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Luke was bleeding. Red was all over him, coming from his nose and mouth. He was just a fucking kid.
A large slab of wood was protruding from his chest and threatening his life.
I got to work, pushing my emotions to the side and focusing on the task at hand as my leader radioed in for more medical support and reported the explosion to the relevant authorities.
Luke suddenly grabbed onto my hand with surprising strength. My surprised gaze jumped up to his.
“Please save me,” he begged, coughing up more blood and fluids.
For a second his face changed, and it was my father’s. His lips repeating the same words.
That wasn’t the first time this had occurred while I worked on an injured person. I had gotten better as pushing my personal issues to the side, and just as quickly as my father’s face had been superimposed on Luke, it was gone.
I looked him in the eyes and said, “I’m going to do my best, buddy. Just hold on for me. You’re going to get through this”
Luke’s eyes had closed then and his life was left in my hands.
Presently, mine opened and I was awake, transitioning into consciousness in less than a second.
I laid still in my bed, my body quiet and my senses scanning my surroundings automatically. I heard the distance hum of tra
ffic and a light drizzling of rain sounded outside.
My heart beat was slow and heavy and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out over my skin.
My mind was still reliving the event of that night almost a year ago.
Luke had lived, although his injuries had changed his life forever and left him no longer able to serve his country. They told me it was because of my efforts he had survived.
Every time I was told I was instrumental in saving someone’s life I felt a rush of pride but it was also accompanied by an insidious wash of guilt.
There was no going back with my dad. I would never be able to save him no matter how many others I helped.
Panic suddenly tightened my chest, making it hard to breathe. Even though I knew there was no one else in the apartment with me, I could hear voices calling out to me to save their life. Others blamed me for failing them. My father’s voice was the loudest of all.
I recognized the onset of the PTSD attack and quickly got out of bed, trying to block out the voices. I went into the bathroom, grabbed the prescription pills out of the medicine cabinet and filled a glass with water from the sink.
My hands were shaking and it took a few tries before I was able to open the small tube of white pills.
I threw the pills into my mouth and chased them back with the entire glass of water.
I just stood there for long minutes after, trying to calm my mind and center myself in the here and now.
My diagnosis of PTSD was part of the reason I got out of the military. The other was wanting to pursue a career as a doctor.
Eventually the voices quieted, and I was able to think clearly again.
I looked at the simple digital watch on my right wrist. It was after four AM and I knew there was no hope of me getting any more sleep before the sun rose.
Besides, being inside my small apartment, I felt claustrophobic after the panic attack. I needed to get out.
I donned sweat pants and a hoodie over the pair of boxer briefs I had slept in. With keys and cell phone in my pocket and headphones in my ears, I headed out the door.
I ran for several miles before my mind cleared and I was just able to enjoy the crisp early morning air.
I returned to my apartment just after six AM and immediately headed for the shower to wash off the sweat from my skin.
The heated water beat down on my head and shoulders. Hands braced against the tiled wall and head down, I was able to think about something other than death and war and of course, my thoughts turned to Hailey.
