A Counselor in Need:
Sent home from Iraq, Lt. Col. Richard Brunk, an Army chaplain, returned to Houston, where he is learning to cope with a serious brain injury.
It was Lt. Col. Richard Brunk’s second Sunday in Baghdad, and so, of course, there was church. Only 16 soldiers showed up, but that was good for that busy day, election day across Iraq. The presiding chaplain asked everyone to take seats up front. It was a providential move.
A 122-millimeter rocket exploded outside, virtually collapsing the rear of the chapel. Colonel Brunk was pitched forward, an outstretched arm failing to stop his head from hitting the marble floor. Gathering himself amid the chaos, he noticed some foil-wrapped chocolates scattered like pebbles before him and offered one to the chaplain, sprawled on the ground nearby.
“If I’m going to die, it’s going to be with chocolate on my breath,” the colonel said jokingly. The chaplain moved his lips in reply. “And I realized: ‘Uh oh, I’ve got a problem,’ ” Colonel Brunk recalled. “Because I couldn’t hear him.”
The explosion broke Colonel Brunk’s wrist, shattered both his eardrums and rattled his skull, medical records show. It would be the first of two major blasts in 2005 that traumatically injured his brain.
Seven years later, the symptoms have not gone away. Colonel Brunk, who retired from the Army this summer, regained his hearing, but he still has daily headaches, ringing in his ears, double vision and dizziness, all typical of traumatic brain injury, or T.B.I. Occasionally he struggles to remember once-familiar words, faces and names.
The military says it has diagnosed more than 260,000 cases of T.B.I. since 2000, about 42,000 of them involving deployed troops. That is less than 2 percent of the service members sent to Iraq and Afghanistan, and many experts believe that the actual number is higher. Though three in four of those cases were labeled “mild,” many veterans like Colonel Brunk have struggled with powerful aftereffects for years.
In his case, age has been a factor. A chaplain himself, Colonel Brunk was 54 when he was injured, a rarity in these wars, where 99 percent of the 2.3 million troops who deployed to Iraq or Afghanistan were under 50. Now 62, he faces a much steeper path to recovery than a younger person, doctors say.
But emerging research shows that traumatic brain injuries may have long-term effects on troops of all ages. A study by the University of Oklahoma this year, for instance, found that a majority of veterans treated at a traumatic brain injury clinic continued having headaches, dizziness and poor coordination eight years after their injuries.
Data from the Center for the Study of Traumatic Encephalopathy at Boston University suggests that multiple traumatic brain injuries during one’s youth may be linked to degenerative brain disease later in life.
Colonel Brunk’s story underscores another important issue: how poorly the military understood brain injuries early in the wars.
Since 2009, the Pentagon has required troops suspected of having head injuries to rest immediately after blast exposure, a crucial period when brains can often heal themselves, doctors say.
But in 2005, Colonel Brunk was allowed to return to work within hours of his first exposure. When doctors eventually recognized that he had neurological damage, he was sent home for about three months but was treated mainly for hearing problems. He was then permitted to return to Iraq, at his own request, where he had a second, potentially devastating head injury.
He had gone to war not expecting to experience warfare quite so intimately. But once he was hurt, he was determined to rejoin his battalion and finish the tour with his flock. And like many of those soldiers, he did his level best to ignore injury, pain and, eventually, a collapsing marriage.
“I went to Iraq a chaplain,” Colonel Brunk says. “But I came home a soldier.”
But to those close to him, his dogged good cheer was a mask that did not always serve him well. “People look at him and say, ‘That’s Chaplain Brunk, he can’t be having problems,’ ” said Kathy Curry, a close friend. “But he’s got problems at home. He’s got T.B.I. He’s got pain.”
And so, not long after meeting him, Ms. Curry felt compelled to ask: Who counsels you? Who counsels the counselor?
The answer, for a time at least, was nobody.
He had wanted to be a doctor, but college microbiology killed that notion. So he followed his father, an Army chaplain, into the ministry, leading Texas parishes of the Evangelical Lutheran Church while volunteering as chaplain for fire departments and hospitals. But the military, a family tradition, called.
In the fall of 1989, Colonel Brunk found himself chatting with an Army chaplain recruiter at a church convention in New Orleans. By the end of their stroll down Bourbon Street, the minister had signed on for the Texas National Guard. He was 39.
