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A Traumatized Trauma Counselor
Chaplain Glenn Palmer experiences the violence and horror of Baghdad firsthand
By T. Trent Gegax
NEWSWEEK WEB EXCLUSIVE
Nov. 22 — Glenn Palmer is one of those guys that military families need to appreciate for the care that he gives their sons and daughters. The Army captain and chaplain has conducted more than 250 Combat Stress Diffusions and Debriefings, counseled at least 20 soldiers whose spouses have left or cheated on them and conducted eight last rites during eight months in Iraq.
CAPTAIN PALMER DOES his level best to keep the 2-70 Armor battalion of the First Armored Division, out of Fort Riley, Kans., at its healthy-headed best. It isn’t easy. The battalion’s base is in Abu Ghurayb, one of the most dangerous sections of Baghdad.
Captain Palmer is uncommonly self-aware and knowledgeable, as well versed in combat and its effects on the human psyche almost as much as he is in the Bible. “I have buried babies caught in the cross-fire and held the hand of wounded soldiers while the doctor tries to save their eyes and legs,” he says. “I help the soldiers tell the story of their experiences in a safe and controlled environment.” On Monday morning, Captain Palmer became the story. He was sitting behind the wheel of a Humvee as it pulled off the base to launch a mission. Chaplains are “noncombat,” so occasionally he drives on missions in order to free up a combat soldier.
A close-range gunshot rang out as soon as the vehicle left the compound. No one cried out so Palmer assumed everyone was OK. The vehicle’s occupants jumped out to investigate, and one of the soldiers yelled, “Oh, no!” Palmer turned and saw a captain slumped in the seat directly behind the driver’s. Blood gushed from the front and side of the wounded man’s head. “Medic!” somebody started screaming. The soldiers converged on the motionless man. “It was chaos,” Palmer said later, “and it was as if time were standing still.” He explained that was the sensation of adrenaline and endorphins rushing to the brain.
Pause. The next thing Palmer knew, he was in the back of the Humvee, struggling to focus on saving the soldier and fighting off the kind of shock that most days he studies and tries to remedy in others. The vehicle raced toward an aid station, and another officer held the wounded captain in his lap. Blood and brains coated their clothes and the Humvee. “Chaplain, give him CPR!” the officer yelled over the roar of the road and drive train. They had to wipe the mess out of the victim’s mouth so Palmer could perform CPR and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Again, Palmer froze for a split second. He couldn’t remember how to do it. Then the chaplain’s assistant, now at the wheel, speeding toward the aid station, calmly reached back and showed Palmer where to begin chest compressions. That’s all it took to snap Palmer back into action. His CPR and mouth-to-mouth skills reappeared. But it wasn’t working. “Whenever I blew air during mouth to mouth I could feel the air coming out of the hole in the side of his head,” Palmer recalled. When they arrived at the aid station, Palmer interpreted the event through the lens of a familiar scene from “Black Hawk Down.” That’s where his mind went to understand what was happening. While the medics worked furiously to save the soldier’s life, Palmer wasted no time in ordering a soldier to clean the blood and gray matter out of the Humvee so nobody else would have to witness it.
Minutes later, the captain was pronounced dead and Palmer called Capt. Stephen Valentine, commander of the combat stress management team for which Palmer works. Valentine, 34, took all the soldiers who had been in that Humvee, including Chaplain Palmer, and led them through what they call a critical event session. For the rest of the day (and again the next morning), Captain Valentine walked them through the familiar steps of counteracting the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder. In an isolated area, they dispensed with ranks and note-taking. They talked first about the facts as everyone saw them. They talked about everyone’s initial thoughts. They talked about their physical reactions, as well as emotional and cognitive responses to the shooting. Then Captain Valentine taught them about what they were going through and wrapped up by repeating positive thoughts. Finally, he left the door open for the soldiers to return to him and his staff.
The debrief was essential to the healing process. “They lost a friend,” Palmer recalled, forgetting himself, “a good man and good soldier, who had a wife and three kids back home, in a gruesome way.” Typically, Palmer would run the debriefings. This time he had ranked among the counseled. Within a day, Captain Palmer was back in the field, conducting critical event debriefs of his own for soldiers who had just experienced their own peeks into hell. I doubt Captain Palmer will forget his. “I still can’t get the taste out of my mouth,” he said. It may never go away, but neither, if he can help it, will the chaplain take leave from ministering his soldiers.
------------------------------------------------------------ Out of every 100 men, ten shouldn't even be there, Eighty are just targets, Nine are the real fighters, and we are lucky to have them, for they make the battle. Ah, but the one, one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back." - Hericletus, circa 500 BC ----------------------------------------------------------- 
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