I may have died in Vietnam, but you can bury me later.
© 2001 By David M Payne
9/11 brings back some sad memories of my tour in Vietnam in the Marines. My first day "in
country" was spent in the receiving barracks on the outskirts of Da Nang. I was talking to a marine
who was stationed at those barracks. He told me that the VC had overrun part of Da Nang, and all of
Phu Bai the year before during Tet. He asked me if I was a sound sleeper, and I told him I was. He told
me that could get me killed, and I needed to learn to sleep with one eye open. That night I laid there
with both eyes open, and was exhausted the next day, and for the rest of my days there. By the end
of my tour in Vietnam, insomnia had replaced sleep as my body's response to stress, and is still with
me today. Paranoia, and the fear of death had become my constant companions, and the local pot
was my only real relief from those terrible twins. This of course was a relief that was illegal there, but
ignored by the brass most of the time because they understood its value as an aid in getting some
relief from the stress there, and they were too busy with other things like the war to really pursue it.
Also there were no drug tests for pot then, unlike now.
Life in Phu Bai was a mixture of incredible boredom and shear terror when we were under attack,
usually rocket or mortar fire at night though occasionally we got hit in the daytime. The rocket attacks
were interesting in one regard. We had an early warning system in place in Phu Bai, a radar system
that was supposed to give us early warning when the rockets started coming in, and it worked like a
charm, almost. It would go off right after the first rocket hit, letting us know that we were under attack.
Of course the first rocket hitting had already let us know that, but hey it’s the thought that counts,
right? Some times we would get stoned and sit on top of the bunkers, watching the rocket attacks,
treating it like an entertainment program because there was little entertainment for us there. We had a
sense of the invincibility that to often comes with being young mixed with the sense that if our number
was up the rocket would hit our bunker and kill us anyway, so we might as well enjoy the show. For us
enlisted men, the old standby, booze was not an option in trying to drink ones self to sleep. You see
we could only get 3-2 beer, which had such a low alcohol content that if you drank enough to get
drunk you found yourself up all night in the latrine peeing it back out. In time I found that the only way
I could sleep was to smoke the very potent pot that we got in country. This would allow me to relax
enough to get some sleep.
After a few months in Phu Bai dodging the rocket, sniper, and mortar fire we got, my helicopter
squadron pulled out to a helicopter carrier, the USS Iwo Jima. One night we got the call to remove the
chairs from the movie area, which was also the area used for the first stage medivacs of the wounded.
As I was helping clear the chairs out, I heard some of the marines and sailors complaining about not
getting to finish watching their movie. This was a surreal experience considering the condition of the
guys they brought in this night. The guys they brought in had walked into the middle of a minefield
and they were a mess. One sergeant in particular garnered my attention. A mine had blown off both
his legs. I watched him struggle valiantly with death, and lose. It is a picture that is seared forever into
my mind.
This night along with many others like it left me with scars in my mind that can never be seen. I
had all the to usual problems of many Vietnam vets, trouble holding a job, a relationship, and my life
together. I was wracked with paranoia and worried "they" were after me. It took me years to realize
that my emotional problems were not of my own making, and more years of therapy from the Vet
Center to get my life back in good enough order to be able to form a good relationship with those
around me, and to get my love life in order. By then one of my goals in life, having a family and
watching my children grow up in a loving environment had passed me by, as I was too old to attract a
woman who wanted to have children with me. This has left a big hole in my heart, though I guess in
the long run at least I made it through Vietnam alive and in one piece physically, which is more than
many of my friends whose names are on the Vietnam Vets wall in Washington did.
The insomnia I had developed in Vietnam had become chronic by then and is still with me today.
Years later I finely went to the VA for help, and they diagnosed me with Post Traumatic Stress
Disorder, (PTSD) and then told me I didn't get it in Vietnam. I was told I needed names, times, dates,
so they could verify my story. I was asked if I remembered the name of the marine that had his legs
blown off that night. I hadn't taken the time to introduce myself to that sergeant and get his name as
he lay there dying. I never realized I would need it thirty years later, when it came time to deal with the
VA. All I needed was the ability to have total recall of all the events, names, times and dates that I
impacted me in Vietnam thirty years ago, and that might be enough to get them to help me with my
service connected PTSD. But I had neglected to take notes of my activities in Vietnam, and had no
"proof" my trauma was from there. My bullet holes from Vietnam were in my mind, not my body. I
guess they think I must have gotten PTSD at McDonalds when they put pickles on my cheeseburger
after I told them not to. I would say to those of you that find yourselves involved in this war on
terrorism in the coming years, take notes, you may need them if you have to deal with the VA later.
And to the people at the VA who ask the questions for which I couldn’t remember the answers, what
were you doing where, and with who, thirty years ago? Should be an easy question, right, but I'm sure
the irony is lost on them.
I later realized I had died spiritually that night on the Iwo Jima too. The concept of God and religion
stopped making any sense to me. How could any kind, just, merciful, compassionate, and omnipotent
God allow this kind of madness to go on for all of humanities recorded history? An indifferent God at
best, and more likely a mythical God like all of the other gods of humanities past and present.
Years later the VA, while still denying my PTSD, started treating the insomnia it caused with a mild
sleeping pill so that I can get enough sleep function at work and other places. I guess the irony of
treating me for a PTSD related condition that they deny I got in Vietnam is lost on those who make the
decisions at the VA.
A couple of years ago I was diagnosed with Diabetes by both my doctor and the VA, like so many
other Agent Orange vets before me have been. There is no diabetes in my family, but it's reaching
epidemic proportions among us in country Vietnam vets. Though the VA has linked this to my Agent
Orange exposure and granted me a disability rating, they still deny my PTSD is connected to my
service in Vietnam.
I may have received a fatal wound from my exposure to Agent Orange that I never felt, and didn't
even know I had, in Vietnam.