Dr. Phalse

You hear the one about the doctor who referred to his patients as “monsters” and “damaged goods” because they suffered from  the disease he was treating him for?


Oh right. That joke doesn’t exist because no medical professional would do that and expect to keep his career and his license.And yet that’s exactly what Dr. Phil did this week in a show about veterans and PTSD.

Just to hammer in his idiotic point, the episode is called “From Heroes to Monsters” and to watch the show you’d think that going to war means coming home to stab and burn your wife. Except that my husband has been to war quite a few times and you won’t find stab or burn marks anywhere on my body. Amazingly (at least, by “Dr” Phil’s reasoning), I can’t think of even one military wife friend who has been stabbed, burned or terrorized by her husband, and this after 10 years of relentless war and repeated deployments. I do have some civilian friends who have taken out restraining orders against their civilian husbands, though, and I had some scary non-military ex-boyfriends before I met my husband. Of course, some veterans do turn violent, but those sad stories are hardly representative of all who have served; they’re not even representative of those who have PTSD.

But it’s so much more Hollywood and sensational to perpetuate the scary vet myth, I suppose, than to do a show that accurately tells people about PTSD. I guess that’s why Dr. Phil used his platform to inspire fear, rather than understanding. The irony is that the show aired this week, the anniversary of the Joining Forces Initiative, the movement that calls on Americans to reach out and do more for the military community.

Nice one, McGraw.

I do have some friends with PTSD. And you know what they tell me it mostly means? Sometimes it means they have trouble sleeping, or they don’t like things that remind them of a bad experience. There might be a short little movie of a traumatic experience that plays in their heads. And, really, that’s it. It’s not usually debilitating and it’s certainly not usually threatening to others. And veterans aren’t the only ones with PTSD. Anyone can get it, and many people do after going through a traumatic experience. In fact, I’m pretty sure I had a bit of PTSD after the birth of my daughter Rudy. She was born during a hurricane and I barely made it to the hospital in time. For weeks I kept replaying the events in my head, obsessing over all the details.  But now, three and a half years later, I rarely think about it at all. My condition wasn’t permanent. I wasn’t damaged by it, I was just set back a little. Just like most of our veterans who are experiencing PTSD now. They don’t need labels and they certainly don’t need to be called “monsters”.

You can read what my friend Kristle has to say about it here:

And, finally, if you’d like to let Dr. Phil and his staff know what you think, you can do so here:


Dr. Phil Show
5482 Wilshire Boulevard #1902
Los Angeles, CA 90036

And I hope that you will. I’m not usually one to demand an apology, but someone who purports to be a healer needs to do the responsible thing and devote a show to telling the REAL story of PTSD.




I Love Lucy

People, I have slacked. It’s been awhile since my last post.

(Why does this sound like confession? Or at least what I assume confession sounds like based on what I’ve seen in the movies. I was raised Baptist. We didn’t do confession because, well, Baptists don’t sin, or didn’t you know that?)

Anyway, a few things have changed since the last time I logged on here to spew my rhetoric, namely, I added a member to the family.


Everyone please extend a warm interwebs welcome to Lucinda Frances Sanderlin, born March 29 at 4:13 p.m., and weighing in at 7 pounds, 14 ounces and measuring a respectable 21 inches long.

(“Welcome, Lucinda” — that’s your part, btw)

(And why is it that we always feel compelled to ask and/or share a baby’s birth weight and length? Does it matter? I know a five year old boy who is wayyyy tiny for his age now but weighed a whopping 9 lbs at birth. And my own son Bo,  who is off-the-charts huge, weighed just a measly 7 lbs, 10 oz. at birth. Now he’s so big that people assume he’s a few years older and assume that he’s “special” – in the short bus sense of the word – because his behavior matches his age and not his size. Somewhere around the second or third month of life weights and lengths stop being important, though. And aren’t we glad for that? Can you imagine introducing yourself to people at, say, a political fundraiser as, “Rebekah, 6 lbs 10 oz at birth but now I’m tippin’ the scales at ….” Like I would actually post my weight on the internet!


Anyway, Lucinda, or “Lucy”, “Lucy-Goosey”, “Spruce Goose”, “Luce maGoose”, “Sprucey”, “LaLuce”, “LuLu” (and whatever else we happen to think of in the moment — though Lucy is her main nickname) is a healthy, somewhat happy little girl. At least, she’s as happy as a newborn can be, provided that she doesn’t know how to smile yet and spends her day simply sleeping, eating, pooping and trying to stay as close to me as possible. We are very blessed.

Welcome to the world, Baby Girl!