Did I Hear What I Think I Heard?

  I was stunned, confused, then figured the Col. was just playing with me. I told him not to even joke around like that. He was not joking. He was serious. He actually wanted me to go against everything I believed in about medicine. I blew it off. The look in his eyes was telling me he was for real. I know how much pain he is in. I have watched him waste away to a shell of the man he was when he was admitted. He was a tall, good-looking man in his early seventies. A fighter pilot in his youth. An avid golfer. He made me tell him all about my round of golf every time I played. I could tell how much he missed it. I could tell how much he missed life, in general. Bunny spent as much time as she could with him but he insisted on her not staying all day with him. I guess it gave him time to work on me to convince me to end his life. He must have realized that it was going to take a lot of convincing on his part to get me to pull it off. I did not give it much thought, at first. He was relentless. The Col. was a very intelligent man and I'm sure he was used to getting his way. After all, he was a squadron commander of an air fighter wing. I could sit with him for hours, and often did when the unit was not at capacity, listening to the many stories of his dogfights in WWII and the Korean war. He was an ace and had never been shot down. He had some close calls but always made it back to base. I had wondered if the decision to end his life was ever discussed with Bunny. I still wonder, to this day. He knew that his time was not that far away but, once before, the doctors had tried some experimental drugs and he, amazingly, got to feeling better. The immense pain he constantly was in was evident in everything he did. You could see it in his eyes. Those steely green eyes were losing their brightness. The doctors could not tell him how much time he had left. I felt that he was going to be in charge of when that time would be. He had one hurdle. Convincing me.   theblogmeister

The Question

So far, it has been a quiet night. My favorite nurse, Nancy, is working with me. There would be only two staff that worked the night shift. A registered nurse and a medical service specialist. That is the name of the job I perform. I do anything that the nurses do with less pay. I am an NCO while Nancy is a Captain. We hit it off the first time we met and enjoyed working the night shift, together. Our unit is a male orthopaedic surgery unit with 25 beds. The Col. slept in room 225. It was the only single bed room on our unit. It is also an isolation room where, if need be, we can gown and glove in a separate room before the room where the Col. slept. I had spent about thirty minutes with the Col. before I made my rounds to check on my other patients. I had 4 pre-ops for the next morning and had to make sure each one understood they were not to eat or drink after midnight. The ward got quiet after our post-op patients received their pain and sleep meds so I peeked in on the Col. He was still awake waiting on me to finish my nightly duties. He had been on our unit for several months and knew the routine, well. The reason we had a terminal patient on our unit instead of the medical unit is because of the isolation room. If you have any knowledge of military life you know the importance the active duty personnel give to a retired full bird colonel. They are treated with the utmost respect and with this particular full bird I had grown to respect him and know him more than I should have. He, and his wife Bunny, were fantastic people and I had grown to love them. This is not a good idea when you know that he is terminal and will die, soon. There was something special about Col. DeBarge that made me forget his medical prognosis. We became great friends and everyone on our unit knew that I was headed for an emotional abyss. I was warned by more than a few that I was getting too emotionally connected to him. I could not help it. He was something. Little did I know that he would impact my life and bring me close to the edge of insanity. Just six words started an avalanche of emotional pain, so intense, that it would affect me for the next 32 years. Those 6 words were, "Will you end this, for me?"  theblogmeister

A Busy Day

  My little brother called me this morning and asked if I would Join him and two others
 in a golf tournament. I have not played any golf in two years because of my back surgeries. I agreed to give it a shot, no pun intended, and had a great time. We played 4-man best ball and came in 3rd place. Actually, we tied for 3rd and because of the tie-breaker we were out of the money. But I had a blast. I am sore as hell, right now, and I hope that Bastard the Col. feels it, too. I know that won't happen. If he bothers me tonight, I will get a 7 iron after his ass. I am in the process of trying to get links to other blogs that deal with PTSD so I can inform my readers. Knowledge is power. I hope I am able to get some much needed uninterrupted sleep, tonight. I will let you know how it goes.
  I have decided to go back to the beginning, go back to 1978 when all this started. I will continue my journal until I reach the time I was diagnosed with PTSD. There will be some posts that will deal with the previous nights dream but I will try and keep this journal on course. Strap in, my friend, because you are about to take the ride of your life!    theblogmeister

It Is 4am and I am Still Here

  What the hell are you doing up at this hour? Well, thanks to my good friend, " The Demon," I will not get much needed sleep. I did sleep for a couple hours and am grateful for that. I do not want to sound like a complainer. My readers may think that way. The fact of the matter is I want my readers to try and see life through my eyes. I am also grateful that I did not have a terrible dream that jolted me out of my bed, per usual. I have some days, although with sleep lacking, that I do rather well. Those days are becoming less, unfortunately. I did relive my traumatic experience once again. This time the Col. must have been under a tight schedule because he spent little time with me. One little victory! I really am exhausted, though. I will try, through prayer and reading my bible, to find the strength I need to make it through another day. later    theblogmeister

The Light Is Gone

  It is dark outside. I can feel my heart rate exceeding its normal limits. I do not want to go to sleep. Could it be that the more I talk about Him at the conscious level I am giving Him power over me? I capitalize the pronouns for a reason. He is alive, to me. He lives in the dark recesses of my mind waiting on the chance to show His strength. I have tried, in therapy, to depersonalize Him. My therapist thought it important to try and not talk about Him. Use imagery, a type of therapy that uses visualizations to control or change mood and behavior. Everything I learned in therapy made sense to me. I do not understand why, when the sub-conscious takes hold, I still dream of this man. It is probably not a very good idea for me to be writing about Him this close to sleep. I think it may reinforce His presence. If I watched black and white movies all day, will I dream in black and white? I am rambling, doing anything to avoid the inevitable. Will He come, tonight? Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake. I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen   theblogmeister

Where Do We Go From Here

  I am seriously considering hypnotherapy, again. It seemed to work for me the first time. How well will it do this time? I am at the point of near desperation. Sleep has been almost non-existent for me, lately. My anxiety level goes way up when the sun goes down. I'm afraid to go to sleep because of the fear that my sub-conscious puts me through. There was a time that I used the narcotics to deal with my Demon, as I choose the Colonel by that name. It is almost evil. What is puzzling is that all thoughts originate in my mind. Does that mean that I am evil? Could it be that I am possessed? I really do not know exactly what that means. My mind seems to have control over my thoughts while I sleep. Seems, hell! It does have control. So, I ask myself, who controls my thoughts? If I had total control over my thoughts, whether awake or asleep, I would not be having these occurring dreams of a person that I killed over thirty years ago. Am I, without knowledge, creating this turmoil? Is it a way to punish myself for what I did to a human being, going against the Hippocratic oath, by "doing no harm?" That is exactly the root of the problem. I have known this. It is nothing new. Yet, as soon as sleep finally overtakes me I will meet up with Him, again. Am I going to have to kill Him, again? I damn sure can't bring him back to life. The truth is that he never died. His physical body died when I dosed him with morphine and potassium chloride. His, I don't know what to call it, ghostly? part of him lives on. It is, and has been, his mission to never let me forget and to make me pay for what I did to Him. When will we be even? I want my debt paid. Because of Him, and my spinal stenosis, mostly Him, I cannot provide properly for my wife. She is the one that chases Him away at night. She is the one that holds me and makes my fear go away. What can I do for her? I really don;t know how she does it. I am grateful to have her. Later   theblogmeister

I Could Use Your Help

 I will not ask for handouts. What I will ask is if you would take advantage of these great deals on Amazon through my website and I will get paid a little. While I am waiting for my VA claim to go through the process the only income I have is social security disability and my ex-wife gets half of that for back child support. That's OK, I owe it to her. I do need some help, so, please consider clicking on amazon from my website and buy some great items at very good prices. Thank you for your help and prayers, theblogmeister, David

Still Awake

  I have not gone to bed since my uninvited visitor last night. Fear is a great motivator. I understand, more than any, the need for sleep. I sometimes hope that complete exhaustion will render me comatose, therefore, giving no quarter to My Demon. I will not fight Him the way I fought Him for almost 25 years by the use of narcotics. It is so tempting to fall back in those old behaviors. The use of narcotics worked but they came with a hefty price that I am not willing to pay. So, how do I deal with the monster inside me? I have tried to turn my problems over to God. I have tried psychiatry. I have tried hypnotherapy, with some success, I might add. I am in the process of using pharmacology under the guidance of the medical profession, excluding narcotics. I do, however, take narcotics for a back problem that has caused me to have 4 back surgeries. The morphine is kept in the custody of my wife and she ensures that I do not abuse them. I have been admitted to an inpatient psychiatric facility to treat my PTSD which involved group and individual counseling. I have tried emotive therapy. There definitely is no lack, on my part, of dealing with this problem. My grown son says I am a piece of shit and will have nothing to do with me. I do not understand his hatefulness of me. I have tried to be a good father to him but he will have nothing of it.
  Other than what I previously mentioned my life is going great. I only wish for some undisturbed sleep. Am I asking too much?   theblogmeister

Can't Tell The Difference

  I barely heard my wife tell me that she was going with my daughter to take our grandson to the E.R. I had taken my meds, so, I was pretty well out of it. Later, I don't know how long, I heard the sound of the front door opening. I was not completely
awake, trying to listen for my wife come to bed. I heard nothing since the sound of the front door opening. I raised up in bed and turned on my bedside light and found no one in bed with me. Hesitantly, I got up out of bed to see where my wife was. Her car keys were on her computer table, her shoes where she takes them off. She had not left the house. Where was she? I checked each room, one by one, and she was no where to be found. I was walking toward our bedroom and the door was closed. I had not closed the door. I could see light coming from under the door. Bright light. Where the hell was that coming from? I did not have a light that bright in my bedroom. As I was reaching toward the door handle I heard a voice from behind me. "I would not do that if I were you." I recognized the raspy voice of the Col. I turned to confront him and he was not there. I was frozen in place. I told myself that I was having another nightmare. I did not think this was a dream. It was as real as I am sitting here writing about it. I called out to the Col. "Show yourself, you bastard." No response. "What's wrong, are you suddenly a coward?" I must have been screaming because my throat was hoarse. I was about to yell something else when I felt a hand on my shoulder and my wife's voice asking me if I was alright. I could not speak for several minutes. When I finally was able to talk I told my wife everything. Then I began weeping. She helped me to bed and I stayed with her until she fell asleep. How I envy her sleep.  theblogmeister

My Dream That Turned Into a Nightmare

  Every since I was a small boy my dream of becoming a doctor was real. That is the only thing I wanted. To be able to heal the sick. To improve the quality of life for others. To save lives. After graduating high school the dreams of my youth never faded, they only became stronger. I entered the U.S. Air Force to begin the long hard road of becoming a doctor. After medical training I was assigned to a 250 bed hospital at Eglin A.F.B. in Ft. Walton Beach, Fl. My on the job training started on an orthopaedic surgery floor. I was like a sponge. I learned something new every day. I had some friends that were doctors that would let me scrub in on some of their cases. There was nothing that was standing in my way. I became the best tech on our floor. I knew how to set up any type of traction equipment and when doctors orders were written for a type of traction equipment to be set up they asked for me to do it. The doctors and nursing staff knew that I could be counted on to get the job done.
  The day was September 18, 1978. It was the day that I threw my medical career out the window. I had done the one thing that ruined my chance of ever fulfilling the dreams that I carried with me throughout my life. Had it not been for Colonel Renold DeBarge, I know, without a doubt in my mind, that I would be practicing medicine as we speak. Think about it for a moment. One action changed the course of my life and has caused me so much psychological and physical pain beyond comprehension. Because of that lapse in judgement I have become an emotional and physical wreck. I am not asking or expecting sympathy from anyone. I made the mistake and am paying for that mistake every day of my life. It is easy to say that I should have known better. That I got what I deserved. Bullshit. I was a 19 year old kid that was manipulated by a very smart retired Full Bird Colonel that wanted to end his life but knew by doing so, he would ruin his wife's chance at receiving his retirement and pension, probably his life insurance, too. I blame my commander of our hospital unit by seeing I was getting too attached to the Col. and instead of reassigning me, she granted the Col.'s request that I be totally in charge of his care. She warned me that I was getting too close but what did she do? She made damn sure that I stayed close. Am I pissed? You damn right I am! I see his face constantly. Terrorizing my psyche. My life was worth nothing to the Col., or, my C.O., for that matter. I am in the process of filing for service-connected disability for PTSD. Even that will not be enough.    theblogmeister

I Need a Valium

  I am making a joke out of what happened to me last night. Every word of it is true. That is one of my tamer nightmares. I have had them so bad that my wife wakes me up and convinces me that what had happened was indeed a dream. I have never had such vivid dreams filled with pure fear. Sometimes the Col. is trying to kill me. He chases me, runs me down, tortures me, and it has been going on since 1978. It got so bad back in 2003 I was admitted into the VA hospital in Tuscaloosa, Al. I was told, then, that I suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I had never heard of PTSD. When it was explained to me by other patients, veterans with the diagnosis of PTSD, I did not think that it applied to me. I was never in combat, never been to war. All the guys that I was in group therapy with, they all were in combat. Some were in the Vietnam War while others were in the gulf war. I was told by my therapist not to discuss my case in group until he talked with the higher-ups because mine involved a crime. Albeit, over thirty years ago. After about two weeks my therapist came to me and told me that I had the OK to tell my story. An investigation was not opened after the Col.'s death. He had no children and his wife had passed away long ago. I felt like I did not deserve to be in the same group with these guys. To me, they were heroes. I got up the nerve to tell my story and you could have heard a pin drop after I finished. They came up to me and hugged my neck and told me that I was a part of them, that I had PTSD and they would do anything for me to help me get through it. I wish they were here, now.  theblogmeister

Who's There?

  The noise was so loud it woke me from a deep sleep. I sat up in bed as still as I could be. My wife's breathing was the only sound that I could hear. I then noticed the tic-tic of the clock at our bedside. The iridescent glow told me that it was 1:08 am. My heart beat soon drowned out the sound of her breathing followed by the sound of the clock. All I could hear, now, was the double bass beat of my atrium and ventricle. My brain was sending signals to my ears in order to figure out what woke me in the first place, hoping for a repeat to find the culprit. My eyes were no use to me because of the darkness. That made my auditory senses much sharper. I sat there for a few minutes trying to decide what to do next when I heard it, again. My pupils had dilated to allow more light and I could see my wife lying on her side, facing away from me. I had not noticed how dark our bedroom was at this time of the morning. It was dark. I had to rely on my hearing which was becoming very acute. The noise sounded like it was coming from the front room. Our bedroom is at the back of the house and I could still hear that something was not right. I live in a house that was built sometime in the forties and it has the sounds most old houses have. This was not an ordinary sound. It was loud enough to wake me up from a dead sleep. I sat there frozen, not wanting to wake my wife. We have a poodle that sleeps at the foot of the bed on his dog blanket. He is 14 years old with cataracts in both eyes but that don't affect his hearing. There is nothing wrong with his hearing. It's fine. Then why does he not hear the noise in the front room? Shit! I cannot lay back down until I figure out what the hell is going on."Pooh," I whispered. That is the dog's name. Blind and deaf. Just my luck.
  I quietly turned and put my feet on the floor trying to locate my house shoes. Damn, the floor is cold. My night vision has found its groove and I can see, a little. What I couldn't see was my house shoes. I tip-toed towards my dresser to get a pair of socks. There it was, again! Someone or something was definitely in my house. My foot brushed up against something. My house shoes. I slipped them on and made my way to the bedroom door. My night vision is not good enough, I have to get some help. In the top drawer of my dresser is a pen light. I need that light. I, with great care, slide open my dresser drawer about six inches, just enough to get my hand inside. Something is not right. I keep a box in the right-hand corner of the drawer filled with tie clips, cuff links, my class ring, and assorted items. The box is not there. I stand very still and think about what I've done. I got out of bed on the left but I sleep on the right. I can barely see the room but I can see enough to know the arrangement is all wrong. There is very little light coming through the window. There looks to be some sort of heating and air-conditioning unit running the length and below the window. A television is mounted about six feet off the floor. A curtain is mounted in the middle of the room pulled past the foot of the bed. My breathing is going to give me away, it is that loud. I close my eyes tight and try to concentrate on slowing my breathing when I hear the noise, again. It sounds like it is just outside my door. I am wondering if it is my door, my room. Hell, is this my house? Thoughts are racing through my brain at warp speed. I must be dreaming. That has to be what is happening. It would explain everything. A crooked smile has me starting to relax. I am not used to mellow dreams. They are usually horror flicks. Relief.
  I grope for the switch on the wall and flip it up. What the hell! I find myself bathed in bright florescent light. I am standing in the middle of a hospital room with two beds, the curtain separating the two. One bed is empty and fully made. No one has been lying in that bed. This has got to be the weirdest dream I have ever experienced. I could not see if anyone was using the other bed. I was closer to the door when I hear a noise coming from the other side of the curtain. It sounded like someone gargling Listerine. Where the hell did my wife go? I know I was just lying beside her moments ago. I thought I was, at least. Please, God, wake me up. I do not like this, at all. I reach for the door and slowly open it. The light from the room was shining on my refrigerator. Now I am totally confused. I just want to wake up. I opened the door completely and could see my kitchen. I felt a little better, so, I walked over to the sink, turned the cold water on, cupped my hands and splashed water on my face. Shit, that's cold! I turn and look at my bedroom door and it is closed. I could see it by the light over the oven we use for a night light. Yes! Finally. It has been a while since I did any sleep walking. I almost laughed out loud. You don't know what a relief I felt. I was tired all of a sudden and decided to go back to that warm bed. I opened the door and all the air left my body. I stood dead still. I could not move. It was the Col. sitting up in his hospital bed staring into my wide eyes. Why? Why? I slammed the door and ran. I ran as fast as I could go with a back that has been fused. I stopped when I realized that He would not follow. He will be waiting for me in my dreams, with open arms. 
 

What Have I done?

  For all of my readers I have relived the traumatic event that ruined my life. Now, I am not blaming you, at all. I made the choice to go back and give all my readers the story that happened so long ago and the consequences of reliving that day. The problem with reliving a traumatic event is that it brings out the very thing that has caused havoc in my life. PTSD is a very cunning disease. It can last for years and sometimes get worse with age. It is not like a bottle of fine wine, on the contrary, as soon as you open that bottle it is almost like Satan himself is released. All of the pain, in my case, exploded to the forefront. My nightmares have returned with a vengeance. I am afraid to go to sleep.
  There is a big difference between the conscious mind (Being awake and aware of your surroundings) and the sub-conscious mind (having absolutely no control of your surroundings.) I have even consulted with a hypnotherapist to try to change my sub-conscious thoughts. I have even considered acupuncture. Do I sound desperate? The terror filled nights that I have experience has begun to question my sanity. I think about our men in the military and what horrors they have witnessed. I pray for them and I hope you will add them in your prayers whether you agree with the United States' foreign policy. It sickens me to see Americans that hold rallies invoving dead soldiers funerals and yell that they got what they deserve. I'm sure you know about the church in Kansas that pickets those military burials spouting cruel and inhumane voices at the grieving families. I believe in freedom of speech but let those crazies exercise their right in Kansas, not all over the country at our fallen heroes funerals.
  Because of my charge nurse that supervised me on the surgical floor I worked while in the military, I was ordered to care for a dying patient that manipulated me into taking his life. Medicine was my life. Because of her not wanting to displease a dying patient I was ordered to care for him, exclusively. Had my commanding officer on our floor explained to the Col. that I could not care for him any longer my life would be fulfilled with a dream since childhood. I would have become a doctor. Saving countless lives instead of ruining my own

He's Back

  The sound woke me up with a jolt.It had to be coming from inside the house. I checked on my wife, she was sound asleep. I slowly got up out of my bed, not to disturb Lorri. The sound was distinct, close. I could not believe Lorri did not hear it. I slowly got out of bead making sure to be very quiet. It sounded like it was coming from the front bedroom. I sneaked through the house not to disturb, I did not want to whomever it was that he had been heard. I slowly walked toward the front of the house. I could hear the faint drumming of medical equipment. I slowly made my way towards the front bedroom. There was a light emanating from around the door. I could not see into the bedroom, so, I had to make another plan. I decided to go outside at the window air-conditioner to see if I could hear anything that was coming from that room. My Dad usually used that room when he stayed with me but I could tell for sure this was not my Dad's doings. First of all, Dad's car was not parked in my driveway. Who could it be? I went back to check on my wife and she was sound asleep. I went back to the A/C outside to see if I could hear anything out of the room. I heard what sounded like a patient in ICU. The ventilator, forcing air into someones lungs. What is happening? I am in my own home and these sounds are immpossible. I walked back inside and made my walk to the front bedroom. The door had about an inch gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. I laid out and looked under the door. I could see several hospital booties moving around a central figure. I barely made out the words. " Doctor, Mr. Riley's vitals are falling." came a voice that sounded female. "Give him another amp of lidocaine." The female voice aided.. I went to the bathroom and found a mirror to slide under the door in the hopes that I could see more. I slid it under the door and the first person I recognized was Col. DeBarge. I immediately started screaming at the top of my lungs. The Col. immediately recognized my voice. "Get him, " he yelled. I stood up and began to run as fast as I could. I did not recognize where I was, at first. The more I ran the environment came to me. I was at Eglin AFB, Florida. My mind was confused. This has never happened. I ran as fast as I could until I collapsed. When I came to there was the Col. standing above me with the most wicked smile I have ever seen. I was caught. This will be the end. I closed my eyes closed and I prayed. "God can't help you, now."
  I awoke with a jerk. My wife said, 'What is wrong? The Col." I just held her in my arms and cried.
  
"When will this stop? Will it ever stop?" The horror continues. The Col. will not give me peace. I don't know how much more I can handle before I lose my mind.                                  theblogmeister

Recall

  This is the first time I have sat at my computer since my last post. Reliving what happened so long ago almost derailed my sanity. The pain of that day has crept into my dreams. The Col., once again, dominates my mind. I was reluctant to tell the story that changed my life for that reason. When I sleep my night has become a time to fear. I am reliving the pain. I am dreading the dark because I am afraid to sleep. Terror is a word that has life for me. I have given myself to my sub-conscious. The Col. is very much alive in my dreams. He is angry. He is seeking revenge for what I did to him. Night after night I am fighting sleep because I know what awaits. In the darkness He has strength. I try to get control of my sub-conscious while I am awake so I can defeat Him when I sleep. Slumber is His domain. I have no power over Him. Fear is trying to creep into my conscious mind. It is a struggle that I am not winning. I only win while I am awake. I cannot stay awake forever. The longer I am sleep deprived the deeper I sleep when it overtakes me. That is His power, His domain, and my weakness. Sleep has given Him life, again. It is hard. My strength has become weaker. I will not give in to Him. I will fight.   theblogmeister

The Colonel Became The Demon

This was, indeed, a traumatic event. I left Florida but brought Col. DeBarge with me. I started having terrible nightmares. If you look back into some of my oldest posts you will find a diary of those nightmares. Those nightmares began to affect me after I awoke from my sleep.   This is when I found something to get rid of those nightmares. It was not therapy, well, I guess it was therapy, not the traditional kind, though. It was self medication. Alcohol only intensified the nightmares but some narcotics erased them. It started, ironically, just before I was discharged from the Air Force. I hurt my back while in the Air Force and used the VA hospital in Birmingham, AL. for treatment after I was discharged. I was prescribed percocet 5mg for the pain. It stopped my physical pain but what was most important was that those perc's stopped my emotional pain. I could deal with the nightmares and the re-living the murdering of a patient when I was high. Let's be real, here. It can be called many different things but when all is said and done you still have to call it murder. Those percocets became my salvation. I was not a murderer. They worked so good that I went to Gadsden State Community College and got a job with the local ambulance service trying to resurrect a passion for medicine. It lasted until the first call I got involving a child being thrown from a vehicle. I quit the next day. I knew that I was developing a drug habit and had to give up medicine, permenantly. I have heard that something like 20% of all medical doctors have used narcotics for themself. What was the saying, " A doctor that treats himself has a fool for a client?" Whoever made that up was a genius. It works as well if you are a divorce attorney.
  Back to my story..... later tonight. Thanks, theblogmeister

The Beginning of the End

  I thought long and hard about what I was about to do. I know so much, now, after months and months of therapy, than I knew then. I was an impressionable young kid when I became involved with the Col. I thought that I could handle it. I did not think it would bother me. I knew about euthanasia so I made myself believe that what I was about to do was the right thing. He was wasting away to a disease that was eating away his body. Not his mind, though. He knew what he was doing. It did not matter what it would do to me. He could not commit suicide and risk losing his retirement and pension and leaving his wife, Bunny, in a dire situation. I loved them, both. They were great people and did not deserve what was happening to them. It was time. I gave the Col. a large amount of morphine sulphate in his IV. I then gave him about 30cc of potassium chloride.I walked out of his room without looking back. I immediately took a right into the stairwell and walked down, exited the hospital, got into my car and drove home. Within an hour the phone rang, it was the hospital. I was told that Bunny needed me. That is all the nurses said. They did not tell me the Col. was dead, of course, I already knew. They thought that I would be in no shape to drive if I knew he was dead. I drove back to the hospital and poked floor number 2. I walked out of the elevator and there was an erie calm. Everyone was watching me as I walked toward the Col.'s room. Bunny met me at the door and we just held each other and cried. They had no children of their own but on many occasions they told me that they were going to adopt me. She held onto me and led me in his room. What I saw lying in that bed would haunt me for the next 31 years. I was devastated at what I had done. All of my emotions escaped me at once. I collapsed and had to be treated by my fellow employees. I saw the pain that I caused in Bunny's eyes. This was all my fault. Bunny had told me that she wanted me to come by her house that the Col. had some things he wanted me to have. After Bunny left the hospital I went home and was in a trance-like state. I was in shock. The doctors wanted to admit me for observation but I said no. The next day I went to my first seargent and asked to be transferred off the floor to another job in the hospital. I spoke to noone about what happened. It was a complete surprise to my friends that I worked with. I was transferred in about 2 weeks and was discharged from the military within 3 months. My company commander of the medical squadron was from the same hometown I was from and he got me an honorable discharge from the Air Force. I gave up on everything I wanted and loved. I never saw Bunny, again. What began were nightmares of unspeakable terror. I had created a monster and he would not let me have peace. His name was Colonel Renold L. DeBarge.      theblogmeister

My Story

  It's 1 am and I can't stop thinking about the story that changed my life. His name was Colonel Renold L. DeBarge. A patient of mine that cursed my life. I had been working on the Ortho floor for about a year. I was the best tech on that unit. I had enrolled in Okaloosa-Walton Jr. College to get my pre-med classes started. I was working days when the Col. was admitted on our floor. We had one isolation room on our floor and that was the room the Col. was admitted into. Room 225. He and I hit it  off  immediately. He was a retired Full Bird Colonel and a fighter pilot. The most intriguing man I had ever met. Smart, witty, full of great stories. I spent most all my spare time with him. He was also dying. He had terminal cancer with less than 6 months to live. My commanding officer told me that I was getting too emotionally connected to the Col. That I should start pulling back. So, I did. The Col. kept asking for me. He met with my commanding officer and requested me full time. Instead of telling him that was not possible, she told me that I was assigned to the Col. and no other patient. That was fine with me. Until, about two weeks later, the Col. asked me if I would do him a favor. Of course, I told him. Anything. He asked me to end this all for him. It did not register, at first. I made him clarify his request. What he was asking me to do was kill him. After he worked me for a couple weeks I agreed to do it. To go against everything I was made of, inside. I was going to be a doctor. I shall do no harm. A part of the Hippocratic Oath. I had to think about this. Think I did.  theblogmeister

Non-Combat Related PTSD

  Post traumatic stress disorder is a disease that can be caused by a number of factors. First, one has to experience an event so traumatic that it disrupts daily life. It is a disabling anxiety disorder that people might develop following exposure to one or more traumatic events. A trauma is an event that causes intense fear during which the individual may feel like they (or someone very close to them) are about to die or experience serious harm. PTSD is a severe anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to any event which results in psychological trauma.
  PTSD has become a disease that has garnered interest the last few years mainly because of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Soldiers are being diagnosed with PTSD because of these wars.
  I was diagnosed with PTSD in 2002 by a doctor in the Veterans Hospital in Tuscaloosa, AL. I did not agree with the diagnosis until 2008. My traumatic event happened in 1978 and my life began to spiral out of control very shortly after.
 This is my story.
  When I was growing up the only thing that I wanted to do with my life was to become a doctor. I came from a middle-class family and the only way I was to attend college was through the military. I joined the Air Force shortly after graduating high school and entered the medical field with the plan of attending college with the help of the military's GI Bill. I was stationed at Eglin. A.F.B. in Florida after attending medical training in Texas. My job was attending to orthopaedic surgery patients. I started IV's, put down NG tubes, foley caths, and a lot of patient care. I really loved my job. It was the spring of 1978 when I met the man that would soon come to rule my sleep. I will explain in detail the traumatic event that almost took my life. later,  theblogmeister

It Is Time For Change

  The core readers of my blog are military veterans, some who have been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, as I. To continue to talk about military operations, war stories, and the like, is becoming to be a little unfair to the veterans that I serve. You understand the reason of the title of this post. I will say to any veteran, or civilian for that matter, that may have an interest in reading about my problems can do so by clicking on archived posts and finding an article that may be beneficial to you. I want to help as best I can, especially the veteran, understand what works and doesn't work when it comes to dealing with PTSD. I will also encourage comments, that I will publish, from anyone with something positive to say. Knowledge is power.
  I am going to deviate a little from my previous posts. I feel that living in the past pains of PTSD is probably not such a good idea. I lived in the throngs for over 30 years. Only when I was able to break away from my past is when I could let it stay in my past.
  I am anxious about this new direction and hope it serves you, well. You will hear from me, soon.  theblogmeister