It is probably dangerous for self-preservation to philosophize too much while in a war, but every once-in-a-while, through the fog of my fatigue the question arose: What are we doing here?
Post Traumatic Growth
In retrospect, I returned from the war searching for remnants of my former life. I wasn’t the only one who had changed. The Vietnam War had the country polarized. My mind soon took a philosophical turn. The meaning I could no longer find in the structures of society I looked for in the wisdom of great thinkers. I sought the core of existence.
Empathy and Trauma
It is not surprising that medics would experience a deep sense of survivor’s guilt. People who have not witnessed what explosives and automatic weapons do to the human body can only imagine. Serious wounds are horrible—for the casualty, and the medics, nurses and doctors at every level from the field through the evacuation system. It is not just about saving a life. It is about amputations and blindness, paralysis, burns, infections, and pain. Not every wounded body can be put back together. And at the core of every one of them is a human being.
Returning
Instead of being welcomed home, the first Americans I interacted with after deboarding my plane at Travis Air Force Base were screaming obscenities at me and 180 other veterans. Still in our jungle fatigues, we had to walk within a few feet of a chain link fence which separated us from hundreds of angry and jeering protestors. The message was clear; we were not welcome in our homeland.
On writing Poisoned Jungle
In writing Poisoned Jungle, I have attempted to express through the characters the incredible complexity of going to war. Conflicts don’t end with the last shots fired; they send tentacles in numerous directions to twist and fester and entangle themselves into lives beyond the combatants.