For a long time, PTSD meant one specific thing to Chris: the constant awareness of the person he used to be. He believed that getting healthy meant finding his way back to that guy. It took him a very long time to land on a harder, truer answer: that person was gone, and that was okay.
“My doctors have long said they hate the term post-traumatic stress disorder, because it’s not a disorder. You’re reacting completely normally to a series of messed-up situations. Your body’s been reprogrammed to deal with it, because I can’t unsee what I’ve seen and I can’t pretend I haven’t. You’re never able to turn it off. You just have to be comfortable with the volume being low.”
And to help turn down that volume, his doctor pushed him toward a service dog. That was what finally got Chris thinking seriously about it, and it turned into a critical step on the road to healing, to becoming comfortable in his own skin again.
That person he used to be is one chapter of his life now, in the rear view mirror. This is who he is, and who he’s going to be, and his dogs have been part of getting him there every step of the way. When Chris’s first dog, Anton, was ready to retire, we made sure Chris didn’t have to face that gap alone; Bruce came in close behind, so Chris always had a teammate at his side. All that training and fostering is well worth it: two years spent raising a dog, then letting them go, so a veteran on the other end gets a dog who’s ready for the job.The job to help folks like Chris feel like themselves again.
