I have the privilege of caring for a 29 year old Sergeant First Class who was admitted to the inpatient addiction program with a primary diagnosis of Alcohol Dependence. But, as in so many situations things are not quite what they may seem, and are never as simple as they seem. He is a quiet Latino American; so soft spoken you tend to lean forward when talking with him. He is a tough guy, built like a fire hydrant with dark eyes meeting yours without an ounce of pretension or entitlement. He was deployed twice and when asked if, as a 11 Bravo (combat infantry), he had received direct fire he said simply, “some.” Reluctantly he admitted he had received some injuries but seemed embarrassed about it. In fact, he was involved in a battle in October of 2007 in Afghanistan where a member of his squad was subsequently awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. My soldier, if I can use the possessive, describes his part of the action without emotion. In the opening salvo of the battle he was one of the first members of his squad to be hit. He was knocked off his feet with a blow to his head. He was stunned, to say the least, as his helmet was knocked off and he felt pain along the left side of his scalp. He reached up with both hands, “to see if my head was still there,” and he could feel a burning on the left side of his scalp. It seems a enemy shell had entered the left front of his helmet, tracked around his scalp and exited the rear of his helmet. After a few moments he got up, put his helmet back on and carried on with the mission. The medic for this squad was killed in the action and another soldier also lost his life. My soldier received a Bronze Star and Purple Heart. As the battle buddy who won the Congressional Medal of Honor said at the time of his reward, my soldier said “we were doing just what we were supposed to do.” Of course, this is not the end of the story, and in a way not even the beginning. My soldier came to the Army with a life long history of anxiety about most things in life and in fact he still has, on a daily basis attacks of anxiety with a racing heart and sense of impending disaster, even in the most secure and supportive environment. But he persisted, without treatment and is on what you might call the fast track in the promotion cycle. Now, in addition he has a different type of anxiety called PTSD and he often wakes up in the night reliving that moment when he should have died with a bullet in his head. He feels guilty that he is living and his two biddies are dead. And why should he be alive, is his constant rumination: now an E7 (Sergeant First Class) and in his words, a drunk. He is here for treatment for his alcohol dependence only, and though he accepts our ministrations for his anxiety. He does NOT WANT TO BE SEPARATED FROM HIS UNIT- there is his identity and another source of anxiety; he does not want to be away from the soldiers he trained and fought with. He deserves all the care and benefits the Army can give him, but he does not need to be infantalized, abandoned and shamed by being placed in a WTB, apart from both his his families. If he is placed in the Army foster care system, the WTB, he will either become angry and bitter, or he will become withdrawn, avoidant and humiliated. His use of alcohol, as in many situations, was to attempt to deal with his preexisting anxiety disorder and then the aftermath of his combat trauma. With the proper support and treatment he does not have to one of these reactive attachment wounded, but can return to a life defined by possibilities and not limitations. An interesting caveat to this story is that his family is coming to visit him this week-end. His wife, and 8 children; 3 are biological children approaching teenage, and he and his wife have adopted 5 other children. Now there is a brave soldier.