I thought folks might like to see a letter that my wife Mary wrote to the psychiatrist who diagnosed me with PTSD two years ago. I sent him that letter before our first session. It gives you an insight into what Mary was going through. We're both happy for this letter to be shown in here.
March 8, 2016
Dear Dr Davie,
Thanks so much for the opportunity to explain from a family perspective the extent of the challenges that Dean’s facing …or rather that we as a family are facing.
Dean is a very contained person in terms of his ability to give an outward appearance of being calm and measured even at times of stress, and I think he’s had to become quite adept at this in order to contain some of the awful experiences he’s had.
In dreadful situations such as Iraq and the aftermath of the tsunami in Aceh he had to show great strength of character and leadership, an ability that no doubt became useful later on in containing unpleasant emotions associated with these experiences.
Even people close to us have been surprised to learn that Dean is suffering considerable stress.
I was keen to convey this to the psychologist that Dean saw recently, but I found the psychologist reluctant to hear how Dean’s condition was affecting our family. He told me I was only complicating the situation.
This added another layer of stress to our family situation as I felt isolated and unable to participate in Dean’s recovery.
Dean’s “containment” has had an enormous effect on the family. But please let me say that I completely understand it. I worked as a journalist for almost 20 years, at least half of it overseas in areas of conflict, poverty and great suffering, but nothing on the scale of what Dean has witnessed.
I worked closely for years with journalists and cameramen who were affected by PTSD, so I’m no stranger to the condition.
When we came home to Tasmania three years ago it was a real “tree change” for Dean and he spent much more time with the family. Very soon I began to notice changes – a loud-noise sensitivity, a quick temper, irritability, impatience, and an atmosphere of what seemed like misery that sat like a pall over the household. It was most apparent when Dean was working – and I understand how isolating it must be to work alone from home after the busy office environment of the regional headquarters – that he was unable to cope with stress. He would become so stressed that it seemed very out of character.
Sudden loud noises would result in anger and irritability.
I found myself trying to be a buffer between Dean and anything in our daily household routine - we have three children – that might be too loud or cause him stress. I began to feel very apprehensive every day and desperate to have things run smoothly so as not to create any further stress on Dean but also to prevent the children being aware that anything was wrong. I became reluctant to tell him things that might stress him. I was even reluctant to vacuum because the noise worried him.
I noticed too that his health was deteriorating. Dean has celiac disease but he’s extremely careful about his diet and we usually eat very well at home. Over the past three years it was as if he’d developed a hyper-sensitivity to food, and his immune system seemed fragile. Dean has frequent headaches, and has just had his third bout of glandular fever in about a year. He is often very tired.
It took me a while to work out that Dean was suffering from something that was completely beyond his control. I began to wonder if he had PTSD. He does say there are certain images that will remain with him for the rest of his life, and his ability to sleep has been poor for some years now. He often wakes looking exhausted.
Dean and I didn’t agree over the therapy he was receiving and the fact that the psychologist ruled out PTSD, saying that Dean was struggling with identity issues after leaving a past-paced high profile career and suffering from the social isolation of working from home in a small community, along with other work-related stresses. I wanted him to seek a second opinion or to consider medication for depression but we couldn’t agree on a way forward.
I felt at a complete loss over what to do and whether it would eventually impact on the children. We’ve always had a wonderful and close relationship but I began to prepare myself mentally for him leaving us. It was frightening as I haven’t worked for some time and I began to think through how I might have to sell the house to afford something smaller and how I might juggle things as a single mother.
Over the months, as things deteriorated, I became more and more convinced that Dean was suffering some form of PTSD and I knew it would only get worse for all of us if we didn’t seek help. Looking back, even over our time in Singapore, I see behaviour that should have raised red flags but that I missed.
Dr Davie, Dean is a smart, humorous and brave man whom I admire and respect deeply so I feel awful to be writing the above, particularly knowing that he too will read this. He knows and understands everything I’ve written but I still feel like I’m kicking him when he’s down.
I hope this letter gives you some insight that will help Dean. I feel this isn’t just his problem but one that he and I can face together. After all, when he went to Iraq he went for us, believing that his experience there would enhance his career to the extent that he would be able to provide the best for his family.
Warm regards,
