My name is Rod Deaton, and I am a psychiatrist who serves at the Richard L. Roudebush Veterans Administration Medical Center in Indianapolis, Indiana. Currently I am the clinical director for the Substance Abuse Treatment Section of the hospital, and one of my primary duties is to assist veterans–and especially combat veterans–who are struggling with dependence on opiates (e.g., heroin) and painkillers (e.g., Vicodin, Percocet) to achieve more stable lives through the use of opiate substitution regimens with either methadone or Suboxone (buprenorphine). As a result, I have been able to work with and follow many of these brave men and women over an extended period of time and have had the privilege of hearing their stories and being part of their recovery.
I am quite proud to be a full-time employee of the Veterans Hospital Administration and especially of its Indianapolis Medical Center, organizations that are, I believe, doing what they can to make sure that this generation of combat veterans does not have to face the same obstacles to care as those who served before them often had to. Nevertheless, this blog is solely an expression of my experiences, opinions, and hopes. In no way am I representing in any official (or unofficial) capacity the views or policies of the Department of Veterans Affairs, the Department of Defense, or any other branch of the federal government.
Before coming to the VA three years ago, however, I had been–and still, to some degree, am–in the private sector, working in Indianapolis as a solo practitioner doing short and long-term psychotherapy, especially with men. As a result, I am well aware of the “cultural differences” that often exist between professionals in the community and men and women who have served in the military–and most especially those who have served in combat. I brought to the VA my ears and heart as a psychotherapist, and the men and women have bravely brought me their lives in return. Many have told me that I “get it” in a way that is very helpful to them. As long as they–and you–continue to tell me the same, I’ll keep writing.
I have never been in the military, nor has the military played any substantial role in my own life. My only previous, extended experience with ex-military personnel was my service as a psychiatric resident at the VA Hospital in Durham, North Carolina, where I trained at the Duke University Medical Center in the early 1980′s.
At a much deeper level, however, combat and its aftermath reside in me daily. During World War II, my father’s eldest brother, a dashing, talented basketball player from North High School in Des Moines, Iowa, was shot down over France. It was not until some time in the 1980′s that a relative discovered where he had been buried.
From all accounts that I have gleaned (my mother’s family knew my father’s family well), this single event devastated my grandparents and their children. My father was in elementary school, and even to this day cannot recall the events of that period without significant emotion. My grandparents were changed irrevocably, and thus, in spite of their best efforts, they simply could not be the parents to my father and his younger brothers as they had been to my uncle. My grandmother died in the late 1950′s hoping still that my Uncle Raymond might show up at the door one day. I never heard my grandfather speak of his eldest son up to the time of his death at age 91. The death of my uncle, or better, its meaning, infiltrated my generation as well, and to this day a part of me still understands, at a level that I can’t fully fathom, what it means to lose one’s beloved child to a violence that is bigger than all of us, a violence that at one level, sadly, makes sense, a violence that on another level, sadly, is forever senseless.
My immediate family moved to Indianapolis from Des Moines when I was a teenager, and I grew up here, received my BA in psychology from Purdue University and my MD from Indiana University. I then went to Duke University for my adult psychiatric training, followed by a stint in child and adolescent psychiatry training at the Children’s Hospital of Boston, at the Harvard Medical School. At that point, being young, in no debt, and far too ambitious for my own good, I entered the Harvard Law School, from which I graduated magna cum laude in 1990 (a year ahead of President Obama, my one claim to fame). My wife and I returned to Indianapolis soon afterwards, and for five years I worked in the public mental health sector in central Indiana, at which point I began my private practice. I am Associate Professor of Clinical Psychiatry at the Indiana University School of Medicine, where I supervise psychiatry residents in both psychotherapy and addiction psychiatry, as well as give professional and lay presentations on veterans who suffer from post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and substance use disorders (SUD).
My wife and I have been married for over twenty years, and we are the proud parents of a college sophomore and of a high school senior and freshman. I’m a complete geek when it comes to fun: I read, help my kids with their homework, and sleep. And write. It was at the Law School that I learned the power of words–and their wonder. If my words can therefore help you in some way to make life better or to make the life of some struggling veteran better, then I will have done what I want to do.