Page 25 of Scout Takes the Lead
When Alex nodded I said, “Has he said anything about how you can control those flashbacks?”
“He said the more I recognize what they are, the better I can control them.”
“This will be part of that. If you deliberately call up a bad memory, you start to take away its power.”
He looked at me. “Do you do that yourself?”
I nodded. “Sometimes when I’m feeling bad I dredge up memories of my dad hitting my mom. The more I do it, the less power those memories have.” I held up my hand. “I need to remind you I’m not a therapist. This is based on my own experience. Don’t do anything that puts you or anyone else in danger.”
“That’s what D’eriq says,” Alex said. “My therapist.” He smiled. “It feels good to know that I’ve got someone else on my team who wants to help me.” That’s all it was going to be, I reminded myself. Helping Alex and Scout learn to work together.
13: Guide: Alex
As Scout and I walked back home after the training, I thought about what Grace said. Had my bad memories gotten better at all? Or was I just tormenting myself?
I remembered something D’eriq had said, about control. When I decided to bring up a memory, I had control of it. I knew that what happened remained in the past, that I had survived and gotten home. It was only when those memories hit me without notice that I couldn’t control them.
We came to a pocket park, and I decided to try an experiment. I sat on the ground with Scout, stroking his golden fur and emptying my mind of anything. I waited for something in the environment to trigger me. With traffic passing all the time, I had a feeling it wouldn’t take too long.
It was very nice there in the sunshine with my dog, just relaxing, until a truck hit a bump in the road and the noise shattered me. Suddenly I was back in Afghanistan, on that road to Kandahar, and I knew there was a bomb ahead but I couldn’t do anything about it.
And then Scout was there in my dream with me, and I worried he’d get blown up. But he kept nuzzling me, licking my chin, and I couldn’t help laughing. That’s when my eyes snapped open.
I stayed there on the grass with Scout, scratching his tummy until my pulse rate came back to normal. I hadn’t realized he had nipples there—-at least six of them. I’d have to ask Grace about that.
A car passed by with a license plate frame in Spanish: “La fe mueve montanas.” Faith moves mountains. Did I need to have faith in Scout’s love, that he would be there for me when I needed him?
Eventually Scout and I got up and walked home. I was too restless to work on anything that required brainpower, so Scout and I practiced the “down” command. The goal was that he’d see my hand motion and hear the command, and do it, without my having to get down on the floor with him.
He couldn’t concentrate—he kept trying to lick my hand and my face. Did that mean that he knew how upset I was and he was more focused on making me feel better than on some dumb command? I couldn’t tell, but I gave up and we just sat on the floor and played together for a while.
A surprising number of people chose to wait until Saturday night to call for help with their health care spending accounts, so I was busy until the early hours of the morning, when I finally went to bed. Scout climbed up in the bed with me and rested at my feet, and we both dozed off.
When I woke, it was mid-morning Sunday, and I didn’t remember any bad dreams. I put on my headset and worked with Scout when I didn’t have any calls. He was a smart boy and learned quickly, though I was careful to keep reinforcing his behaviors with lots of praise and, eventually, fewer and fewer hot dog treats.
I practiced remembering those days in Afghanistan, as Grace had suggested, and though the memories killed me, Scout was learning how to bring me back from them. I kept thinking about Grace, and I realized that more and more I wanted to try again with her. She explained that she’d understood why I had acted the way I did, and it didn’t seem to have changed anything between us. I decided to man up once more and I texted her using the voice input on my phone. “How can we practice the other two things you said Scout needs to learn?”
“Meet me at the ArtsPark,” she texted back a few minutes later. “Twenty minutes?”
I sent her a thumbs up, and looked over at Scout, who had jumped up at the sound of my voice and was wagging his tail enthusiastically. It looked like I could use the plume of his tail for dusting if I ever needed to.
I leashed Scout and we walked through downtown Hollywood toward the ArtsPark at Young Circle. From a couple of blocks away I heard a rapper singing about booze and booty. Not my favorite kind of music, but I was curious to see what Grace had in mind.
She looked even prettier than she had the night we went to dinner. She wore a tight T-shirt with a dog in a canoe and the logo “Dog Paddle” beneath it, along with denim shorts. I felt something stirring down below that I hadn’t felt in quite a while. Once again we stood awkwardly when we met, unsure how to greet each other, until she leaned in and kissed my cheek quickly.
“I’m glad you texted,” she said. Scout nosed her and wagged his tail, and she stroked the top of his head.
“I’m glad you agreed to meet.” I winced. “Though the music is pretty loud.”
“That’s the point. We’re going to try a technique called guiding. Sometimes a person with PTSD will get triggered in a location, and need to get away. We’re going to see if we can train Scout to do that for you.”
“How does that work?”
“It’s like interruption, only Scout will recognize that he needs to get you away from the thing that’s triggering you. I want you and Scout to go over there and sit down. Close your eyes and listen to the music and see if anything triggers you.”
“I’m scared I’ll do something to hurt someone,” I said. “Out here in public.”
“I’ll be right over there watching you. Don’t worry, I’ll jump in if things don’t go well.” She looked so earnest that I had to believe her.
