COPING WITH CIVILIAN LIFE AFTER BATTLEFIELD
Fighting medics on coping with the battlefield’s traumatic toll back in civilian life
THEY are elite fighters, operating in high-performing teams with a strong sense of purpose – until the day they discharge from the military.
“Then you get out and you’re at home washing the dishes, taking the dog for a walk,” said Major Bram Connolly, who spent more than 20 years in the ADF.
“You’re no longer in a Blackhawk at night racing across the desert with someone yelling out ‘30 seconds’ before you’re running out and getting shot at and you’re shooting back.”
Suddenly veterans are at home, thrust back into “normal” life with families and domestic duties. For many, the initial transition back into civilian society is fraught.
It is at least equally true for the Voodoo Medics, the elite group of medical specialists who accompany our special forces into combat whose stories are revealed in the CTaoiwr nsvPiollsetBsuerllietsi.n series.
Because of the nature of their work, even seasoned special forces soldiers say the medics saw the worst of the trauma on the battlefield.
By the time Major Dan Pronk, a former doctor within Australia’s Special Operations Command, discharged in 2014, he felt like he had merged with his role of combat doctor.
“I cut my hair down into a mohawk and grew a goatee beard,” he said. “All emotion was removed from myself at the time to keep going.
“Anyone looking at special ops from the outside, all you see is the shiny stuff – the action, the painted rifles, the bearded operators, the ballistic sunglasses – but like any of these things the reality of it is very different.”
That reality included the violent deaths of three comrades within weeks during his second deployment in 2011.
In separate incidents, Sergeant Brett Wood died from an improvised explosive device blast on May 23; Sapper Rowan Robinson was killed by a Taliban sniper on June 6; and Sgt Todd Langley was
shot dead on July 4. Pronk was there for all of them, and could not save them.
“Initially I was adamant that I was never going to go back, but that didn’t last,” he said. “I went back to work and, before I knew it, I was busting to get back there.
“I felt if I could get back to Afghanistan and save one of our guys that that would somehow help me process the events of the blokes that I couldn’t save.”
It didn’t turn out that way. In fact, things quickly went from bad to worse.
“Within weeks of being back on the ground the (Special Operations) Task Group lost another bloke that I was mates with,” he said.
“No one had been killed since I left, then I turned up again and we’d lost another task group member.”
SASR Sergeant Blaine Diddams was hit in the chest while leading a mission to capture a Taliban commander in the Zarafshan Valley on July 2, 2012.
After those four deaths and the birth of his third son, Pronk and his wife decided it was time for him to step away from the role he had spent his career chasing.
“When I first got out of the army I just couldn’t associate with the people I found myself around,” he said.
“I fell into the trap of maybe drinking a bit more than I should have with the goal of trying to have a decent night’s sleep without the intrusive thoughts and dreams.
“In hindsight I realise what I needed to do was rebuild my self-worth in something new.”
Pronk set about re-establishing himself in a new job. He became a doctor in an emergency department in Queensland.
He also started an MBA and took on passion projects to keep his mind busy.
Pronk, now based in Adelaide, says successful transition can be a long road.
“I’d gone through that somewhat dark period and a degree of post-traumatic stress but also that loss of identity together really led to a bit of a bad patch,” he said. “As I got more and more distance from the events I found that the intrusive thoughts and the physical reaction to those intrusive thoughts was getting less and less.
“I experienced this strange transition whereby I started to view things differently.”
He said the trauma he faced in Afghanistan gave him a new appreciation of life.
“Losing mates in the field in Afghanistan – that was now my bad,” he said. “I started just really experiencing posttraumatic growth. I found myself a whole bunch more positive than I had been prior to those experiences.”
Commando Chad Elliott was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and was medically discharged after being shot through the leg and hit with shrapnel on his second tour of Afghanistan.
But he rejected the idea he was a victim: “I probably think of myself as a survivor and a fighter. I survived that incident but I’m not letting it affect me in the future. I’m still trying to reach my goals.”
Now married with two sons, Elliott said despite the physical limitations left by his wounds, his goal is to obtain a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu black belt.
“My headspace at the moment is … I have days when (it’s) pretty bad. Having my family helps and doing my daily BJJ training is probably key to me staying sane.”
A spokesman said the ADF was unable to provide a breakdown of PTSD diagnoses by regiment or battalion.
However, the results of the most recent study in 2015 found that 8.7 per cent of serving ADF members self-reported symptoms of PTSD.
Tomorrow’s final part THE WALK OF LIFE
It was always intended to be, not a shrine, but an area where I could display stuff that wasn’t appropriate to have in the house … DAN PRONK