Article: The men and women of...
The men and women of the Marine Corps love their docs. They always have. In fact, that long-standing history between Navy medicine and our Marines led many of us to wear this uniform in the first place. In a time of war, we deploy to take care of our Marines. We always have.
When I was called, I was an active duty Navy clinical psychologist and my boy-girl twins were 15 months old. I deployed with a Marine Corps surgical company. Our four-person Combat Stress Platoon — composed of a psychiatrist, a psychologist, and two psychiatric technicians — was responsible for the mental health caret of over ten thousand Marines in the Al Anbar province of western Iraq.
2004 was a tough year in Iraq, with heavy U.S. casualties. It was a long seven months for me. Toward the end of the brutal, blistering, endless summer, I decided to write a list of things that were good and bad about Iraq. I did not realize at the time that I was actually taking the first steps to that good advice that none of us heeds - "doctor, heal thyself." My list ended up taking the form of a strange poem. I wrote one draft and sent it via email to my husband, who forwarded it to about 25 family members and friends.
By the time I returned home, "The List," as I called it, had been literally forwarded around the world, leading to a barrage of requests for interviews and permission to reprint. At first, in my vulnerable state upon return home, I found the attention overwhelming and embarrassing. Then I started hearing from WWII, Korea and Vietnam era Marines and Sailors, who told me it made them cry — and made them remember. And I was humbled.
One of those Vietnam Marines, retired Lieutenant Colonel and Pulitzer Prize nominated author Otto Lehrack, convinced me that the experiences in the poem provided a completely unique view of the war, and needed to be expanded. With Otto as my first editor, I started writing. Once the first story, about my interaction with Medal of Honor recipient Jason Dunham, was completed, I found myself strangely exhausted and drained, and unable to write again for weeks. I was clueless at the time that, as a shrink, I was conducting a specific form of trauma therapy on myself. Each story got slightly less emotional to write, and the recovery period between them got shorter. This is called extinction. The anxiety decreases each time a person is exposed to the trauma. How about that? It works. One year and 250 pages later, Otto passed me on to a literary agent, another former Marine, who convinced me to submit the collection of memories for publication. Today, I am blessed to be working with Little, Brown, and I am very proud of the collaborative effort that has become Rule Number Two.
"The List" is posted on www.rulenumbertwo.com.
Copyright © by Dr. Heidi Squier Kraft