My father couldnt join the Army because he had flat feet, and that always bugged him.
He had wanted to serve.
And he taught me how much we owe the troops.
During theVietnam War, I toured with theUSOand visited field hospitals.
Some of the injuries were horrific.
I remember sitting on the bed of one soldier whose head was all bandaged on one side.
He asked, Would you sing My Buddy?
So I sang it for him.
Then he told me the doctors had said half his face was gone.
I told him, The half thats showing looks pretty good to me.
I could see what it meant to him to hear that.
It was almost a spiritual happening.
There was no such thing then as post-traumatic stress disorder.
It hadnt been given a name yet.
Soldiers who came home withPTSD symptomssuch as agitation or anxiety would be treated with drugs for those symptoms.
Even today it gets misdiagnosed, or treated with medicines that dont work.
A lot of these drugs can cause suicidal thoughts its right there on the warning labels.
I know something about PTSD.
While I was on tour in New York in 1974, I was raped at knifepoint in a motel.
I spent two and a half hours negotiating for my life.
After that, I couldnt sleep.
I saw the attackers face everywhere.
I was hospitalized; they thought I had bipolar illness.
I took lithium, but all it did was keep me lying on a couch.
Finally, I was diagnosed with PTSD and got the treatment I needed.
Im a big believer in counseling for PTSD.
When it isnt treated, it can cause a lot of damage.
Yet combat veterans often dont talk about what theyve seen or how it makes them feel.
They just let the feelings build up.
I want to encourage them to share their experiences.
This effort has given me a lot of energy and hope.
We all have it in us to make a difference in someone elses life.
The more you help others, the more it enriches your life, too.
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