Strength Through Struggle: My Journey from Iraq to 911 Dispatch

In continuation of my trauma experience, I want to share one of the hardest chapters of my life — my 2009 deployment to Iraq with the 384th Military Police Company, 81st Troop Command, Indiana Army National Guard.

This deployment was different in many ways. First, I was a new father. My oldest child had just turned one, and my wife was expecting again. Pre-mobilization training began in late 2008 and carried into early 2009, and I was unable to return home for my daughter’s birth — something that still weighs heavily on me.

Second, I struggled to find acceptance within my unit. I wasn’t the best runner and had difficulty passing the Army Physical Fitness Test, particularly the two-mile run. My squad leader wanted only the best for his team, and to him, I was “worthless” and “lazy.” Because of this, I wasn’t treated well. I tried harder than ever to prove myself in every other way possible — excelling in training, acquiring needed supplies through different channels, and maintaining discipline — but no matter how much I improved, I was still viewed as an outsider.

I was alienated and misunderstood, and my mental health reached an all-time low. Fortunately, I made a couple of close friends — fellow outcasts — who helped me get through the deployment. Along with my family back home, they were my saving grace. There were times I had thoughts of self-harm. Thankfully, they never became more than thoughts. I owe that to Josh Pratt, Sarah Keeling, and most of all, my wife and kids. Without them, I might not be here today.

The third and most defining moment came during a mission. We were traveling back to Tel Afar from Camp Liberty, approaching Mosul on Route Tampa. The day before, on our way to Camp Liberty, we had noted a washed-out section of road on the north side of the highway to avoid on the return trip.

As we approached that area, I attempted to slow down — but my truck wouldn’t respond. At highway speed, in an armored vehicle, slowing down takes time. We hit the washout hard — a two-foot-wide, four-foot-deep gap where the road had completely eroded. The truck went airborne. My gunner’s weapon dislodged from its mount and struck her in the head, knocking her unconscious. To make matters worse, her ammunition cans came loose and hit her as well.

By some miracle, I managed to keep the truck from rolling. When we came to a stop, we assessed our crew. Our gunner was curled up on the floor in the back, suffering from a severe concussion. The passenger in the rear had his footlocker — which had been strapped down — thrown into his lap when the straps broke. That day changed how I drive forever. Even now, years later, I tense up whenever I hit a pothole.

After my deployment to Iraq, I was a mess. Anger came easily, and it didn’t take much to set me off. I took my frustrations out on the people who least deserved it — my wife and children. I didn’t recognize myself anymore. The service was over for me, but it didn’t leave me. After a couple of years of this, my wife gave me an ultimatum: get help or lose everything. That moment hit harder than anything I faced overseas. I finally reached out to the VA and began counseling. It wasn’t easy — facing my own reflection never is — but it changed everything. With time, patience, and support, I learned to manage my emotions, rebuild trust, and become a better husband, father, and man.

Fast forward to 2024.

My coworker and I had just arrived for our shift at Knox County Central Dispatch. She had logged into her CAD, RapidSOS, and other systems. My computer was still updating when the 911 line rang.

A woman’s voice came through, shaking: her significant other had a gun and was threatening to shoot himself. My partner began asking the standard questions — “What’s your address?” “Are you with him?” “Has he threatened you?” “Is anyone else in the house?”

Since I wasn’t logged in yet, one of our day shift coworkers, Heather, jumped on the phone system to help dispatch fire and EMS. I monitored the call through my phone console and began notifying law enforcement.

Then we heard it — the click of a trigger. He was actively trying to fire. He went through three different guns that misfired. The fourth one went off. The sound echoed through the phone line.

I immediately notified responding officers: “Shots fired.”

Then came silence.

A male voice came on the line. It was Heather’s husband. He calmly told us he had shot himself. He confirmed no one else was hurt — just him. Our friend, and a deputy coroner.

While the call didn’t personally affect me in the same way it did my coworkers, what did affect me was our leadership’s response. When I notified them of what happened, the only reply I received was, “Ok, thanks for telling me.”

That was it. No support. No relief. No follow-up.

Three days later, my coworker texted me, admitting she wasn’t okay. Neither was Heather. That’s when I decided to take action. I contacted our Director again, explaining that they both needed help. I also reached out to a former EMS coworker who was a peer support specialist. With her help, our Director arranged a debriefing through the hospital’s counseling team. Both Heather and my coworker were referred to licensed counselors.

But the damage was already done. The fact that leadership didn’t come in that night — didn’t find anyone to cover our shift or even check in — was a breaking point for us. It showed us that if we wanted help, we had to fight for it ourselves.

Since then, we’ve been advocating for change — fighting for proper mental health protocols and critical incident relief for our dispatchers. It’s been a slow process, but progress is being made. We now have a new community agency willing to assist us. All we need is for leadership to truly get on board — to recognize that mental health support is not optional.

A Message to Every Leader and Telecommunicator

Mental health matters.
If you’re in a leadership position — take action. Don’t wait for someone to break before you step in. Be proactive in your agency’s mental health program, even if one doesn’t exist yet. Create one. Support your people.

For dispatch to function effectively, our people must be healthy — physically, emotionally, and mentally.

I’ve learned to live with my trauma and manage it in healthy ways. I write. I hunt. I fish. I spend time with my family. I play video games. Those are my outlets. Everyone’s coping methods are different, but they need to be safe ones. Stay away from drugs and alcohol. Seek counseling. Speak openly about what’s bothering you.

Learn your triggers — and respect them. You can’t always avoid them, but understanding them gives you power over them.

We are the voice on the other end of the line — calm in the chaos, strength in the storm. But even the strongest need care, compassion, and connection.