I'd like to thank the committee for extending the invitation to me to make a few statements regarding my son and the care and treatment that he and others have received.
My son suffers from catastrophic post-traumatic stress disorder. The family suffers from battle fatigue from dealing with his condition and dealing with the Canadian military.
I'm not here to slam the Canadian military. I'm here purely to give my family's side of the argument.
To give you an update, my son contacted his commanding officer last Thursday and asked to be taken to the Royal Victoria Hospital in Barrie for a detox program. He's had a relapse. They hope to get him back into some type of a rehabilitation program when the detox program is completed. He has told me, and I understand this is a sign of progress, that he's tired of being in the press. He doesn't want his name in the press any more. He wants to move on. So I'm here purely for the family today.
My son began his post-traumatic disorder on his first tour in Afghanistan. On May 25, 2007, his bunkmate, Corporal Matthew McCully, was killed in an IED explosion at 100 meters from Jon. That night Jon had to pack up his personal belongings and send them home to his family. Jon called me that day by satellite phone and said, “Dad, you're going to hear something on the news tonight. I want you to know I'm fine.” That was when the family realized we were going to war with our son.
Jon got back from his first tour in August 2007 and was due to be married on October 5. He looked healthy. Everything seemed to be fine. But we didn't know then what we know now, that the PTSD was already well under way. He went over first as a volunteer. His second tour, which began in September 2008, was with his battalion. He felt it was absolutely mandatory to go back into battle with the guys he trained with.
He came back on leave seven weeks after being over on the second tour, and I took him to a Maple Leafs hockey game. Later in the evening he called me to the roof of the hotel and said, “Dad, I want you to know that I'm not afraid. I'm not scared. But when this is over, I'm done.”
During the rest of that tour he suffered more losses of bunkmates, companions. He suffered seven months of terror every day that they were out in the field, and I believe toward the end of that tour he had a nervous breakdown. He had a pistol cocked in his mouth. Two of his fellow soldiers took him to see a medical psychiatrist who gave him some pills—Valium, I guess—and sent him back out.
He had another three weeks to go and almost made it without any incidents, and then two hockey buddies from CFB Petawawa where he was stationed were blown up on the day he was leaving Afghanistan. He got home, and almost immediately he was hiding his drinking. The signs of PTSD were rampant. Basically, with one thing after another, I got heavily involved in his treatment. He gave me power of attorney after his first suicide attempt.
I've struggled with the medical people at CFB Petawawa. I've struggled with them for years. I was called an 800-pound elephant. When I walked into a room I was told that my son was not injured; he was an alcoholic. I said that he was not an alcoholic when he joined the military, and if he's an alcoholic now, it's a symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. Post-traumatic stress disorder is not a symptom of alcoholism.
I know you want me to keep this brief, so I will try to do that.
Basically, I was told by the medical officer that injured soldiers had his cellphone number, and they could call him 24/7 and he would supply pain killers. My son didn't qualify.
Jon's marriage collapsed. His wife is a medic and is now assigned to the naval forces in Halifax. She took his young daughter; it'll be three years ago this coming November. He has not seen her or had any contact with her. He has been arrested and jailed and has been sent to rehab. When he tried to talk about post-traumatic stress disorder in rehab, he was told that it was outside the boundaries of the post-traumatic stress disorder they treated at those facilities.
I made over 25 trips from Toronto to Petawawa, usually in the middle of the night, in winter driving conditions, and spent three or four days there trying to put him back in one piece and meeting with his medical people. I pleaded with them to get him closer to his family, because he had nobody in Petawawa. He was shunned by his fellow soldiers and laughed at by some. Really, the only people I found in Petawawa who were compassionate were former military people who were in the Ontario Provincial Police forces. They visited his house over 25 times. He was a mess.
I finally got assurances that they would move him to CFB Borden. It was a year and a half ago. I believe it was in November. They assured me that they would have him out of there before Christmas. I didn't want him going through another winter in Petawawa. It was bleak, with no friends and nowhere to go.
Somehow that never happened. I contacted Colonel Blais later to find out why. He told me if I wanted to know why, I had to go through the freedom of information act, because those documents were classified.
So they left him there again for the winter. He tried to kill himself on March 9, 2012, and then he was almost very successful at it on April 1, when they flew him, intubated and not breathing, to the Ottawa General after another suicide attempt. Finally we got him to CFB Borden, with a much more compassionate group of individuals handling his care there. He's had progress and setbacks. He continues to have setbacks.
As I just told you, he has entered a detox program once again. I have high hopes. I was told by his psychiatrist that they now have, at the Bellwood facility in Toronto, an actual program for war-related PTSD and that they're actually sending groups of soldiers suffering from this to that program, because they can interact amongst themselves and perhaps begin a pattern of healing.
He has received a couple of awards—disability awards. He was told recently that he's 58% disabled. Fifty-eight per cent.... His family is gone, his career is gone, he has tried to kill himself four times, and he's been in and out of rehab four times, but he's only 58% disabled.
From a family perspective, it has been a tremendous burden on our family emotionally. He had a brother who passed away while he was back between tours. I don't think he ever dealt with that, so as a family....
Jon's mother and sister started Operation Santa Claus. I don't know if any of you are familiar with it. It morphed into Operation Hero. Jon's mother was given a framed flag by the defence minister, Minister MacKay, in the ceremony. They provided boxes of Christmas-type items, such as shavers and all that kind of stuff, for every serving soldier at forward operating base or in Kabul for at least the two years they were there.
I didn't have a lot of time to get these photographs together. I might pass this one around. My son slept at my house last March and came to me and said, “Dad, come and look at this.” This shows his hand after waking up in the morning. It looks like a hand that's been in water overnight. The bed was soaked, the comforter over him was soaked, and he was shaking. His hands were clenched.
I don't know if you want to pass that around. I apologize for not having more copies.
You know, the impact on a family.... The soldier went to war, but the family went with him.
We strongly believe there are more coming out of the woodwork every day. I was recently told that staff cuts, budget cuts, have affected the JPSUs, the IPSC units, across Canada. Two well-meaning warrant officers in Petawawa now have 160 clients each. That's 320 who are out of the woodwork in Petawawa. I say Petawawa because that's where the majority of my involvement with it was.
I'd like to thank you again for your time, and remind you that it's had an enormous impact on our family.