© Ian
McDougall
RAAMC
5RAR 1st Tour |
 |
I was raised in
a family in which war service was held in
high regard. I can recall my father on many
occasions talking about how the Australian
soldier was superior to others in both World
Wars because of the fact that they were all
volunteers. My father had fought in WW2 in
the Pacific, and grand-father in WW1 in
France, both with the AIF.
I had a close group of friends with whom I
enjoyed outings, going bush, dancing, etc. I
consider I was happy at that time of my
life, and was also a very sound sleeper, and
seldom drank alcohol.
I was called up for National Service on 1
July 1965 - the first intake.
SERVICE WITHIN AUSTRALIA
I underwent Basic and Medical Corps training
in Victoria, and was then posted to a
medical unit in New South Wales. I applied
for several courses, and was then sent on a
six week Jungle Training/Battle Efficiency
Course at Canungra in Queensland. As soon as
I returned from this course, I was posted to
a heavy artillery unit at Holsworthy as
their medic ― a corporal’s posting. As such,
I helped to medically prepare members of
other batteries for Vietnam service.
I fronted superior officers on several
occasions requesting transfer to a Vietnam
bound unit to no avail. I then wrote (on 18
April 1966) personally to the Director of
Army Medical Services requesting such
transfer. The result ― I was suddenly
transferred to the Fifth (infantry)
Battalion (5RAR), also at Holsworthy. One of
the first groups of the Battalion had been
involved in a bus accident on their way to
the airport for embarkation. One of the
injured was a medic, so the authorities were
searching for another urgently who had
undertaken jungle training. I spent part of
one day at 5RAR and was then sent on three
days pre-embarkation leave. About a week
later, I arrived in South Vietnam ― 12 May
1966.
SERVICE IN VIETNAM
Being a late joiner to the Battalion was a
real culture shock. I quickly found that my
training did not prepare me for how the
infantry actually did things. I had never
worked with infantry before. One example was
that on the first occasion when I dug my
overnight fighting pit, I sited it
vertically to the unit’s perimeter, whereas
it should have been parallel. Another
example was when I accompanied a wounded
soldier (rendering mouth-to-mouth
resuscitation to him) in a personnel carrier
from my unit (on the move) to another area.
I personally do not think he would have
survived if I hadn't, but I received a
severe dressing down from a major for
leaving my group without permission. I
initially knew very few of the 5RAR
personnel, and experienced some confusion
learning where I fitted in and what my
duties were. Although I had done well during
my corps training, I had had no actual
experience, and had not been trained for
many things I was later given to do, such as
suturing minor wounds, administering
morphine and blood albumin.
Even some of my basic equipment was not
right. An example of this was that I had not
been issued with the GP boots that were
standard for the Vietnam Campaign. For the
first couple of weeks, I wore the boots
(with flat soles) and gaiters that I had
used in Australia, and was then issued with
canvas boots similar to those that had been
used during the Malayan Emergency. I
experienced several foot problems, including
ingrowing toenails, and did not receive my
first pair of GP boots, with their
protective steel sole insert, until about my
sixth week in country. I can recall great
personal relief at this time as I had been
somewhat worried about stepping onto a punji
trap - my canvas boots would have provided
no protection whatever.
As the junior medic (all others had been
with 5RAR for some time, were somewhat older
than me, and were substantive corporals - I
was a private but started receiving
corporals pay), I was initially attached to
Battalion Headquarters (BHQ), usually
assisting the Regimental Medical Officer
(RMO), but for the first nine months I was
treated as the relief medic transferring
from Company to Company as the need arose,
and I worked with every Company in the
Battalion. Although I was the obvious choice
for this task, I felt that I did not belong
anywhere, and found it quite unsettling, and
had no regular friends. Later when I went on
my first five day period of leave to Hong
Kong, I had no friends to go with and, apart
from shopping, did not enjoy this leave at
all. Also, from all the movement to and fro
between the Companies, I probably
experienced more time away from base than
most of the infantry themselves (as did
probably all the Company medics).
After some months, when our base at Nui Dat
had been set up, I was promoted to corporal
on the basis of my medical posting. As far
as I am aware, I was the only national
serviceman in the Battalion who did reach
that rank. This really brought heat on me
from a couple of regular army personnel at
BHQ who obviously did not believe that
anyone should be so promoted, and from then
onwards I always felt uncomfortable when
attached to BHQ. This factor became even
worse when I attended a military law course
for NCO'S at BHQ, and passed in second
place, outscoring all of the BHQ members.
One of my first operational duties, after
5RAR left Vung Tau to open up our Nui Dat
base area, was to dig up fresh graves found
while on patrol (with an infantry section on
guard around me) to ensure the bodies were
not those of missing USA soldiers. This
happened on several occasions, and nothing I
had ever done prepared me for this
experience. I can clearly recall the shock
the first time when my shovel blade bit into
rotting flesh, the smell when the head and
torso was uncovered, and my bouts of dry
retching.
Life out on patrol did not worry me unduly.
I had always loved camping and outdoor life,
and probably coped better in this regard
than many of those about me. I was however
petrified of mines and had several
experiences where mines were found or I
treated individuals injured by them. One
thing I found rather difficult to cope with
was the pitch black nights when the overhead
canopy blocked out all star and moon light.
This was a personal fear I never really
overcame, and I had one really traumatic
experience when I was performing sentry duty
- what I took to be a person coming towards
me smoking a cigarette turned out to be a
fire fly.
During the first few months, we often had to
stand-to for extended periods of time to
ward of expected attacks which never came as
such. On some of these earlier occasions,
the stand-to was on a 50% basis, which meant
we received little sleep. One real fear I
had on these occasions was that I would go
to sleep, the penalty for which was harsh. I
was usually detailed during the night for
either a period of machine gun or radio
sentry duty. I would always try to get the
former as I had never received any training
on radio procedures or codes, and felt very
uncomfortable undertaking this duty, even
though it was always under cover and a far
more comfortable duty than spending hours on
a machine gun. During the Battle of Long Tan
(then with C Company which was doing outpost
duty at a village north of Nui Dat), I spent
several hours that night on radio duty. I
listened to some of that battle, absolutely
petrified that I would somehow "cock-up" on
the radio.
On several occasions I was in the vicinity
of incoming small arms fire, and on one
occasion underwent a short mortar attack,
but the really traumatic experience of that
kind for me occurred on another operation. I
was with BHQ and the Battalion was
assaulting the Nui Tai Vai hills. On our
approach, the company in front took some
casualties from mines. When we were part way
up a track, a platoon in front came under
fire from some caves overlooking the track.
One soldier was killed and several wounded.
Luckily we found one mine (wired mortar
bomb) on the track right where we were
waiting before anyone triggered it. Later
that day, we proceeded up past the caves and
camped above them near a pagoda.
Either the next day or the one after that, I
was detailed to accompany an infantry
assault (by the Battalion’s Assault
Pioneers) on the caves. The section I was
with took up position on high ground to the
left of the caves (as I was moving into
position, I found a hidden cache which later
proved to be over 100lb of Chinese
explosives). When everyone was in position,
the assault was commenced with two soldiers
armed with back-pack flame throwers. As they
approached the caves, the front man tripped
a mine, and both were wounded. Where I was,
I heard the explosion and the subsequent
screaming, but could not see the two men.
With permission of the section leader, I
left my position and moved down to render
aid. I was terrified that I would also trip
a mine or be shot from the caves as we were
right below them with little cover. I saw
the lead soldier was not badly hurt
(injuries to back of legs), so concentrated
on the other man (who I later learnt was
Private Trevor Lynch). I never want to see
such a mutilated human body again. He had
various fractures, facial wounds including
his eyes, and many other wounds with serious
bleeding. I really had trouble trying to
prioritise my actions, coupled with the fact
that he was thrashing about and screaming in
a demented manner. I remember I was crying
in frustration, and thankful no one else
came with me to see that. I worked on him
for some time, and eventually had to tie his
hands together to stop him injuring me or
dislodging wound dressings. At some stage of
treating him, I was joined by Captain Tony
White, the RMO (who had apparently choppered
down from the pagoda area). I have tried
hard since to forget that incident, and have
obviously partially succeeded, as I do not
recall how or when my patient was evacuated,
or what happened to the other soldier or
even if I actually treated him. I remember
that I later went back to my first position,
and spent the rest of the day giving cover
to engineers as they explored the cave
system, going into some of the larger caves
with them. Later that day, the RMO told me
that the officer in charge of the assault
had asked him to let me know I had done a
good job.
I was later told that Trevor had received
more than 100 wounds. I also recall someone
from BHQ telling me I should have let the
“poor bugger die in peace”, which gave me
very negative feelings. (In July 1967,
during convalescence in the Repatriation
Hospital (Adelaide), I was in the same ward
as Trevor. He was totally blind, but seemed
to be coping with his other injuries. I
spent some time telling him what happened
that day in Vietnam as he wanted to know,
but I could not tell him everything as even
at that early stage, I had forgotten what
transpired later that day with him).
On a positive side, I have always been
interested in wildlife, and the many
creatures met or seen in the jungle, paddy
fields, and rubber plantations fascinated
me. Flying lizards, monkeys, wild deer and
pigs, the huge scorpions and centipedes –
all interested me. The most fascinating of
all were the numerous snakes. We often saw
the smallish green tree pit vipers coiled in
branches at face level. On one occasion at
night, prior to a dawn cordon and sweep
operation, I felt something move under the
nylon sheet I slept on. Being a medic, I
carried a torch with a hooded red filter
which did not throw the light very far. When
I carefully pulled the groundsheet back, I
saw a small brightly coloured, very
venomous, krait lying there. I eased the
groundsheet back, and pounded the snake to
death with my hand. The huge king cobras had
to be seen to be believed – I remember on
one occasion one was shot in a weapon pit,
and when it was pulled out, one of the guys
held it aloft with his arm stretched above
his head about half way along its length -
the snake’s head and tail were still on the
ground, and the soldier was at least six
feet tall – that snake was about 14 feet
long.
About February 1967, I was posted to D
Company as their medic, and for the first
time in Vietnam, began an existence where I
felt as though I belonged. I joined them on
Nui Dat, a small hill which gave the Task
Force base its name. Some days after joining
D Company, I moved with them out to The
Horseshoe, a small circular hill (possibly
an ancient volcano) some kilometres east of
our main base. Although I did not drink
beer, I was introduced to rum which was sent
out with re-supplies. From what I saw, few
soldiers seemed to drink rum, and there was
often a bottle or so about with few to drink
it. I found I liked the taste, it certainly
helped me settle in, and I started swapping
my beer ration (which I had previously not
requested) for coke from others, then every
so often a small group of us would drink any
bottles of rum there were with whatever coke
we had. These light sessions later on
occasionally became fairly heavy binges. I
experimented with other alcoholic drinks,
and even on one occasion got very drunk/sick
drinking Benadryl expectorant (a cough
medicine) with two others.
One interesting experience was an evening I
spent entertaining two military police who
came out to the Horseshoe to take custody of
a couple of prisoners captured during a
patrol that day. The three of us were
sitting near my hutchie area in the dark
quietly talking when we saw a small animal
moving through small trees above us – it was
outlined against the sky. We managed to
persuade it to climb onto the end of a
collapsible ambulance type stretcher I had
beside my bed, dropped it to the ground and
threw a spare hutchie over it. We bundled
the creature up, and shook it into an empty
wooden ammunition crate. The lid was shut
and clipped, and we put a full crate of
ammunition on top of that. We had no idea of
what the creature was, but assumed it was
either a small monkey or a large squirrel.
The next morning when we went to see what we
had captured, we found the full crate of
munitions lying next to the empty crate that
had had its clipped down lid torn off. I
never did find out what the creature was,
but assumed it had been rescued by a parent,
and I was very glad that mum or dad
“whatever” did not come seeking revenge.
This had all happened close where the
Company CSM and I slept, and even closer to
where the two MPs camped, and none of us
heard a thing.
It was during this last quarter of my
overseas service (at the Horseshoe) that I
sustained a heavy blow to my nose, which has
been responsible for much later misery in my
life. It was caused when I tripped over
something as I was running to a Medivac
helicopter as the lead man on a stretcher
team, and my face ploughed the ground.
In May 1967, I returned to Australia with
5RAR on HMAS Sydney, and took part in the
ticker tape parade through Sydney. I was at
that time as proud as punch. I had fought
overseas for my country (as a volunteer as I
saw it) with an infantry battalion, possibly
as one of the very few national service
medics who did during the whole Vietnam
conflict. I was proud of the good name 5RAR
had achieved, and that I had been part of
that record, albeit a minor part.
AFTERMATH
The first fact I discovered on return to
Australia was that the Vietnam War had
become a very topical issue, and as time
progressed a very unpopular war.
Within days, I had had several arguments
with my father who maintained that
conscripts should certainly not have been
sent there, and could not see that I saw
myself as a volunteer, and a conscript.
Within several
weeks of my return, I joined the local RSL
Club (only Vietnam veteran at that time),
where my father was a member. We attended
several meetings together, and I felt
comfortable with the group at that time,
even though many of them also made no secret
of their feelings on Australia sending
conscripts to war, and that Australia should
not be participating in Vietnam's internal
problems. At one of these meetings, I was
asked to put on a small show about Vietnam.
I put a lot of work into organising a slide
show, with many other displays which I
thought might interest veterans from other
conflicts, and their families and friends.
On the Saturday night chosen, I put on a
show which lasted probably 90 minutes to
many more people than I had expected. When
one of the members made a speech of thanks,
he made a point of saying that Australia
should never have participated in the
Vietnam conflict. This statement, made to a
large gathering really upset me, and this
together with what various veterans
including my father had previously said,
caused me to leave the RSL. Only in recent
years have I rejoined, and then only with
the State Branch - I have never attended
another meeting. Until about 2000, I never
attended an Anzac Day Parade or Dawn
Service. Several occurrences in the last
four decades have not made me change my
opinion on how Vietnam veterans are
perceived by veterans of earlier conflicts.
Some weeks after my return, I received my
Discharge Certificate. It recorded the fact
that I had been awarded the two service
medals that most other Vietnam veterans
received, but it did not show my correct
rank. I sent it back with a letter
requesting that the rank be altered from
private to corporal. When I received it back
with the correct rank shown, it did not show
the service medals. I did not bother to
return it again.
After my discharge in 1967, I also applied
for the Infantry Combat Badge (ICB) which
was awarded to all members of an infantry
unit who served in Vietnam, including (I
understand) orderly room personnel, drivers,
hygiene staff, etc. I received a letter back
stating that as I was not actually a member
of the Infantry Corps, I was not entitled to
it. I was disappointed as I had been
involved in more "combat" than many
recipients, but accepted that ruling. In
early 1995, I noted in an RSL newspaper a
copy of the relevant award criteria which
stated that persons who were attached to an
infantry unit, although not members of that
Corps, who performed duties
indistinguishable with those of the infantry
they served with, could be awarded the ICB
providing their former commanding officer
(CO) certified that service. I then wrote to
the Department of Defence, Infantry Centre,
and various other entities, but received no
help. I eventually went though all the
telephone books of Australia and traced one
person who had the same initials and surname
of my former CO (Lt Colonel J Warr), and
wrote to him. I received a positive
response, although he would not have known
me from those other days. He sent me copies
of several letters he wrote on my behalf,
and after more letters and several telephone
calls from myself, I eventually received a
letter dated 11 April 1996 stating that I
had been awarded the ICB, and where I could
buy one.
Prior to my discharge, I was medically
examined, and underwent an operation for my
nose. Soon after my marriage in 1972, my
wife started to complain of my bad breath
and snoring, and oral hygiene became almost
a fetish for me. My dentist assured me time
and again that the problem was nothing to do
with my teeth or gums. In July 1982, after
my wife and I had separated, I made a claim
for treatment in respect to my nose, and it
was operated on (for the second time) in
August that year. In more recent times,
other partners have made an issue of my
breath and snoring, and I have had a third
nose operation. It seems to have made little
difference. My nose remains bent to the
right.
Another issue my wife first raised was my
hearing, which had deteriorated since 1965.
She would complain when I asked her to
repeat things that I was not listening, when
in fact I was not hearing some of what she
said. This was particularly noticeable when
I was driving with her, and I concluded that
my left side was worse than the right. Prior
to 1965, I had often been to dances and in
fact was a member of a demonstration team
for local square dances. After my marriage,
when we went to dances, I found I could not
hear/follow the beat properly. My hearing is
now so bad that I cannot hear/contribute to
a conversation if there is background noise,
such as in a hotel or at a party. This loss
of hearing has been accepted as due to war
service.
After my return from Vietnam, usually about
twice a year, I developed a small festering
sore at the corner of my mouth (described by
a doctor in January 1979 as "recurrent scaly
pustular weeping lesions") which lasted for
a week or so, and would slowly “creep” to
cover a larger area. The first attack
occurred in late 1967. I sought advice from
various doctors and a dermatologist, but no
treatment helped. I then discovered (in
1983) that by not shaving, the sore did not
recur so on medical advice, I retained the
beard, but my police career suffered because
of it - I believe I was the first AFP
officer to wear one.
Other skin
conditions I have which are probably
connected with Vietnam service are psoriasis
(which at times covers the back of my
hands), and spots that break out
occasionally at the back of my neck – I do
not recall that the latter have ever been
identified, but they are readily dealt with
by a prescribed crème. I have also had a
very debilitating virus some years ago,
which again was never identified, even after
three blood tests.
About 1984 my ingrowing toenails began to
trouble me, and I had the outside edge of
the nails on both big toes operated on. In
1994 my toenails began to trouble me again,
and I had the inside edge of the big toes
operated on in hospital. The young doctor
made such a mess of this procedure that the
left side became infected. My local GP had
several attempts to treat it and to remove
more nail, but it made little difference. It
became so bad, a surgeon operated on it in a
private hospital. He told me I might
eventually have to have both big toe nails
right out. A sliver of the right hand nail
still grows out, which means another
operation that side is a certainty.
On my return from Vietnam, I still drank rum
heavily. This habit slowly escalated until
about 1970 when I could find myself on my
third bottle at a party. Except for one
occasion, I never seemed to have a hangover
from rum, but I certainly became inebriated
on it. Several years after my marriage,
after constant nagging from my wife, I was
able to wean myself off alcohol (about
1980), but I found I started eating more. I
have always been on the heavy side, but was
always fit being deeply involved in
bushwalking and other outdoor pursuits. My
weight slowly increased, but from about 1982
it escalated. I have now reached the
ridiculous stage where I avoid all alcohol,
but seem to unconsciously rely on food to
transport me from reality.
I had a 31 year career as a police officer
(Federal), which started soon after I was
discharged from the army. For several years
from 1968 I had to investigate breaches of
the National Service Act, and initiate
prosecution action against those who failed
to register, etc. This caused me some inner
turmoil and I hated this work and tried to
avoid it if possible. In later years, with
the upsurge of South-East Asian crime, my
employer had many such major investigations
involving Vietnamese suspects. Again I went
to great lengths to avoid such work.
I married in 1972, was asked to leave in
1982 and she finally divorced me in 1987.
Although I enjoyed married life and was
comfortable in that environment, my wife
became more and more critical of my
drinking/eating habits, snoring, apparent
bad breath, and my communication skills
(inability to hear everything and respond
appropriately). My marriage break-up hurt me
deeply, particularly so when my son, asked
in 1982 what he would like for Christmas,
responded by asking for me to get back
together with my wife.
After 1982 I dated approximately 50
different females. In some cases the
relationships endured for several years, but
it was usually me who broke off. Several of
these women also made similar comments about
my bad breath to those my wife made, and I
now have reservations about kissing which of
course causes further reaction. Although I
still enjoy healthy sexual relationships, I
now always prefer non face-to-face
positions.
When I commenced military service, I had a
special group of friends and our friendship
endured after my discharge for some years,
then I drifted apart from them, although I
know the rest of the group have remained
fairly intact. I now find that although I
seem to get on with most people, I cannot
make real friends and have become a
relatively lonely person. I earned great
respect from most of my police colleagues,
but do not now seem to have many real
friends at all.
I have been asked whether I react when
vehicles backfire, and similar. I do not,
but believe I have a marked awareness when
helicopters fly anywhere nearby.
About 1991/2, I started to feel I was going
through a change. I began to have a more
erratic sleep problem, with more and more
violent nightmares. This aspect developed to
the extent that I was often tired, and
occasionally on some nights did not sleep.
In fact for the nights 11 and 12 November
1996, I did not sleep at all, despite a
sleeping tablet on the latter. These
episodes were not a regular occurrence, but
when they did occur, I became very
distressed, particularly as I was by then a
fairly senior police officer. During one
bizarre nightmare (about mid November 1996),
I saw myself at an area NW of Baria in
Vietnam where 5RAR secured a highway at one
stage, and during one of those nights there
was a pack of jackals (or other canines)
outside our perimeter. I saw myself there,
standing up beside a pile of lettuces, and
throwing those vegetables at the animals
then their faces changed to those of
Vietnamese people. Occasionally when I
awoke, I found I had been crying or sweating
profusely as my pillow was damp, and I had a
significantly higher pulse rate. There have
been a number of occasions when I dreamt of
incoming mortar fire, and I have woken
trying to get under my bed. The nightmares
became more frequent, more violent, and were
frequently Vietnam related.
From about 1995 or so, I became more and
more emotional. I frequently cried. A sad
scene in a film was more than enough to
start me off. I also started chewing my
fingernails again, a habit I initially shed
in my early teens.
I have always read a lot, but over the past
few years have started reading books about
the Vietnam War, which I hadn't since 1967
(I now own about 10 books on the subject). I
now agree and accept that the USA and her
allies should never have become involved in
that conflict, and I am greatly saddened by
the suffering "our" presence caused,
particularly to the then children of that
country. I can read a book on another war,
such as "The Rise and Fall of the Third
Reich" and feel disgust etc, but a book on
the Vietnam War will have much more affect
on me. I feel as though I am somehow being
drawn back to that era.
Since my early experience with the RSL, I
have always had difficulty talking about
Vietnam, but this has become worse in the
last decade. Even my son, who is fascinated
with military history, has seldom ever heard
me talk about my experiences. If the topic
comes up, I become more and more withdrawn,
and change the subject.
I slowly became more impatient and it hurt
when I was occasionally addressed as a
"cranky old man" by my kids, who lived with
me for at least 50% of the time after my
marriage failure. I knew things were getting
worse for me, and although I would like to
have explained to them how I was feeling, I
certainly did not want to burden them with
my problems while they were progressing
through high school and university.
From about the mid 90’s, I felt I was been
loosing my ability to concentrate on things.
My short term memory certainly worsened. I
would often start to say something, then
forget what I wanted to say part way through
saying it. I sometimes had great trouble
remembering people’s names, and this aspect
was embarrassing for a police officer.
I started
experiencing a form of panic attack, and
these steadily worsened. Even today, they
can start anywhere at any time, and within
seconds I am drenched with sweat, and have
to move from where I then was. Apart from
regular insomnia, these panic attacks were
the most difficult to deal with in my
worsening condition.
Even today, I find I loose interest in
things more readily, including activities I
really used to enjoy and were heavily
committed to and actively pursued. This in
turn has contributed to my health problems.
In early 1966, I attended a small family
gathering with my son. During conversation
on tertiary education, my mother stated that
the reason my second brother had not
completed his first year of university was
because he was too worried about me in
Vietnam. This remark really shattered me,
and my son raised the subject again on our
way home asking why "Granny blames you" for
my brothers decision to quit university
while I was in Vietnam. I could not talk to
him about it, and the next day was still
choked up over it. I went to my GP with pain
in the chest, and this resulted in a night
in the Coronary Care Unit at Ashford
Hospital. Even then I could not tell the
various doctors what had happened - I put it
down to having lain on my side watching
television.
Although I loved my work (not the politics
involved in it though), about 1967 I started
applying to be made redundant which would
have allowed me to retire with sufficient
funds to exist. I felt my attitude was
becoming less than professional, and that
work was just another problem which I could
do without. As I was not able to "take a
package" like many others in the Force, I
became frustrated at work. Earlier in 1997,
I had a major confrontation with two
incompetent senior officers over a large
investigation, and ended up having two weeks
off on stress (with the Force admitting
liability). I was still required to be
involved in that case (which had vast
political ramifications) when I returned to
work, even though I told my general manager
that I wanted nothing more to do with it.
THE PRESENT
As far as I am concerned, service in Vietnam
completed and totally cocked up my life.
Although I still maintain some inner pride
with having served with an infantry unit in
Vietnam, the whole issue has been so
negative I very sincerely wish I had
remained in Australia for the period of my
National Service like probably all of the
members of my medical unit in New South
Wales (I spoke to one of them about 1988 and
he told me that they had had a very easy
time for their two years).
Both my children graduated from university,
and are employed in rewarding positions, and
I am very proud of their achievements. I
remarried in 2000. Love from my wife and my
children appear to be three of the very few
positive factors in my life these days.
I am worried about my state of health, and
am frustrated with myself for not being more
positive about my weight. I am fully aware
of the increasing risk I face being
overweight. I have now been under the care
of a psychiatrist for five years, and she
has indicated I will be on “happy pills” for
the rest of my life.
I am very ashamed at the state I appear to
be in, but feel somewhat more tranquil
having forced myself to think the issues
through, and write this epistle.
I. A. McDOUGALL
November 2002
