer special operations medics. On occasion, I would come across a savvy officer who could keep his eyes on both the battlefield requirements and the mental health of his medic. They’d do what they thought necessary to ensure I was fine and send me to the psychiatrist for an evaluation, but the psych department never had a chance.

  The pre- and post-deployment questionnaires were all based on the member’s own desire to open up to the provider about the symptoms he or she was having. It was a good step in the right direction, but the small series of questions wasn’t nearly enough to expose anyone’s difficulties, especially if the person’s intent was to hide them. Then came the battery of written tests. Come on now, I’d think, laughing to myself. Like I haven’t seen these before. I was a medical provider, too, so I was familiar with the many psychological testing procedures being utilized at the time, especially the particular one they used. On a few occasions we’d have an interview session, but that wasn’t anything new either. I knew exactly how everything operated. Hell, I was the guy that sent his patients to the experts for evaluation when the care fell outside of my expertise, and when they’d return from their appointment I’d get a call from the doc to discuss their treatment plans. I certainly didn’t have the knowledge they had on the diagnosis and treatment of mental conditions, but none of them had ever been under fire. That made it easy for me. Each time I’d walk in for an evaluation, I felt as if I were about to be taught how operate a semi truck by someone who didn’t even have a driver’s license. It didn’t matter if he had built the truck from the ground up and knew every part of it like the back of his hand. The fact was he’d never driven it, and the only way he could experience what it was like to slide sideways on an icy road was to either drive the damn thing or jump into the passenger seat, and I wasn’t about to unlock the door.