Skunks and PTSD

Almost immediately after returning from a very brief tour of duty in Iraq, I started to show early signs of developing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Mostly very usual fare for a soldier returning from a place like that: hyper-vigilance, hyper-startle reflex, flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks, and anger flare-ups.

Eventually these would get bad enough that it would difficult for me to even leave the house. Well, I read on a website about PTSD that it was good to have something with you always to help “ground” you: something you could touch or feel or even smell, and help you realize that you weren’t back in a war zone.

What else would I chose? I chose a little beanie baby skunk (the same one I used with the nursery kids.) I carried it in my pocket, on trips, or on my desk or night-stand. I felt especially good for some odd reason, if I’d take it and place it on my shoulder. My wife took to calling it “Sunshine” from the John Denver song, “Sunshine on My Shoulders.”

I was working as the state support chaplain assistant at the Utah National guard at the time I started first using Sunshine. He was very effective and helped me through some extremely difficult times and continues to help even now. I know many people in the Guard had to wonder about that strange chaplain’s assistant that carried a little skunk with him wherever he went.

I went to a chaplain’s conference in Colorado and met with quite a few stares when I’d pull Sunshine out of my pocket and place him on the table in front of me, start breathing deep and slow, and just stare into his eyes. No one ever asked. Occasionally, if the person looked like they were truly frightened, I’d offer a brief explanation, and being chaplain’s and chaplain’s assistants’ they were very accepting of it.

The funniest experience I ever had with Sunshine though was this past summer (‘05) when I was still working as the state support chaplain’s assistant. VA was trying to adjust my medications so that I’d have the fewest problems, and still stay effective at my job. One of those medications made me feel very drowsy at first.

I was working at my desk and spreading papers out so that I could compare them. Sunshine was in the way, so I picked him up and dropped him on my shoulder. That was the last thing I remember doing before I woke up from someone talking and entering my office. I had been leaning back in my office chair when I woke, and being how there were General Officers in that building, I snapped forward to be ready to go to attention.

When I did that, Sunshine flew off my shoulder and landed a ways across the room: right at the feet of the Command Sergeant Major for the state. Straightening up in my chair and not knowing what had been seen or not seen I said, “Good morning, Sergeant Major.” and returned to my work. (My boss had let me sleep awhile, it was afternoon.)

He gruffly responded, “Morning, Specialist.” and turned and left. I never heard anything about it from him or my boss. As soon as he left the room, though I went over and picked up Sunshine and spent a bit of time, just staring into his little beady black eyes.