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By Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D.

Two weeks ago Tony, Trooper, and I had the honor of being part of the annual Air Medical Transport Conference (AMTC) in Atlanta, Georgia. This conference was attended by pilots, flight crews, physicians, nurses and first responders from all over the world.  The convention was filled with individuals who have given and continue to give much of their lives to saving and helping others.  Many have served in the military, and many have been overseas in combat zones.  To say they are an inspiration to our communities is an understatement.  We were able to meet and talk with several individuals who shared their stories with such humility and purpose dedication. Like our military, these first responders serve their communities with courage and tenacity. They are with others at the most traumatic time of life.  They comfort, attend to injuries, and all too many times are the last person a victim sees at the time of death.

I was asked to be the keynote speaker for this amazing group. Of course, my presentation was on trauma and how it affects both our minds, bodies, and spirits.  It was the first time a keynote speaker at this event was requested to speak on the topic of trauma and Post-Traumatic Stress (PTS).  As in countless organizations, Post-Traumatic Stress is often the elephant in the room that most don’t want to discuss and sometimes even acknowledge.  Its presence is seen and felt, yet, little is done to heal and attend to the many traumatic experiences our first responders deal with every day.

To say I was both incredibly nervous and honored to be the keynote is an underestimation of my concerns.  I researched, practiced, and prayed for several months prior to the event hoping that the information in the keynote would make a difference to those attending.

I used the analogy of a “sheepdog”.  In September we were in Steamboat Springs, CO and watched a mixture of nine Border Collies, Great Pyrenees and Akbash sheepdogs meander behind their one-thousand herd/flock of sheep as they moved from summer range in the National Forest. These dogs are incredibly protective of their herd – keeping the herd together and fighting off predators at the peril of their own lives. They look so normal in their big, furry, white bodies, but make no mistake; they are ferocious in the task of watching over their sheep. Our first responders are like these sheepdogs.  They protect, tend to, and put their lives at risk for their communities.  The question I raised, just like with our military and veterans, who takes care of the sheepdogs?

As a society, it is our duty to make sure those who take care of us are taken care of as well. They see, hear, touch, smell, and feel events that most of us will never encounter. The burdens they carry are too often only theirs and held in the silence of their minds and hearts. Like our military and veterans many believe that if they are traumatized by their experiences, they are somehow inadequate, less fearless, and not as capable of doing their jobs.  This is totally inaccurate. One cannot function in a career of trauma without having some effects on his/her own well-being.  In fact, this is what makes them more compassionate and effective at their jobs.

A few statistics I learned while doing my research:

• 34% of first responders have Post-Traumatic Stress;
• Barely half of first responders have had any training into how to deal with their own trauma;
• Much like our military, first responders have a much higher suicide rate than the average population;
• Female critical nurses in ICU and flight nurses are four times more likely to developed ovarian cancer than their peers;

These are just a few of the statistics that should make us all concerned and ready to share the responsibility of taking care of those who take care of us.

Just like our military and veterans – “If we send them, then we MUST mend them.”

KEYNOTE SPEAKER:

Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D.

Dr. Seahorn has been a classroom teacher and administrator for forty years. She has taught as an adjunct professor for Colorado State University and several universities in the Denver area.  For the last ten years she has been teaching a class on Neuroscience and Learning at Colorado State University.  Jan has a BA in English/Elementary Ed., an endorsement/license in middle school education and administration, a MA in Gifted and Talented, and a Ph.D. in Human Development and Organizational Systems.  Her background includes an in-depth understanding of neuroscience research and effective instructional practices, organizational systems and change. She conducts numerous workshops on the Neuroscience of Learning & Memory Systems and the effects of “at-risk” stress environments on brain development.

Dr. Seahorn co-authored the award-winning book with her husband, Tears of a Warrior: A Family’s Story of Combat and Living With PTSD. The theme focus is on trauma and how it can impact the brain, body, and emotional development of an individual. Much of the research focused on Post-Traumatic Stress (PTS) and understanding how to identify and work with first responders and veterans who have experienced trauma and associated stress.  She and her husband Tony work extensively with military personnel, veterans, first responders and families on how trauma impacts the brain.  She also works with schools and communities on how trauma experienced in childhood through abuse, neglect, and other environmental conditions impact learning and behavior.

She has written two other books, When Crap Happens Grow Zucchini: A Book on How to Live with Dying and Appreciate the Crap

Foul Wisdom: Identifying the Turkeys and Eagles in your Organization and Life

A third illustrated book on her PTSD poem, Silent Scream, is currently in production.

Dr. Seahorn’s TED Talk on post-traumatic stress can be viewed on You tube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BEHDQeIRTgs&feature=youtu.be

Janet and Tony have two adult sons, Chad and Christopher who enjoy living and working in the Rocky Mountain Region. Tony & Janet share their home with two Black Labradors, Trooper – a certified service dog, and Brody, a puppy being trained as a therapy dog to work in children’s court systems, hospitals, and schools.  The family enjoys travel and outdoor activities: history, geography, hiking, fly-fishing, rafting, snow skiing and anything that puts them in touch with nature.  Janet also volunteers with several animal shelters in Colorado.

By Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D.

Recently I bought a WMD (Weapon of Mass Destruction).  It was something Tony and I have discussed and thought about for a very long time.  Getting a hold of a WMD can be expensive and usually requires some research about the seller, type, even color.  There are days I question my decision as well as my sanity.  Was this choice a wise move or one made in a moment of weakness or total impulsiveness?

My home has been transformed into a combat zone.  I can’t leave for even a few minutes or the destruction could be massive.  This weapon can’t be left alone for any length of time.  It must stay in a secure and yet environmentally comfortable space.  Neighbors and friends sometimes stop over just to get a peek at it.  Some admire it and others are afraid to get too close just in case it might detonate itself. Some may also wonder why I would get such an item at my age and stage in life.  There are days I ask myself the same question; other times I merely feel bad that they don’t possess such a handsome and amazing weapon.

The weapon often gives me a sense of comfort just to know it is there, to touch it, to think about its remarkable potential. I may have failed to mention that even though my WMD is pretty wonderful it was and is not inexpensive. Proper nutrition, check-ups to make sure it is in tip top working condition, enough exposure to clean air, etc.   Trooper, Tony’s service dog often wonders why we ever brought such an item into our peaceful home.  He wants to know if and when we might take it back. You see, Trooper has to watch it very carefully just in case it explodes as it frequently does at any unexpected moment.  He never had to put up with such an object even when he was being raised in prison and his training never included how to deactivate such a WMP.

By now you may be guessing what I’m talking about, or you may know exactly what I’m describing. It has four-legs, a silky black coat, incredibly sharp baby teeth that can shred a stuffed toy or slipper in a matter of minutes. This four-legged, miniature tornado has wallpapered my front room with toilet paper reminding me of the shenanigans we did in high school when we toilet papered friends’ trees leaving them to clean up after our mess.  Maybe he is retribution for my younger days.  Even with all of these challenges this WMP is so friggin adorable especially when he is asleep.  We even gave him a name, Brody… short for brother.

It is fascinating how we can so totally love this destructive little ####.  Tony sometimes asks why Trooper is such a super sweet, well-behaved young man. I remind him Trooper was raised in prison where there weren’t a lot of opportunities for a puppy to get into trouble. There were no kitchen counters with food where he could have managed to remove the yummy contents.  Probably there weren’t many smelly slippers to destroy, and if you misbehave there may have been bigger consequences.  WOW…. Maybe I can send Brody to jail for at least a year of training. Confinement might not be as exciting for him, but it would give us a much needed rest.  Trooper is extremely in favor of this idea.

Guest post by Lisa Drossert

The following was on one of our friend’s Facebook post. It is very thoughtful advice and may help some of you to get through the holiday season with better understanding of what is going on in some veterans’ mind. Thank you Lisa Drossart for sharing this information.

If you have a Combat Veteran in your family and you don’t like their moods and behavior around the holidays; please consider these six things:

1.) Your combat veteran has served in countries where people are blessed to receive a tattered pair of shoes or have clean water to drink; he/she no longer lives the “first world illusion” and no longer cares that if you buy one play station you can get a second one for fifty percent off. In fact, they find it hard to appreciate any of the gluttonous commercialism and overindulgence that permeates American holidays. Standing watch, boring as it was, had so much more purpose than going to the mall.

2.) Your Combat Veteran is thankful for the most basic things; not thankful for mega-sales and million dollar parades. They are thankful to be alive; thankful to have survived both the wars far away and the wars they struggle with inside.

3.) Your Combat Veteran is thankful that it wasn’t them that got killed, or wishes that it was them that got killed instead, or is torn painfully between the two. Either way, their celebrations are forever complicated by guilt and loss over those that did not come home. Some of the most thankful times in their life (lucky to be alive) were some of the scariest. Their feelings of thanks and celebration often conjure memories that are equally painful.

4.) Your Combat Veteran is not like you anymore. At some point, for some period of time, their entire life boiled down to just three simple things: when will I eat today, when will I sleep today, and who will I have to kill or who will try to kill me today? They are not like you anymore.

5.) Your Combat Veteran does not need a guilt-trip or a lecture; they already feel detached in their grief while others so easily embrace the joy of the season. They need understanding and space; empathy not sympathy.

6.) Your Combat Veteran does love his/her family and is thankful for the many blessings in their life…and they are thankful for you.

by Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D

It’s that time of year when everyone is in a hurry and streets of our downtown area are filled with more shoppers than usual. The lights, ornaments, and sounds are festive and distracting to the eye.  Often times we never notice people as they pass us on the sidewalks especially if we are on our mind-sucking phones or looking over our Christmas list of “non-essential” material crap. This was somewhat the case for me yesterday.

As I rounded a corner, however, I couldn’t help but notice a pair of homeless men – one was laying asleep, his back down on the cold sidewalk while the other sat awake asking for loose change with a cardboard sign reading “anything will help”. I’m not sure why this made me uncomfortable or imprinted on my less than holiday spirit.  After all I had only ventured to the downtown area to buy one last gift for a friend and desperately wanted my shopping to be over.

As I went into a store close to them I tried not to look too closely at the pair and tried even harder not to think about them as I was moving through the aisles. But there was this damn nagging memory of a professor I knew when I was getting my doctorate in Santa Barbara many years ago. This professor’s focus was working with and studying the homeless. He even spent many nights on the street being “homeless” himself. The one thing he said I remember best was “when you are homeless you tend to be invisible. People try not to look at you, talk to you, or even offer a simple smile”. You feel more insubstantial than ever. Although he said some homeless like the lifestyle, the freedom, the vast majority are there not of their own choosing, but because of a mental health issue, poverty, poor early family support… the reasons were more numerous than I had first considered.

Leaving the store (and not the one with the gift I was to purchase), I quickly glanced to see if the two were still in their spot. Of course they were. As I walked to my next destination I couldn’t get this professor’s words out of my head, or Jesus when he said “feed the hungry”. Dang it!!!! I ended up walking almost a block to find a place to buy some food to go when I spotted a favorite coffee shop. Going in I ordered three egg sandwiches and three hot coffees.  Why three, I’ll never know it just came out of my mouth. Also, I thought the sandwiches were already prepared and only needed to be heated in their micro. Yep, that would have been too easy. The young man began making them from scratch.  It took much longer than expected and the line behind his counter kept growing making me feel apologetic that my order was making his busy day even harder to manage while those in line became more restless to place their orders.

Finally, I grabbed the bag of sandwiches and coffee, apologized to the young man and the people in line, left and walked quickly to deliver the package while the food and coffee were still hot. Hoping the two men were still at the corner I walked quickly to finish my mission. As I approached the one man was still sleeping. Giving the other man the food I couldn’t help but notice how he had many teeth missing and decayed. It was obvious he had not been to a dentist for decades. I, on the other hand, spend far too much time in the dentist’s chair. It is troublesome not to acknowledge how blessed I am, how many resources I have to keep me healthy and well fed. The proof of my blessed life was right before me, wishing me Merry Christmas. All I could think of was “there by the grace of God go I”.

With sadness and humility I walked to my car totally forgetting the gift I had gone downtown to purchase. The real gift was the gratitude and sweetness of that man who sat just around the corner on that cold winter day while holiday shoppers passed by quickly not looking to see the special person sitting on the sidewalk underneath a Christmas light.

Note – The next day on my daily calendar appeared the following:

“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain”. Emily Dickinson

And, “Father, give me Your heart and use me to reach out to someone in need. To some, this season brings much loneliness and pain. Lead me to the ones who need to experience the joy of your companionship.”

Reach out and fill a need. Merry Christmas.

By Janet J. Seahorn, PH.D

by guest writer, Terry Creekmore

Reposted by popular request.

-Tony & Janet Seahorn

A Poem about Cleatus Lebow,  a World War II survivor of the U.S.S Indianapolis.

Written by Terry Creekmore, Tsgt (E-6)  Wyoming Air National Guard.

The old man shuffled through a gas station in the flat north Texas land.
Unremarkable but for the hat he wore as I paused and shook his hand.
USS Indianapolis the hat said on its brim.
I’d read the books and heard the tales as I stared in awe at him.

Cleatus Lebow was 87 years old when I shook his hand that day
But his life was defined by a mere four days and the memories were there to stay

Four days that few remember

Four days he could not forget

Four days that haunt the nightly dreams of those survivors who live with regret

~ Heroes walk among us still today and their stories need to be told ~

Normandy, Bastone, the Canal and Iwo will make your blood run cold
Few remember and fewer still care about those events so long ago
But few have endured the terror and pain of the hero Cleatus Lebow

The Indy was a proud ship that now only sails in lore
She delivered the bomb to Tinian and helped end the greatest war
It only took twelve minutes for her to sink beneath the waves
Nine hundred men in the water but only 300 would be saved
The heat the cold the thirst the sharks all took a terrible toll
The men who survived would forever be seared to the marrow of their soul

~ Heroes walk among us still today and their stories need to be told ~

Pusan, Inchon and the Chosin Few

Battling in that terrible cold

So many heroes of that forgotten war are quietly growing old
Yet their sacrifice and bravery have never been extolled
Few remember and fewer still care about those events so long ago
But few have endured the terror and pain of the hero Cleatus Lebow

The navy needed a scapegoat so they court-martialed Captain McVay
The justness of the verdict is still argued to this day
The letters and the guilt and the ridicule made the holidays particularly strained
So in the fall of 1968 he put a bullet through his brain
Another victim of those terrible days
When the sea and the sharks made a living hell and sanity lost its way

~ Heroes walk among us still today and their stories need to be told ~

Route Pack six, Ia Drang and Khe Sanh but the nation was so cold
There are just some things you can’t apologize for and this is certainly one
The spitting the jeers the taunting the tears they just can’t be undone

Now they are old. Most of them gone. Only thirty-six survive
Those four days are history now and only our memories keep them alive
We can never repay the debt we owe as that generation fades away
All we can do is to keep the faith and from that we will never stray

~ Heroes walk among us still today and their stories need to be told ~

Firefighters, Fallujah and Seal Team Six
the bravery never gets old

The torch has been passed and now this generation is writing its own history
Honor and tradition can still to be found in the deserts and the mountains and the sea
But they have big shoes to fill because the Indy is forever on patrol
Crewed by the souls of 900 sailors on a mission beyond their control

Few remember and fewer still care about those events so long ago

But all of us owe our freedom to heroes like Cleatus Lebow

By Janet J. Seahorn, Ph.D

Guest Blog by John DiCiacco

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