The PTSD Treatment That Veterans Dream Of

The morning of April 28, 2004, started like the rest of Jeff Turner’s mornings in Iraq. Breakfast in the chow hall, a walk across the grounds to his station. The same sun, the same palm trees, the same desert. But the two distant thumps Turner heard as he left the hall were unusual. Boy, that sounds like mortars, he thought.

The hall exploded first. Shards of its metal frame shot into his flesh. The second bomb erupted in the sand nearby, encircling him in smoke. Turner dove between two parked mail vans.