Page 115 - Anthology

I served in Viet Nam and I have PTSD from my experiences. I was an infantryman. I went on patrols
searching for “Charlie” (Viet Cong). We quickly learned that Charlie was on patrol looking for us. It was
us or them. Kill or be killed. Some guys had problems squaring it with their religion, but for me I knew
what I had to do to survive. Being born and raised on a farm paid off for me in Viet Nam. I knew how to
pay attention to where I was walking and stepping, and how to be quiet. One of my friends only had a few
days to go before his tour of duty was up. But an artillery round landed in his foxhole and killed him.
Being a “short-timer” was a spooky thing. The shorter my days, the more nervous I became. I remember
the day I left Viet Nam. I got on that plane and I was worried it might get shot out of the air. We held our
breath until the pilot told us were out of Viet Nam airspace. A big smile and a new breath of air – it was
over – Thank you Jesus. In thirteen months of combat duty, I got a one-week R&R in Taipei, Taiwan.

When I got home, I bought a 1968 Roadrunner. My mom had saved all the money I sent home. I had
made out an allotment to her. I didn’t need any money in the jungles of Viet Nam.

My wife had to deal with my nightmares until I was sent here to Thomson-Hood Veterans Center to live.
She used to wake me up and tell me about my nightmares. She was afraid. I’d tell her: “I ain’t gonna hurt
you.” But she didn’t know that. She was affected by my PTSD too.