The Foreign Service Journal, December 2006

D E C E M B E R 2 0 0 6 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 53 medication, so that left counseling. However, I was living in Senegal, and there were no English-speaking therapists there with a background in PTSD. I also wondered how my colleagues would react if they found out I was in treatment, which was inevitable in the fishbowl world of the Foreign Service. Would they think I was weak and not capable of handling difficult assignments? Would I jeopardize my medical and security clearances? Getting Help I eventually decided that living with my symptoms was worse than the risks of getting help, and talked to my region- al medical officer about finding a therapist. Fortunately, there was an expatriate with a background in family therapy living in Dakar who was willing to see me through an arrangement with our medical unit. While she was not an expert in PTSD, the therapy was extremely helpful. After only a few sessions, I was sleeping normally again and was no longer thinking about Iraq all the time. But I still felt detached and lacked my normal interest in activities, so while home on R&R, I saw a specialist in PTSD and was for- mally diagnosed. The most effective treatment I had was a guided imagery session, in which I revisited the terrorist attack. I learned that when I knelt to assist a severely injured colleague, a part of me — the part of me that loves adventure and learning — went away. With the help of my therapist, I worked to regain my spirit and zest for life. It is wonderful to feel like myself again. I am extremely thankful that I finally refused to accept my PTSD symptoms as a part of life, but instead pursued therapy both in Dakar and later in the U.S. Education Needed So why am I now sharing this story with my fellow FSOs, particularly given my concerns about clearances and my rep- utation? Mainly because these concerns (which were not well-founded) almost stopped me from getting help. Suddenly there were huge explosions and my room was filled with smoke… Sunday morning (Oct. 26, 2003), I had just woken up to the Muslim call to prayer and was lying in bed thinking about get- ting up and starting another day. Suddenly there were huge explosions and my room was filled with smoke — the Hotel Al- Rashid was under attack again, and this was a big one. I rolled out of bed, grabbed my sandals and phone — and was instantly out of my room. The hallway was filled with smoke and I had almost reached the stairs when I heard an American woman screaming for help — her arm had been hit. I ran back and immediately put pressure on her wound (thanks to State Department training on emergency medical assistance when I was in Kuwait). I yelled for assistance and after ordering several guys with tourniquets away (she could have lost the arm if we’d tied a tourniquet), I found several men to help carry her down the three flights of stairs. I remember calling for a medic once we got to the lobby of the hotel, which was already filled with people. After what seemed like forever (but probably was 15-20 minutes), the army ambulance arrived. Because there weren’t many medics, I stayed with the woman in the ambulance continuing to keep pressure on her arm, using my other hand to call the State Department and tell them of the attack. We arrived at the hospital and she was immediately taken into surgery for two or three hours. The doctors saved her arm and she is doing very well. So, there I was at the 28th Combat Surgical Hospital in my green PJs (my favorite PJs!) and sandals, clutching my cell phone! I was covered in blood and still somewhat in shock, but I called Mom and Dad and told them I was all right. I then started count- ing the casualties as they were brought into the hospital. … At one point some officer ordered me away (I had no ID and couldn’t prove who I was), but luckily I knew the head of the hospital. He told the guys that I was the U.S. consul and asked them to let me hang around and give assistance to the injured Americans. ... That night I slept in a friend’s trailer (she was in the U.S. on leave) and tried to figure out what to do. The homeless from the hotel were scattered throughout the Green Zone (protected area) ... I was at breakfast on Monday (Nov. 1, 2003) when bombs started exploding all over the city. I ran to the office of Global Risk Security (a private security company with some of the best people I’ve ever met). ... There were a total of eight explosions on Monday morning — luckily, miraculously, no private Americans were injured or killed. ... It’s going to be a rough few weeks — there’s been at least one bombing each day so far, and people in town are pretty scared. Excerpted from Beth Payne’s “Letter from Baghdad” in the January 2004 Foreign Service Journal .