Enduring Images
From the trauma of war to lifelong healing
by
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FEBRUARY 2002
The month of February in Buffalo, New York, is typically a cold one, with considerable snow and wind. The holidays, which usually bring a measure of excitement and anticipation for many of us, are now little more than a memory. We are now in the doldrums of winter. Those susceptible to seasonal affective disorder, otherwise known as the "winter blues," are in the midst of these troubling episodes. Birds and squirrels are surviving off the kindness of people who routinely replenish the bird feeders. Deer in the outlying areas struggle; their herds are brutally, but naturally thinning.
February is a particularly meaningful month for me; it was the month I left for Vietnam in 1970 and returned one year later, resolved to leave that part of my life in the jungles of Southeast Asia, buried along with the surrealistic memories of the most unpopular and controversial war in American history. February is also when I first experienced the bitter taste of combat, just over two weeks after my arrival. Ironically, it was the same month, thirty-two years later, when I received a telephone call that ushered in another defining moment in my life. I am convinced beyond a doubt that it was a telephone call orchestrated by divine providence. This was no random or circumstantial event. Even the manner in which I responded to the call, as well as the subsequent developments, was subject to God's all-encompassing grace.
It was early one Friday afternoon in February 2002, as I parked my car on a side street near the psychiatric clinic where I was scheduled to work on that day. Since the car was still warm, I decided to sit there and check my voice mail. The only message was from a woman with a deep Texas accent calling about a Vietnam veteran whose name was initially unfamiliar to me. As a clinical psychologist and nurse practitioner, I evaluated and counseled many veterans over the years. Occasionally I would hear from one of them requesting documentation about the treatment they recieved from me, usually for a disability claim. I decided to return the call, primarily so that I wouldn't have to do it at a later time. I wanted to get it off my mind and focus on the patients who were scheduled to see me later that day.
On the other end of the line was Peggy Barstow, a representative from a veterans' center in San Antonio. She asked me if I knew a Vietnam veteran by the name of Ray Wyatt Cage who she had recently interviewed. I pride myself on remembering names, but this one did not jog any memories. I told her that I had no recall of a former patient by that name. She quickly clarified that he was not a former patient but someone who claimed to have served with me in Vietnam in 1970. Following a brief pause, she further noted that he claimed he was with me when our squad was ambushed and "some soldiers were killed and wounded."
Despite the fact that the temperature in my parked car had dropped and more closely approximated the cold reading on the other side of my windshield, I found myself sweating. My hands began to tremble and my stomach was quivering. Without any warning, I was transported in my mind's eye back to Vietnam.
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About the Book
Enduring Images describes the personal cost of war paid by combat veterans and their loved ones over the course of a lifetime.
Dr. Paul Fazekas was drafted into the U.S. Army in 1969 at the age of nineteen and participated in the most unpopular and controversial war in American history. He reluctantly, and sometimes defiantly, served as a rifleman with the First Air Cavalry Division (Airmobile) and the 11th Light Infantry Brigade for a one-year tour in Vietnam.
Despite his best efforts to forget combat trauma, he was forced to confront the ghosts of Vietnam in 2002, when he met the family of his squad leader who was mortally wounded in an ambush and died in his arms. This providential meeting opened the way to a more meaningful healing from posttraumatic stress, a disorder that many combat veterans and their families can identify with along their own journeys.
He was awarded the Combat Infantryman Badge along with other military medals and decorations.
About the Author
Paul L. Fazekas, PhD, NP, is licensed both as a clinical psychologist and psychiatric nurse practitioner. Dr. Fazekas is in private practice and is a medication consultant at several psychiatric clinics. He is a member of the American Psychological Association, the American College of Nurse Practitioners, and the Combat Infantrymen's Association. Dr. Fazekas lives in the Western New York area with his wife, Donna, and Funny Face, their miniature dachshund.