Saving Sam (The Wounded Warriors Book 1) (10 page)

“I'm not going to be a zombie or anything, am I?” Sam worried.

“No,” Major Hansen assured him. “If you feel like a zombie then we have the wrong medication or incorrect dose. The idea of medication isn't to numb you, but to get your emotions to a tolerable level, a level where you feel you can control them again.”

“How long will I have to take medicine for?” Sam didn't like the idea of being medicated, but he accepted his fate, if for no other reason than to protect Amy from his uncontrollable outbursts.

“Well, if you respond well to the Fluoxetine, you should be able to stop taking the Buspirone. However, you'll most likely continue the Fluoxetine for some time,” Major Hansen reported. “How long depends on your recovery time and how you respond to all of your proposed treatments. After more observation and interviewing your family, I'll know if I want to add Risperidone to your medications.”

“Ris… Risper-a-what?” Sam tried the strange name without success.

“Risperidone,” Major Hansen corrected him. “It's a medication that will help you with your inability to recognize reality from your flashbacks.”

“What is it exactly?”

“It's an antipsychotic drug,” the doctor informed. “Now don't think I'm saying you're schizophrenic because you're not. It's just that with the extreme anxiety attacks, the Risperidone take the edge off until you can manage them better. If I prescribe it, it'll only be a temporary solution, giving you time to deal with whatever caused your PTSD in the first place.”

“Great,” Sam dropped his face into the palms of his hands, as his elbows rested on his knees.

“Sam,” the major addressed the young airman, “there's no shame in needing help.”

“Sure,” Sam replied, rising to his feet, pacing in the small space beside his bed.

The doctor had seen this response enough times not to be alarmed. It was often difficult for men to be medicated for mental health purposes, but it was even harder when they were soldiers. A military man, regardless of his branch, was taught to be strong and unbreakable. The advent of this diagnosis and the need for treatment was in extreme opposition to that ideology, particularly because it meant something was amiss in their brain, causing them the inability to manage their emotions. This simply translated to weakness.

“How long do I need to stay here?” Sam inquired, agitated.

“I don't know yet,” Major Hansen stated honestly. “We need to see how you respond to the medications and I'm going to assign you to both group and individual psychotherapy.”

“What?” this news was more than Sam wanted to face. It was bad enough that he'd have to take medication in order to act normal, but group therapy just added insult to injury. “You expect me to talk to a group of guys about my problems?”

“Yes and no,” the doctor answered calmly, having expected the reaction to his orders. “Your group sessions will be more like a classroom situation. You will participate in behavior modification therapy, or BMT. This is a form of therapy that will teach you techniques for dealing with situations by changing the way you behave. Your individual sessions will consist of cognitive therapy and you'll be challenged to think about things in a new way. Though you're not required to speak in the group about your personal experiences, you will be required to participate actively in both the classroom exercises and homework assignments.”

“And if I don't?” Sam asked defiantly.

Major Hansen gave Sam a leveled look. “You have no choice, Airman. You
will
remain here until you have shown us that you are able to manage yourself appropriately.”

“You can't do that!” Sam exclaimed, feeling overwhelmed and frightened. “You can't keep me locked up.”

“I can, actually,” the major insisted, unaffected by Sam's outburst. “This hospital is your new duty station, and your new job is to work towards recovery.”

“I separate next week,” Sam retorted with growing panic.

“Airman Wallace, you won't be separating from service until we give you the green light. Now, make it easier on yourself by participating and working hard. If you can show us you're stable then we can send you home, requiring you to report to us on a daily basis until you're better. If you can't, then you'll remain in this lock up unit until… well, until you can.”

Sam sat back down onto the bed, dropping his head and arms between his legs, trying to control his breathing. He felt lightheaded and his heart rate had increased, making him feel disconnected and unreal. Not wanting to be more of a pussy than he already deemed himself to be, trying to avoid the threat of passing out, Sam tried to stop himself from fully hyperventilating.

“I just want to go home,” Sam said in a weak, breathy voice.

“I know, son,” Major Hansen replied with a kind and gentle voice, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder in support. “You served your country well, but now, you need to take care of yourself so you can have your life back.”

Janie, Dusty, and Amy sat together in the cold waiting room, listening for their names to be called for their meeting with Major Hansen. Janie had taken the seat between Dusty and Amy. Dusty sat at the edge of his chair, feet planted firmly on the floor, Stetson in his strong hands as his fingers danced along the rim, turning it nervously. Amy seemed overly anxious, shifting about in her chair and frequently getting up to read the various announcements tacked to the board hanging on the wall in from of them.

Returning to her seat, Amy posed her question to her companions. “Why did he want to meet with us again?”

“Major Hansen said he needed to interview the people closest to Sam in order to have a better diagnosis for treatment,” Janie told her for the tenth time.

“This is hogwash! Why are we here? I mean, what can we tell him that Sam can't?” Dusty demanded, and Janie could see his bluster was only a front to conceal his nerves.

“Like I told you, sweetheart,” the patient chef responded, reaching out to touch gently and then briefly massage the big cowboy's shoulder, “Major Hansen needs a reference to which to compare Sam's perception of things. He wants to confirm things are the way they've been explained in order to provide the best care possible.”

Dusty grumbled unhappily, muttering incoherent things to himself. Amy rose again and busied herself reading the announcements once more. Shaking her head slightly, Janie wished the appointment would begin already. The fidgeting young woman and the ornery older man were starting to wear on her already-worn nerves. In all her 37 years, she'd never seen such a sorry crew.
He's in good hands, folks, better than he was at home.
But she knew neither one would appreciate such a comment, so she kept quiet.

When Major Hansen entered the waiting room and called for the trio, they all tried to look at ease as they almost raced to address the doctor. The doctor eyed them with interest and said, “Please follow me.”

As they made their way back to the doctor's office, Amy seemed unable to contain herself from asking all her nagging questions at once. Janie could actually see one thought after another twisting the young woman's face. She began with the most important one, “Will we be able to see Sam?”

Stopping next to the office door, swinging it open and welcoming the visitors inside, the major replied, “I'm afraid not.”

Amy stopped in her tracks. Halfway into the office, she abruptly turned to face the doctor. “Why not? I thought we'd be able to see him. I
have
to see him!”

Before Amy could combust, Janie insinuated herself beside her, shushing her in soothing tones as Major Hansen replied, “Until we can get his medication correct and ensure he's stable enough to manage his emotions and moods, we're prohibiting any visitation… for your safety, as well as his.”

Before the overly-sensitive Amy or cantankerous Dusty could say anything further, Janie answered, “We understand.” She then gave the other two stern looks that not only hushed them, but encouraged them to take the offered seats in front of the doctor's large desk.

“I appreciate your understanding and cooperation,” the major replied. “I know this isn't easy, but I'm afraid it's necessary, at least for now.”

“Sure, sure,” Dusty said after Janie gave him a look of warning.

“Thank you,” Major Hansen said, smiling at Janie for her help. “I asked you here today because I wanted to hear what you had to say in regards to Sam's behavior. More specifically, I want to know what you've observed since his return from Afghanistan.”

“Certainly,” Janie lips turned upward humorlessly. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, to begin with, what have you been noticing in general? Has Sam displayed any changes in personality or have you noted any oddities in his behavior that may have seemed peculiar, but not enough to cause alarm?”

The trio regarded each other in silence. Though each had answers immediately come to mind, apparently no one wanted to speak. Janie felt a pang of irritation, realizing she'd have to take the lead, once again.
This is starting to get ridiculous
, she thought to herself in exasperation.

“I guess I'll start then,” Janie announced. “Ah, well, he was always a good eater. I can't tell you how many times I had to shoo him from the kitchen, but… he's barely eaten since he's come home.”

“I've tried to encourage him to eat,” Amy said, a hint of defensiveness coloring her voice.

Before anyone could comment further, the doctor injected by saying, “I'm not surprised. It's not uncommon to have issues with one's appetite when dealing with PTSD.”

“My boy was always really popular. He loved parties and well, if truth be told, he loved the spotlight,” Dusty offered as he tried to avoid making eye contact with the women beside him.

“And how has that changed?” the major wondered.

“Well, he didn't want me to throw him a welcome home party. He got really upset, giving me excuse after excuse, saying he didn't want me to go to the trouble. Naturally, I thought he was just funning with me; you know, saying one thing while really meaning another… like a woman.”

“Excuse me?” Janie gave her lover a sharp look.

“Oh, calm down, darling. You know you do that,” Dustin patted her knee. “You always tell me you don't want dessert, but then lick my plate clean when I get one.”

Janie clicked her tongue, closing her eyes in disbelief, but not contributing anything further to the discussion.
I'll give him that simply because I know he's out of his mind with worry.

Assuming Janie agreed with his analogy, he added, “When I did throw a party, he actually left early.”

“Interesting,” the major commented with a pensive look on his face.

“Not hardly,” Dusty fumed a bit, obviously offended. “Some people even made comments about his absence.”

* * *

“So he's having troubles interacting with people especially in crowds?” the doctor inquired further.

Amy cleared her throat as she looked at Dusty nervously. Then she turned and responded, “Both, I think. He seemed like he was avoiding people and he'd get really anxious if too many were around him. He seemed to prefer spending time alone… or with me.”

“Did you notice anything else?”

“He wouldn't sleep,” Amy noted. “He seemed consumed with working out or… or pursuing other…
physical
activities.” Amy blushed and looked at the floor. Dusty coughed, then quickly rose from his chair to stare out of the office window. Janie followed Dusty with her eyes and then patted Amy on the knee, smiling softly at her in support. Amy chanced a glance in Janie's direction and was rewarded by a wink from the older woman. Getting to her feet, Janie gave Amy a kiss on the head before she joined Dusty by the window. When she reached his side, Janie slid her hand into his, squeezing reassuringly.

One at a time it is,
Major Hansen decided.

He stood and walked over to the door, directing his question towards Dusty and Janie, “Do you mind if I take a moment to speak with Amy alone?”

Dusty glanced at Janie and then led her away from the window, saying, “Sure. That'd be just fine.”

Passing through the open doorway, Dusty paused to catch Amy's attention and then added, “Take your time.” He nodded to the doctor, who closed the door behind the older couple before sitting in the chair next to Amy.

“Amy,” he began, “We're about to discuss some rather personal things, but I assure you, there will be no judgment and it
is
important that I know everything. Anything you say will be kept confidential, of course, and only that which is necessary for Sam's treatment will appear in his medical record.”

The young woman swallowed hard, but nodded nonetheless.

“Good,” the major smiled kindly. “So, am I correct in saying you have had a romantic relationship with Sam, which included sexual intercourse?”

“Yes,” Amy answered weakly.

“Is that new for the two of you? The way you said it made me think it might be.”

“Yes… no. I mean, it's complicated.”

“I need to know if you've had a sexual history with one another,” the doctor explained, hoping to put Amy at ease.

“Well, we were together once before,” Amy admitted. “It was just before he left for basic training, but… we weren't actually a couple… until recently.”

“I see,” the major commented. “And did you notice any changes in Sam's behavior from then?”

“Well,” Amy said, her hands twisting with nerves, “He's been really agitated and anxious. Our intimacy seems to help ease his… tension.”

“Of course,” Major Hansen acknowledged. “Anything else?”

“Um, he was more… I don't know;
aggressive
, maybe?”

Major Hansen didn't miss the way Amy sounded when she said “aggressive” or the wince that accompanied her use of the word. It confirmed his suspicions. “Do you mean he hurt you?”

Amy immediately jumped to Sam's defense, “He didn't mean to. I sort of… seduced him and we were… Look, things just got carried away is all,” Amy insisted. “He didn't mean to hurt me. He was just so full of need that he got… a little too rough.”

“I see.”

“He,” Amy rushed her words, “he didn't rape me. It was consensual. I wanted to do it; like I said, I seduced him.”

“Amy, it's okay,” the doctor reassured her, giving her a kindly look. “I believe you.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“I'm sorry things didn't go as expected, but I'm not surprised. The trauma that causes PTSD makes the sufferer experience extreme irritability that can cause the person to be easily startled or moved to a more aggressive, sometimes violent response.”

“He wasn't violent,” Amy said, but he could see the lie in the way her eyes skated away, her legs crossed tightly.

“I'm going to assume you meant the opposite of what you said, okay?”

Amy nodded and looked away. “I don't want him to get into trouble.”

“Have you been seen by a physician?” Major Hansen asked with concern.

Amy nodded and whispered, “I'm okay.”

“Good,” the major said relieved. “Amy, I promise you, Sam won't be punished for his ill judgment. That is, unless you want to press charges?” The doctor watched for her response, and when she shook her head, he added. “I didn't think so, but I wanted to make sure.”

“I'm sure,” she whispered in a timid voice.

“Okay. There won't be any repercussions,” Major Hansen reaffirmed. Amy relaxed, letting out a shaky breath. The doctor continued by saying, “I appreciate your honesty. I know this is a hard matter to discuss; however, it really will help me to treat Sam better.”

“How does it help?” Amy asked, curious why their sex life mattered.

“You see, one's libido can indicate just as much as one's appetite… or lack thereof. I just have one other question I wanted to ask you, specifically.”

“Yes,” Amy inquired in quiet, curious voice.

“When Sam was first brought in, he seemed to be having some delusions. Have you noticed whether or not that happened before he was admitted or was it an isolated event?”

“He, ah, he had moments where he seemed… distant,” Amy replied. “There were times when he seemed confused or like he was somewhere else, but there was really only one other time when he thought I was someone else.”

“Someone else?” the doctor arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah, an enemy, I think.”

“How long did the episode last?”

“Not very long,” Amy responded with a pensive look. “It was definitely worse the last time, when they brought him here.”

“Thank you. You've been most helpful,” the doctor told her as he got up to usher her out of the room.

Major Hansen and Amy walked in silence together until they saw Dusty and Janie. The couple was standing just outside of the waiting room, in the hallway between the physicians' rooms and the check-in desk. Janie reached out for the young woman, embracing her with a frown, distress dominating her appearance.

“I think I have all I need. If something comes up, what's a good number I can reach you at?” Major Hansen checked his chart, confirming he had the correct contact information on hand.

“Doctor, is my boy going to be okay?” Dusty fretted.

“Yes,” the major said, giving the trio a reassuring smile. “It's going to take a little time, but Sam will be fine. Once we get him stabilized, you'll not only be permitted to visit, but he'll be able to return home.

Dusty exhaled in visible relief and Janie exclaimed, “See, I told you it would all work out.”

“I'll call you with daily updates,” the doctor promised. “I know this is going to be a difficult time for all of you, but I'll do my best to help reduce your stress.”

“Thank you,” Dusty said with thinly veiled emotion as he shook Major Hansen's hand.

After they bid their farewells, the trio departed the hospital. Though they were still apprehensive, they now had a glimmer of hope. It would help them endure the weeks to come.

* * *

Major Hansen wasn't surprised to find Sam alone in his room, staring blankly out the bay window. It was common to see a person with PTSD withdraw into himself; many felt cut off from others, which worked to increase their depressive state. This often led to a sense of numbness and a disinterest in things the patient had once cared about. If the sufferer wasn't in a state of panicked agitation, he grew silent and dull, unresponsive.

“Sam,” the doctor tried not to startle the young man. “Sam?”

Though Sam would normally have jumped by the unexpected arrival of the psychiatrist, he didn't react strongly this time. Instead, he turned his attention from the window to the doctor slowly, slurred, “Yes?”

“How are you?”

“I'm not sure,” Sam answered. “I feel… empty and I'm tired, though I can't seem to sleep.”

“The medications will make you sleepy for about a week or two, just until your body adjusts to them,” Major Hansen informed him. “After that, you shouldn't have much reaction.”

Sam nodded in acknowledgement.

“I wanted to let you know I just met with your family,” the major said.

Sam seemed to brighten a bit. He grew a little more animated and wondered aloud, “Are they here? Can I see them?”