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faofinn · 2 years

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No. 9 CRUTCHES (Alt. 13)

@whumptober

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Fred was in his study, trying his best to make use of the peace and quiet of the boys' lie-in. It meant neither were up to mischief either, which was a godsend. With Fao returning to live with them post Afghan, things had finally started to settle back down. Finn’s seizures had begun to decrease again, now that Fao was home and slightly more on the straight and narrow.

The silence didn't last forever, and as much as he didn't want to leave his work, the clatter from upstairs couldn't be ignored.

Fao rarely slept well, and especially not since his accident. He managed a few fitful hours, and then tossed and turned after that. He’d maybe managed to doze a little more, until the pain woke him properly, and he finally dragged himself out of bed. He reached for his crutches, and managed to knock them over as he did. Fuck’s sake, the stupid things never stayed upright. He wasn’t supposed to bend, but he did anyway, and managed to get them up off of the floor.

With that challenge completed, he then had to get to his feet. He just about managed that too, with a groan, and awkwardly pulled on a hoodie before he made his way downstairs the best he could. It was slow going, and that’s what endlessly frustrated him. Things that used to take a minute took five. He headed straight to the kitchen, hoping Fred was busy, and made himself a coffee, leaning against the counter so he could free up his hands.

With that done, he left one crutch leaning up against the counter, opting just to use one to hold his mug with the other hand. He could just about maintain his restricted weightbearing with one crutch, although he wasn’t supposed to.

He stopped by the back door, withdrew a cigarette from the pack Fred hid there, pocketed the lighter next to it, and held the cigarette between his teeth as he negotiated his way out of the door and down the step. The garden wall wasn’t too low, and he sat there whilst he lit his cigarette.

Fred hadn't heard anyone shouting after the noise, so he figured he could just finish his sentence. The back door shutting made him jump, and he swore. The two minutes to finish the sentence had almost been a half hour.

He headed out, his assumption it was Fao confirmed by the abandoned crutch. He couldn’t count the amount of times he'd been told to not do that, or the amount of times they'd been ignored.

Picking up the crutch, he pushed the door open. "Forgetting something?"

Fao looked up a little guiltily. “Nope. Needed a hand for my coffee.” He said, gesturing to the mug with his cigarette.

"You know you're not supposed to." He said, sitting by him. "I don't want you getting hurt again."

“What am I supposed to do, though? I can’t smoke in the house, and I can’t magically carry a mug without any hands.”

"You can ask for help."

“Yeah, because you’ve got nothing better to do with your time than carry a mug for me.”

"Fao, all the people I'm writing about are dead. They can wait another five minutes."

Fao couldn’t help but snort. “Even so, though. It’s still your work.”

"I'm on leave, it's not like I'm expected to do anything."

“I want to be independent, though.” He said, tapping the ash from his cigarette.

"You don't want to be back in hospital."

“No, I don’t, but I’m careful. All I want to do is enjoy my coffee and cigarette like normal.”

"Unfortunately, things aren't normal. You need to ask for help."

Fao reached for his coffee. “It’s not like I’m asking for much.”

"You're asking for trouble if you keep doing this."

Frustrated, he clenched his jaw. It sent a jolt of pain both across his jaw and into his temple and he groaned. Why did everything have to hurt all the time? “I’m depressed, and so they tell me to do things I enjoy, and yet I can’t even sit and have a smoke and a coffee in peace.”

"And they tell you to be sensible and ask for help, take things one day at a time and build your strength back up. You'll get there, but you need to listen to us, not just pick pieces of the conversation to try and use against us."

He sighed. “At least you’ve not told me off for the fucking cigarette, I suppose.” He grumbled, knowing full well he didn’t have an argument for everything else.

"Yeah, because I'm not an arsehole, Fao." He said softly. "Do you remember what I said to you the first day you came to stay with us?"

He hummed. “Don’t let Sheila catch me?”

Fred laughed. "That as well. But, no. That we're in your corner. We're always gonna be here for you, but the way you're going? There's gonna be nobody left for us to be there for."

Fao cradled his mug with both hands, staring down into his coffee. His hair fell into his face where it was getting too long, and he didn’t speak. He didn’t trust his voice.

"You know that though, don't you? That we love you?"

He hummed. “I love you too.”

"Good." Fred smiled. "Right. Breakfast. What are you fancying?"

“None of it was ever because I didn’t love you.” Fao said softly, though he still didn’t look up. “Have whatever you want. I’m not hungry.”

"I know it wasn't. I just know how easy it can be to forget it, when everything is on top of you."

He scoffed. “One way of putting it.”

"I don't know what you're going through, and I don't pretend to. But what I do know is that you're going to get through this. It'll get easier, with time, but you're gonna have to try. And that includes listening to us."

“I’m trying. I swear, I am.”

"I know you are. And I'm proud of you."

“You shouldn’t be proud.”

"You're still here. That's more than enough to be proud of."

“Is it?” Fao asked, finally looking at Fred.

"It is."

“I don’t exactly control it.”

"You control your actions."

“And look where that got me. I’m only alive because of Harrison.”

"I don't mean that, Fao."

“And then I tried to undo all of his hard work, like a cunt.”

"And you've been working so hard to keep going, despite everything." He corrected.

“Sure.”

"I'm serious."

“So am I.”

"You need to listen to us."

Fao took a drag of his cigarette. “How did a lecture on using both of my crutches turn into a discussion about my depression?” He asked, his voice lighter than it had been.

"Give me five minutes and I can change it again."

He smiled. “Is Finn still asleep?”

"Finn? Awake before noon?"

“You never know.”

"I haven't heard him."

“That’s good. He needs the rest.”

"What would you say to him if he refused to take all of his meds?"

“I take all of mine.” Fao shot back.

"And then you walk around with one crutch."

“Carefully. It wasn’t far.”

"You still walked."

“I kept the weight off it.”

"It's hard to do that when you're not doing it properly."

“It’s not so bad.”

"I know, but you're still missing the point."

“I’ll be more careful in future.”

"Will you?"

“For the most part.”

Fred laughed. "I guess that's as good as I'll get."

“Can’t promise all the time. I was stupid enough to spend my whole career getting shot at, after all.”

"That's true."

“Could’ve picked a nice, safe hospital. Decided I preferred the idea of Afghanistan.”

"Of course you did."

“Why would I go for the easy option?”

"You never have, no point starting now."

“Hug?” He asked softly.

"Yeah, come here." He murmured, wrapping his arm around Fao.

Fao leaned into him with a sigh. “Sorry I’m such a pain.”

"You're not, far from it."

He hummed. “Thank you, though. For everything.”

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melaniem54 · 1 year

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Review: Cop vs Capo (Hitman vs Hitman #4) by Cari Z and L.A. Witt

Rating: 4.75🌈 I was absolutely wondering how these authors were going to work this book (Cop Chandler and Mafia Silvia’s romance) into the series structure of the ongoing glorious mayhem that is August and Ricardo’s romance without letting the main characters fade into a secondary storyline. No worries. Cari Z and Witt managed to juggle the needs furthering the relationship of the series couple…

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#newbookreleases #A MelanieM Review #alcoholism #authors Cari Z and L.A. Witt #combat PTSD #discussion of abuse of a sex worker #enemies to lovers #LGBTGIA action suspense romance #LGBTGIA contemporary romance #on-page violence #Review: Cop vs Capo (Hitman vs Hitman 4) by Cari Z and L.A. Witt #Scattered Thoughts Highly Recommended

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heckitall · 9 months

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One | Two | Three

you ever need someone outside your family

to make you have the hard conversations

whether you want it or not

cuz same

also! warm water/ice/smelling something strong (like lemons!) can help ground people who are having a panic/flashback

i swear by the warm mug of water

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #rise leonardo #flashbacks and veterans #tw low self esteem #tw panic attack #tw flashbacks #the stranger has been revealed!#its an axolotl!#also this is where i start talking about myself #fun fact: i have combat ptsd #okay not actually a fun fact #but we are a few weeks away from the event that started this all for me #i relate a lot to leo in the movie that made it hit a little too close to home #i was a newly made leader and given a small team of 7 #and sent into a situation that was lose/lose but we didnt know that #i didn't know that #i made a lot of really dumb decisions and #it was not okay #all 8 of us came home which is the lowest bar possible #im the only one that ended up any kind of injured so i take that as a win but also not great #anyway #not to bring some serious undertones to all of this #but this was SUPER theraputic for me #also why i will probably never write/draw a bad!future au #too real for me #even the scene of them shooting the technodrome was hard and its cartoon violence ugh #heck draws

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sonofatoasterwaffle · 6 days

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Timber Timbre

The firework that sets him off is probably a Roman candle, and way closer than all the other ones have been, by Hen’s estimate. Eddie is on the ground before she can say anything and Hen’s blood runs a little cold at the realization of what’s happening.

“Eddie,” she says gently. “It’s still fireworks, it’s okay.”

Eddie is squatting low behind the kitchen island, head down, and he’s visibly shaking. He nods jerkily, but his breathing doesn’t slow at all. Hen’s heart hurts, but she’s careful not to get too close. She’s well versed in many a mental health crisis, but what to do when your friend is having combat flashbacks feels a little out of her depth. She gets low with him, keeps her tone soft and even. “How can I help, Eddie?”

His eyes are wild when they meet hers, his hands clenching around nothing like he’s physically clinging to the present. “Can you-“ he stutters. “Where is-? I need Buck.”

Hen is on her feet as quickly as she can without startling him. “I’ll find him, okay? You stay right here.”

Downstairs, Buck’s holding the heavy bag for Chim, saying something that was probably meant to be encouraging but comes out more antagonistic. Their shift into being brothers has obviously been going well. They both stop in their tracks when they see the look on Hen’s face.

“Eddie needs you.” It feels important to say it the way he did.

Another firework goes off then and Buck pales. “Oh, shit.”

Then he’s taking the stairs two at a time with Hen and Chim not far behind. “Kitchen.” She calls after him.

Eddie is where she left him, but now his hands are pressed against his ears. Buck squats down in front of him slowly, ducking his head so he can catch Eddie’s eye. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s me, I’m here.” He says, like it’s definitely not the first time.

He looks back and Hen and Chimney, whispers, “Can you guys sit with us a second?”

They nod, taking their places off to the left across from them, backs against the kitchen counter. Close enough if they need help, far enough away to keep their bubble intact. Hen’s grateful for the direction, and when Bobby comes out of his office, she waves him over, finger to her lips. He doesn’t question it, just squats down on Hen’s other side.

Eddie shudders, breathes hard out of his nose. Says, “Buck.” Real soft.

Buck nods, scoots closer at the recognition, reaches out to run his fingertips feather-light over Eddie’s forearms. “You’re in LA, Eddie. At the 118.”

Eddie gasps like he’s just reached the surface of water. “Doesn’t- doesn’t feel like it.”

Buck grimaces. “I know. I know, let’s go through it, okay?”

Eddie nods, once, lets Buck take his hands and keep going. “I feel,” Buck prompts.

Eddie closes his eyes. “Panicked.”

Buck nods, soft look on his face like pride. It makes Hen’s eyes water. Their boy has grown up so much.

“Because the fireworks made me think about,”

“The chopper going down. Getting shot at while the fire was burning. Greggs.” Eddie grits out through bared teeth.

Buck rubs his thumbs over the backs of Eddie’s hands. “But if I look around I can see,”

Eddie forces his eyes open with what looks like immense effort, trains them on Buck for a solid ten seconds before he looks around the rest of the room. “You. The 118. Bobby. Hen. Chimney.”

He looks at each of them in turn. Hen nods encouragingly, waves a little, which seems to increase the recognition on his face.

Buck smiles at him. “Yeah, that’s good, real good.”

Some of the tension seeps slowly from Eddie’s shoulders, and Buck rewards it with a squeeze of their joined hands. “Tell me what day it is.”

Another firework goes off in the distance and Hen wants to murder someone. Bobby looks like he’d help her without a second thought. The fucking audacity to set off explosives when you live by a firehouse is astounding.

Eddie winces but Buck stays firm with him, tapping his fingers rhythmically against Eddie’s knuckles. “What’s the date, Eds?”

“Fourth of July.”

“Exactly. Which means,”

“Morons.” Eddie answers, rote, like he’s been trained. The way Buck’s handling him right now, Hen supposes he has been.

“You got it.” He praises, pressing forward until his forehead rests against Eddie’s. “Chris was excited, though, remember?”

“Poke cake.” Eddie responds and Bobby smiles.

Midwestern traditions often mystify Hen, but Christopher was so excited to make that weird jello cake with Bobby and Buck that she couldn’t help but decide she loved that one. They spent all evening in Bobby and Athena’s kitchen last night, making gratuitously American dishes that should be objectively gross but that Denny and Chris were wild for. Poke cakes with red and blue jello, things being called “salad” that have never and will never be salad, and burgers that were always a welcome staple in Grant-Nash cookouts.

Buck is tapping his fingers on Eddie’s knees now, alternating as he prods Eddie to talk him through Christopher’s latest science project. Bilateral brain stimulation, her brain provides. Works for most long-term trauma treatment but can also be helpful during flashbacks. Evan “Internet Research Extraordinaire” Buckley certainly hasn’t been a slouch in this endeavor.

As he talks through Buck’s prompts, Eddie is slowly relaxing, sitting up on his own a bit more but shifting closer to Buck, tension slowly bleeding out of him as he points out the things he knows, the things he can see, what Bobby made for dinner, what Chimney’s favorite show is right now, what class he helped Hen run flashcards for. It makes Hen’s heart grow too big in her chest. To know that they’re a part of Eddie’s recovery, of him feeling safe.

“Where are you, Eddie?” Buck asks again after a few minutes of this. They’re side by side now, shoulders brushing as they lean back against the island cabinets.

Eddie takes a deep breath, sags a little against Buck. “I’m in LA. I’m at the 118 firehouse. You’re all here with me. Everyone’s safe.”

Hen smiles encouragingly at him, Chim says, “We’re here for you, man.”

Eddie looks away, mutters, “Esto es tan vergonzoso,” color staining his cheeks.

“Nuh uh.” Buck answers, firm. “None of that. No tienes nada de que avergonzarte.”

Hen knows Buck spent a while in Peru. Bartending, she thinks. She’s heard him speak Spanish to people on calls before, but his accent has historically been horrendous. It sounds like being in the Diaz orbit has been helpful for that. Hen doesn’t speak Spanish well, but she’s been in LA long enough to get the gist most of the time.

“Sorry you guys had to see that.” Eddie apologizes anyway, ignoring Buck.

Bobby shuts that down immediately. “Everybody’s got their demons, Eddie. We’re just happy we can help with yours.”

He tells Eddie he should take the rest of the night, even as Eddie protests that he’s fine and he doesn’t want to leave them hanging. “It’s just a few hours, Eddie. Take him home, Buck?”

Buck nods, looking relieved that he didn’t have to ask permission. Eddie still looks a little mortified, but it’s tempered by Bobby’s careful hand on his shoulder. “Get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“When do you think they’ll give in and just get married?” Chim asks after Buck bundles Eddie into his Jeep.

Bobby snorts. “I’ve had the paperwork ready to go for years.”

Also on AO3

#9-1-1 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #fic #i'm sorry i just can't stop thinking about Eddie relying on Buck to be a safe place for him #combat flashbacks #PTSD #oblivious idiots #i have so little patience for people who set off fireworks in their yards #also I love writing from Hen's perspective #Hen Wilson #Chimney Han #Bobby Nash #this lives in the same universe as Port in a Storm #Eddie and Buck being so close and yet still not ready to admit how they feel for each other my beloved

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terrytheinsane · 8 months

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As a kid, when these came on it was time to throw the Xbox out the window

#halo #halo combat evolved #halo ce #the flood #halo flood #flood #halo rocket flood PTSD #Spotify #also the first one is basically earrape

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iampoetdoctor · 12 days

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"PTSD is not a weakness. It's an absolute sign of strength."

I am strong, I am resilient, and I embrace by past.

But my past will never again dictate my future.

#poet's posts #ptsd awareness #ptsd #combat veteran #purpleheartrecipient

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boywifesammy · 9 months

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dean isn’t ever happy, per se. he’s only ever on edge or indulging in a false sense of safety. it’s not happiness more than it is a sense of raw Relief.

why does he eat like a glutton? safety in food, safety in being well-fed and not having to worry about where your next meal is coming from. why does he have rampant casual sex? safety in another body. safety in being close to a person in a way that isn’t violence, safety in trusting your body to be more than a killing machine. why does he cling onto sam like a lifeline? he wants to keep him safe. sam is happy memories. he’s christmas and thanksgiving and new years and fourth of july. sam, to dean, is the EPITOME of safe because he is strong and trustworthy and familiar. he must be kept safe because dean knows that the world outside is angry and barbed with horns, and how could he ever feel safe again in his own presence if he knew that he let his brother die? how could he ever forgive himself for losing that one tether to a world that isn’t terror and fear all the time?

it’s why dean isn’t affected by famine or lust. he’s not hungry. he’s not horny. he’s SCARED. he’s empty. he’s not looking for happiness, he’s looking for safety. for peace. he’s long since given up on any happy ending and all the hope he has left is in sammy and burgers and hot chicks because it’s the little things in life that make him feel like he’s somewhere he belongs, somewhere safe.

#oc #supernatural #spn meta #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean and sam #i am in pain and looking to make it everyone’s problem #to me this is a reading of his combat PTSD #he’s too broken down to crave normal human things anymore #i doubt he has any coherent sense of self left it’s just his brain yelling Safety Safety Safety and him seeking out the feeling

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swtorpadawan · 11 months

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PTSD in the Sith Empire

#swtorpadawan talks #swtor talks #sith empire #balmorra #colicoids #ptsd #combat fatigue #swtor ambient dialogue #swtor ambient conversations #swtor ambiant dialogue

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lucky-clover-gazette · 1 year

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i love breath of the wild but ngl its zelda's voice is so ridiculously annoying to me... girl stop telling me quest shit via telepathy i'm trying to find my 754th korok seed

#almost all of the story stuff in this game is... not great #i do not care about the champions or this zelda i'm SORRY #i'm just here for my ptsd bestie finding identity and peace through exploring nature #and the joy of meal prep #and fucked up combat #the one memory where zelda asks link what he'd do if he was not a hero is kinda the only really DEEP textual moment in the game #the rest of its meaning is more based on my personal interpretation and relationship with the art #and like i know i seem like an annoying shipper with The Boys but i could not care less about botw zelink i'm sorrrryyyyyy #i kinda wish for link to never have to deal with any of these people from 100 years ago or hylia's role for him ever again

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sol1loqu1st · 1 year

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#like if it is ptsd that means basically it's untreatable right? like the only way to really deal with it is i have to just accept that i'm #going to be miserable and awful to be around forever?#idk like thats why i was kind of hoping it /was/ something more uncommon like osdd because like. i know that can be hard to treat but i've #seen people make it work for them and make it a good thing even if it's hard. there are no upsides or benefits to having Just Fucking Ptsd #there's no sympathy for it if you didnt get it from combat (and even then lol)#and there's no real way to treat it except just learn to fucking avoid triggers and my triggers are FUCKING EVERYTHING #idk i just want a FUCKING SOLUTION and there is none #it's not fucking fair. it's not fucking fair #that my life is permanently ruined and horrible because my fucking mom decided that she needed to have a little mini-me #to project her fucking insecurities on instead of getting therapy #and now i'm never going to be happy! i don't get to have a good fucking life! i h #i have to spend the rest of my life fucking /coping/ with my own existence and having everyone fucking moralize me not wanting to do that #i'm a horrible person for even thinking about this stuff because me saying i cant recover probably makes other people in similar situations #think they also can't recover and i know that makes me bad and awful but like. it's different.#other people have friends who love them and care about them. i will never have that because i'm awful and everyone who gets close to me #realizes how awful i am and runs #other people have a chance at happiness even if it's hard. i don't. i'm never going to have people who love me and care about me. i'm never #going to be anyone's family and i can't fucking stand that

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blackswaneuroparedux · 1 year

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Anonymous asked: I know this sounds like a silly question but is it true that combat or fighter pilots pull more Gs than a Formula One racing drivers? Do they suffer from the same risk of thick necks as F1 racing drivers? Since you served as a combat helicopter pilot with the British Army did you suffer long term physical and mental damage after you left?

The short answer to your three questions in one is: it depends, no, and not that I know of. Let me unpack this as best as I can and forgive me if I get overly technical. I do consider myself a petrol head and I love following Formula One racing and so thanks for this question as I get to talk about two passions, flying and Formula One racing.

You asked about if combat helicopter pilots get thick necks similar to Formula One drivers and I would say looking at my ex-comrades and peers, the answer is generally, no. My neck isn’t thick, it’s still swan like (ha! I’m joking). In truth my neck is perfectly fine. I can be thick headed at times but that’s more about brains than beauty.

I will say though, based on my experience of flying, you are exposed to a heavy risk of neck and back pain. This is really about the helmets that combat pilots wear (be they fighter jets, combat helicopters etc) and F1 drivers.

The weight of a formula one’s driver’s helmet is a tad heavier at 1.4kg compared to a typical combat pilots helmet which is anywhere between about 1.38 to 1.8 kg. For a typical AH-64 Apache, the helmet could weigh as much as 3 kg with the addition of Night Vision Goggle (NVG) and other bells and whistles. But this doesn’t automatically correlate to Apache or Wildcat pilots having thicker necks as a result as there are other factors to take into account because they serve different functions.

The primary function of the Formula 1 racing helmet is to protect the driver’s head with the best visibility possible. It provides fire protection and overdrive safety during the enormous load on the head. When speeding up to 300 km/h on the straight and braking to 80 km/h, the racers get a powerful overdrive all over their body and the head is the most important thing. Without the F1 helmet, sudden changes in speed would break the driver’s cervical vertebra. It is not the secret that formula one drivers can experience up to 8Gs acceleration in corners, but their necks cannot withstand this pressure without special equipment. Otherwise, it should be like steel. Special collar solves the problem of strengthening the neck. It is attached to the F1 helmet.

The primary function of combat pilot’s helmet is to serve as a nerve centre for on board instrument checks and offensive weapons actions. The functional requirements of the helicopter pilot helmet have grown considerably. Traditional helmet functions include head impact protection and service as a mounting platform for communication systems, hearing protection, eye protective visors, and on occasion, oxygen systems. Increases in threats and operational effectiveness demand the helmet also serve as a mounting platform for such systems as weapon targeting, night vision or image intensification devices, flight symbology displays, chemical defence masks, and nuclear flash protection. These requirements demand more complex mounting devices on the helmet and, ultimately, result in increased system weights and potentially less than optimal centre of mass (CM) placement.

Now when it comes to G forces the discussion is more open. We (combat pilots) and they (F1 drivers) will pull some heavy Gs that’s for sure. Formula one drivers will pull greater Gs and in different directions than a typical combat helicopter pilot, but not a jet fighter pilot who will pull in greater Gs. So the G forces experienced are in very different ways.

Formula One drivers usually experience 5G while braking, 2G while accelerating, and 4 to 6G while cornering.

Talking to my RAF friends, they say for jet fighters , 5 to 10 seconds at 4 to 5G vertically typically leads to tunnel vision and then loss of consciousness. Fighter jets can pull up to 9G vertically, and the more a pilot can take without blacking out, the better their chances in a dogfight.

For combat helicopter pilots the most you’ll do is anywhere between 2 to 4 Gs. In an old Lynx for example you might get away with pulling a 2.7G and other combat helicopters like a Black Hawk or an Apache AH64 would be around 3.7 to 4 G at best whilst climbing and depending on the weight of your load.

While fighter pilots are fit and actually pull even more Gs then even modern day Formula 1 cars, a long air-to-air fight would only be a couple minutes. Their bodies might be contorted with their head back looking out the top of the canopy doing 7-9 Gs but only for a limited period of time. The fighter pilot will also have a higher continuous G load which puts a different strain on the body and even more so the brain. He or she could be pulling 7+ Gs for 15-20 seconds which might not sound like a lot but that puts their body weight over 1,000 pounds trying to move and look around and at the same time it is pulling the blood out of their brain. There might be a fraction of second gap to reverse and slap the Gs on again.

The Formula 1 guys are out there doing turn after turn for almost 2 hours and in some pretty good heat in places like Singapore. The G forces are parallel to the driving surface which puts a lot of strain in the neck, but it is not pulling the blood down from the brain. The Gs loads are short and come from all different directions from braking to turning. A similar type G comes to carrier pilots on a cat shot or an arrested landing. The old short hydraulic ‘cats’ (catapults) could impart 16+ lateral Gs to a loaded jet. These lateral Gs are parallel to the surface like the Formula 1 cars. However, it was straight back, so with a head rest it wasn’t much strain on the neck and because of the direction would not pull blood out of the brain.

The Formula 1 drivers shouldn’t be in any danger of G loss of consciousness because of the direction of the Gs. They could easily lose consciousness based on fatigue if they were not in such great shape. They are working their arses off all around the track for almost two hours. This is conditioning and practice. They also need to have their brain working near perfectly for those two hours, hitting every gear shift and not hitting the wall or somebody else.

It is strange when you’ve been flying million dollars worth of hardware with some of the most cutting edge and lethal weapons system know to man that you become part of the hardware system and when you cease flying, your body has to adjust. It’s all about conditioning and practice…and avoid getting killed.

Anyone could fly a plane straight in the air, but would instantly lose control in a helicopter. A plane’s control scheme is rather intuitive. Throttle up and down, stick goes left/right and forward/back. A plane will only ever try to go where you point the nose. A helicopter can move in many more ways and must be carefully managed. If you’re flying any helicopter such as for example a Lynx (now de-commissioned) or its successor, a Wildcat, or an Apache, you are almost always using both hands and feet doing four different things at once.

Even our eyes had to learn how to work independently of each other. A monocle sat permanently over our right iris. A dozen different instrument readings from around the cockpit were projected into it. At the flick of a button, a range of other images could also be superimposed underneath the green glow of the instrument symbology, replicating the TADS’ or PNVS’ camera images and the Longbow Radars’ targets. The monocle left the pilot’s left eye free to look outside the cockpit, saving him the few seconds that it took to look down at the instruments and then up again.

When you first train on these helicopters, it’s not uncommon, and it was certainly the case for me, that new pilots suffer terrible headaches as the left and right eye competed for dominance. It usually starts within minutes, long before take-off. As the eyes try to adjust over the following weeks and months the headaches took longer to set in. Worse, my eyes whirled independently of each other throughout, like a woman possessed in a schlocky horror movie. It was a year before mine disappeared altogether.

Human eyes did not evolve toward seeing in the dark. Every pilot learns the basics: Your eyes contain rods and cones. You use your rods at night. Unlike cones, which are concentrated in the centre, rods are spread out to the periphery across your eyeball. Our peripheral vision comes at a cost to overall visual acuity and colour perception.

There’s spatial disorientation, closely followed by its scarier cousin, vertigo. The aviation term for the worst-case scenario that can result from these malefactors is Controlled Flight Into Terrain (CFIT). Of course the Army Air Corps trains its pilots to recognise physiological degradations to which we were prone at night, but training cannot eliminate our evolutionary limitations. Every pilot has experienced vertigo or spatial disorientation. If you’ve ever stomped on the brakes as a result of car movement in the next lane at a red light, you’ve experienced spatial disorientation too.

“All you got to do is trust those instruments,” was constantly beaten into us in training. This mantra I kept repeating in my brain before almost every take off because it does not come naturally.

Try this experiment. Hold a book or map up in front of your left eye about 2-3 feet away. Get a toilet paper roll and place it in front of your right eye so that you don't see the map or book but can see a television or a monitor in the distance. The TV should be at least 10 feet away from you. Sit for several minutes concentrating on what is on the TV you will find that your brain does not "see" the book in front of your left eye at all until you start thinking about it again. The same thing will happen if you start reading the book using your left eye.

This is what a helicopter combat pilot must do. He must switch between information from his left eye (about 2 ft away) on the instrument panel and information presented to his right eye that is focused at infinity. He must do this quickly and at the correct time in order to get the right information at the right time. This takes quite a bit of practice.

I’ll share one story.

I had a love-hate relationship with Night Vision Devices (NVDs). They “turn night into day,” we’re told, which is true if during the day you see only shades of green and black and your field of view is limited to 40 degrees through two separate toilet paper tubes. There is also the weight of the goggles, which causes neck strain. They’re mounted on the front of your helmet, and a battery pack attaches to the back. Sometimes there’s a counterweight added to the battery pack to keep the goggles from slipping. The rig weighs more than two pounds, which doesn’t sound like much, but I challenge you to balance a bag of flour on your head for three hours or so and move your head constantly. Hot spots may also develop from your helmet, and you can get headaches if your focus is off by even a little.

I was on a night time mission over in Afghanistan. First, it’s night time so vertigo: risk factor No. 1. Secondly, it was the end of a long flight so fatigue: risk factor No. 2. Thirdly, I would ‘tactically dehydrate’ before missions, because there are no bathrooms in helicopters, and so dehydration: risk factor No. 3. Fourthly, you’re over an active battlefield zone where you are in danger of being shot at or shot down by enemy fire, so you’re on constant alert and readiness which mean also being in control of fear: risk factor No.5. Although I would classify No.5 under the ‘Pucker Factor’ is the formal name of the equation that states the more hairy the situation is, the more of the seat cushion will be sucked up your sweaty arse.

On the flight towards the end maybe I turned my head too quickly to the right as I simultaneously pulled in power to climb. Multiple-axis inputs to the inner ear, whether you’re in a helicopter or on a roller coaster, can send your internal gyroscope spinning. My co-pilot spoke up: “So are you planning on turning back towards the base any time soon?”

I understood what was happening, but I couldn’t make my hands move the flight controls. The helicopter’s attitude gyro showed we were level, and the altitude looked fine, so we weren’t in immediate danger. But I felt my insides flip-flop. “Feels like - already - we’re in a turn,” I sputtered.

“I have controls” came the calm no nonsense reply. I relinquished my sweaty grip on the stick, scanning my instruments as my co-pilot turned us back on profile - a simple manoeuvre that felt like a barrel roll to me - to land safely on the ground and call it a night.

While technology has not yet defeated the false sensations experienced by pilots throughout history, it has helped us compensate for our human inadequacies: tools like altitude hold, Night Vision Devices (NVDs), and various collision avoidance systems all help us regularly cheat death.

In terms of long term physical and mental damage. The jury is still out.

It may not surprise you to learn that although the mechanisms of G-induced stresses on the spinal structure of military pilots are well understood. But what is less known is the relationships between G forces and the intensity of physical activity, fitness, occupational musculoskeletal symptoms, and the degree of resulting disabilities. It varies from person to person and how physical active they are. I did suffer from back problems and I needed physical therapy, and now do yoga to keep myself supple and my spine strong - but this wasn’t really due to flying combat helicopters but more because I loved to do parachuting and I had a bad fall (on landing) and it wasn’t pleasant. The best way to avoid greater physical risks is to remain physically active by doing energetic sports or other physical pursuits. When you’re in the armed services that’s less of a problem of course but once you’re a civilian with a new job or profession then you have adapt accordingly. That’s not easy of course.

Although you raised the issue of consequences of long term physical damage, what goes unspoken is the mental damage and its possible long term toll. Given it’s Remembrance Sunday (or Armistice Day in France), it’s worth remembering even veterans who leave war behind, there are veterans for whom the war never leaves them. I’ve dealt with this issue elsewhere in my blog.

Speaking for myself and my own experience, I can say that aviation veterans are often exposed to a wide array of traumatic experiences in service that may cause PTSD. Aviators who were in a near missile strike risk developing PTSD due to the incident. Coming so close to a near death experience is sufficient trauma to cause mental health problems in the future if you don’t deal with it honestly and head on with the right help. Another common occurrence for aviators that could lead to PTSD is being fired upon by ground fire. Much like a near missile strike, this direct combat experience has been known to cause an aviator to develop PTSD. Talking to my RAF peers, transporting wounded or deceased service members in a helicopter has been known to be also traumatic enough to cause PTSD.

So why don’t we hear more about it?

It’s because many combat pilots and aviators in general fail to report their symptoms. In my experience it is partly to do with ‘a stiff upper lip’; it’s a very British thing and it’s very real in the army where stoicism is prized above being whiney or being a bothersome nuisance. But it’s also partly - mostly, I would say - to do with the fear, that each pilots dreads most, that if they are diagnosed with PTSD then they would risk being grounded and unable to fly. For a combat pilot that is worse than death. Even worse is the guilt trip you put yourself through of not wanting to let down your regimental comrade in arms or the soldiers on the ground that are counting on you. And thus, as so often happens, pilots, like their brethren soldiers on the ground, just internalise any problems until their time is up. As I’ve written elsewhere on my blog I was fortunate to minimise any PTSD effects through the love of my family and close friends (especially those who were veterans themselves), but others were not so fortunate.

Forgive me for this digression as I really didn’t want to end this answer on such a crap note.

On a happier note I will say comparing combat pilots and F1 drivers is like comparing apples and oranges. One of my flight instructors put it this way to me when I was training to be a combat pilot. He said a pilot deals with a 3 dimensional unknown, the Formula 1 driver deals with a very specific 2 dimensional inch perfect extended battle. I think that’s right. We have a different set of skill sets because the demands made upon us are different.

This isn’t a pissing contest so I can say with sincere honesty that I admire the modern day F1 drivers for what they do.

As a racing fan, I marvel at their racing skills and the concentration needed to survive on the track. What people forget is combat pilots are plentiful enough, just look at the air forces or air corps as part of the armies and the navies around the world. But how many F1 drivers are there? Since 1950 to the present there have been a total of 772 Formula One drivers drawn from 41 countries. Moreover only 20 elite drivers get to be on the grid in any Grand Prix race (it has hovered up to 24 to 26 in the past). That’s an elite company to be in.

They are there because of talent, luck, courage, self-belief, and sheer bloody hard work. They are all special - er....with the exception of Nikita Mazepin (daddy’s Russian roubles got him a seat at cash strapped Haas team).

Thanks for your question.

#ask #question #grand prix #formula one #racing #combat pilots #pilots #aviators #racing drivers #G forces #helmet #army air corps #british army #ptsd #personal

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