The Value of Listening
Ted Beal
I went to the health club to exercise. I jumped on a bike equidistant between Fox and CNN. As I glanced at the televisions, the guy next to me was just getting off a cell phone conversation. “Are you a lawyer?” he said, “I am a having trouble with my lawyer.” Sam had forgotten that I was a physician. We speak occasionally but never fail to say hello over the years. “Oh, Yeah, forgot, I get along with all my physicians,” he continued.
“My doctor thinks I am depressed and that I am in denial.” What makes them think that, I rather automatically responded? “I had stage IV incurable cancer, had a few months to live and the radiation closed off one of my coronary arteries,” he continued. He had my attention. Knowing I had seen him almost daily for several years I asked, “How long ago was the cancer?’’ “About ten years,” he said. “Sounds like you should be thankful not depressed,” I said. “It changed my life,” he exclaimed.
I knew from various anecdotes over the years that Sam was a very tough guy. He grew up on the streets of New York. He was exceptionally good with his hands and was an expert in martial arts. At age five years, his father put him on the street corner and challenged anyone to fight him. As an adult civilian, he taught hand to hand combat to Navy Seals and Special Forces. With a little prodding he admitted he could “take” most soldiers but by the end he was always exhausted and they were not even sweating. He knew that if you put a gun in a soldier’s hands he was a dead man despite his superior hand to hand skills.
After high school Sam worked in the street in “collections.” One day he was collecting money from local businesses and some kids reported a body in a car. Some people thought he just slept there but when the EMT’s arrived he was as stiff as a board. The man was either frozen or in rigor mortis after dying. From across the street Sam observed the kids throwing bottles and cans at the body. Shocked he said to himself, “I have to get off the street or within a few years that could be me.”
“So how did the cancer change your life,” I asked. “I am Catholic, so I decided to go to see a priest in confession,” he said. “I told him I had most of the commandments covered but I had one fault. “Whenever I talked with Christ,
I always treated Him as an equal. “I am really an arrogant SOB. “The priest asked me what have I ever done for one person? “I had no answer. “That is when I decided to dedicate twenty per cent of my time volunteering with soldiers.”
“I work with a buddy who started an organization that takes soldiers from Walter Reed to dinner one night a week. “We dine with the guys with two and three amputations. “I told the soldiers from the beginning that I was a no- sympathy-type guy and they seem all right with that. “I look them in the eye the entire time but it is really hard to keep your eyes off their prostheses. “Finally, I decided to just talk to them about it and it changed everything. “I discovered that once they get over the mental problem of having lost a limb or two they can function just like me. “We even play in golf tournaments together.”
Sam further explained how he helped found a home building program for veterans. He raised money by putting the squeeze on “Midnight Santas,” guys who steal cars. Their home purchasing program received great publicity and they now produce one home for a veteran’s family every ten days all over the United States. He was surprised at the difficulty of dealing with some spouses. They fuss over the marble countertops in the kitchen. “It’s free,” he said. But over time after realizing they are the real caretakers for the rest of a soldier’s life, he became more tolerant. Sam also recounted how he grew up with “a little OCD” and worried about his health.
Now he has had cancer and a child with autism. The gift of working with soldiers has put that all in perspective. “I just deal with it, without feeling sorry for myself” he said.
Sam said he worked all right with amputees but he didn’t really understand PTSD and Traumatic Brain Injury. He had childhood friends who had each killed more than two or three people and said it was just their job. They did not seem troubled. But he mused, “I am told war is ninety percent boredom and ten per cent absolute terror and fear.” He recounted his time with Tony who has PTSD. In the middle of the conversation as he was looking directly into his eyes, Tony just seemed to disappear and be in another place. Sam did not know what to do.
Tony spent a couple of months in a mental hospital but now is back with the group.
Sam recounted on another occasion Tony had just returned from deployment. An accident brought him to a civilian hospital where he was treated. His family received a large hospital bill. Veterans have no civilian health insurance upon returning from deployment. Sam thought it was outrageous and should be the next day’s headlines in the Washington Post. He said everyone would be equally outraged and but the next day the “news” would be forgotten. He agreed more civilians need to know about the problems of veterans.
As Sam’s hour on the bicycle was finishing, he stopped riding. I said I would like to drop by for one of those dinners. “What for?” he said. “Just to hang out and get to know people,” I said. “Ok but you can’t analyze anyone,” he said. “I know, I get it.” I replied.
As Sam was walking away I heard him say, “I used to believe in war, Now, I just don’t know.”
Ted Beal
Edward W. Beal, MD, Psychiatrist, Department of the Army, Department of Tele-Health, U. S. Army Medical
Department Activity, Fort Meade
September 2018
