Further Confessions of a GP

Army medical II

It was a year after I had completed the army medical for Lee. He still looked like a young boy, but something had changed in him.

‘I’m due to go back for my second tour in Helmand, Dr Daniels, but I don’t want to go. Can you write something to say I can’t go back?’

‘I guess I can try. Was it really bad out there?’

‘It was terrible. All my friends back here keep asking me is if I killed anyone. I don’t even think I ever saw a Taliban to shoot at, let alone kill. All I saw on patrol were kids and women and old people, but every step you’re wondering if a sniper is going to get you. Every time you see a kid you wonder if they’re going to blow themselves up. They look at you like you’re scum and the women shout at us in their language and spit at us. Being in the vehicles was even worse. Imagine being in a vehicle that gets blown up by an IED [improvised explosive device] and catches fire. You either stay inside and burn or you try to get out and a sniper shoots you.’

He went on: ‘My mates think it sounds exciting, but I was scared the whole time even though most of the time nothing happens at all. Even during down time I couldn’t relax. All the worrying made me ill. My bowels were all over the place and I barely slept. Some of the other guys in the battalion took the piss out of me, but I know they were scared as well. I just can’t go back there. Since I’ve been back I’m just angry all the time. Please don’t make me go back.’

‘Lee, I can try writing something, but ultimately it’s the army doctors who get to decide, not me.’

I wrote a long letter stating that I believed Lee had post-traumatic stress disorder. They might dismiss it outright given that Lee hadn’t really even seen much action, but he did have all the symptoms. He couldn’t sleep, was having flashbacks and experiencing continually high levels of anxiety.

Lee was worried that I would think him a coward, but the thought didn’t cross my mind. I’ve never been in the situation where my levels of bravery have been tested. Who knows how I’d cope in the environment of frontline Afghanistan, never being able to close your eyes and go to sleep without a little part of your brain knowing that a rocket could come flying through the window or a Taliban disguised as a police officer could shoot you while you slept. Why some people cope in that situation and others don’t, I’m not sure, but Lee was my patient and he wasn’t faring well. My letter concluded with the statement that I thought Lee was not safe for frontline duties and could be a danger to himself and his battalion. I hoped the army might believe me and give Lee a medical discharge.

Lee didn’t have to wait to find out if the army would discharge him on medical grounds. He got into a fight with some local lads in the town centre and his punch put a 16-year-old boy in intensive care. He is on remand and looking at a likely one-year stretch in prison. I haven’t seen him since, but his mum’s optimism about him going into the army to keep him out of trouble seems a sad irony now.