From Service to Support: Patrick Faces the Battle at Home through Emory Healthcare Veterans Program

Patrick says he proudly wears his Emory Healthcare Veterans Program alumni shirt often. “People stop and ask me about it all the time,” he said with a smile. Over a recent wedding weekend, a simple conversation about the program inspired his best friend’s in-laws — who had long been hesitant about counseling — to consider it for themselves.

Patrick no longer shies away from discussing his own journey with post-traumatic stress. His message is simple but powerful: seeking help is a sign of strength, and healing is possible.

Sergeant First Class Patrick Oaks is a seasoned combat medic approaching his 20th year of service in the United States Army. He carries himself with a steady presence and a deep commitment to helping others — both on and off the battlefield.

For years, Patrick pushed through the symptoms of invisible wounds the only way he knew how — by working nonstop.

“I didn’t give myself any downtime. I thought my work ethic made me a good soldier, but really I was just trying to outrun the intrusive thoughts,” he says. “If I kept moving, I didn’t have to deal with what was going on in my head.”

The Army values Patrick for his exceptional performance, and his superiors consistently praise his work ethic and productivity. But behind that success was a relentless pace that affected everyone around him.

He brought the stress home and his wife felt the weight of it, too. Patrick stayed in a constant state of high alert, unable to relax, his mind always racing with “what if” scenarios. The tension made life uncomfortable for those closest to him. Over time, he found it harder to let new people in. He didn’t have the capacity to build trust or form new relationships, and that growing sense of isolation became one of the most difficult challenges he faced.

Patrick experienced one of his most traumatic moments during a patrol in Iraq. His unit was moving through a village when an abandoned house rigged with explosives detonated.

“Our commander stepped on a pressure plate, and the house just went up,” he recalls. The force of the blast threw Patrick into a nearby vehicle, knocking him unconscious.

Minutes later when he came to, he couldn’t hear and was disoriented. But instinct took over. “I figured out where I was needed and got to work,” he says. Despite being injured himself, Patrick was the only medic on the scene. He treated his commander, who had sustained serious injuries, and then turned his attention to another soldier wounded by shrapnel.

That soldier turned out to be someone Patrick had known years earlier: they’d run cross-country together in high school. “It’s surreal, caring for someone and realizing you knew him as a teenager,” he says.

Since that day, Patrick has lived with chronic pain, numbness and the long-term effects of traumatic brain injury.

“The physical stuff never fully went away,” he says. “And now, some of the cognitive symptoms are starting to show up more clearly. It’s been a process — coming to terms with how that moment changed everything.” 

Despite the toll on his body and mind, Patrick pressed on and focused on work while avoiding his own wounds. Eventually, the cracks started to show. He began losing track of time and felt disconnected from his surroundings. Then came a devastating loss. A close friend was killed in a lightning strike during a training accident. “That broke my heart. And after that, everything started to spiral.”

Patrick’s wife knew something was wrong when Patrick began sleepwalking and waking up yelling in the night, but she assumed it was just part of who he was. “She knew I was struggling in some ways,” he says, “but neither of us really understood the extent of it.”

Patrick describes himself during that time as tense and easily angered, often walking on an emotional tightrope. “I think she did her best to avoid triggering me. But that avoidance came at a cost to our relationship.”

Patrick knew he needed help when he began having suicidal thoughts. “I’ve been through enough of the mandatory briefings to know the signs,” he says.

Living in a remote area made it nearly impossible for Patrick to access military mental health services. The nearest base was a seven-hour round trip. He tried to get help locally, but the soonest appointment was nine months out. Then, during a moment of crisis, he connected with an online provider who talked him through the immediate situation and sent him a link to the Emory Healthcare Veterans Program.

“I submitted my application that same day,” Patrick says. “This was my first real experience with mental health treatment. It was the first time I felt like someone truly saw what I was going through and had a plan to help.”

Since he had so much trouble with delays and access when previously seeking mental health care, the Emory Healthcare Veterans Program’s removal of barriers made a strong first impression.

“They paid attention to the things that usually get in the way — regulations, time and money,” he says. “When you take those barriers off the table, it creates an environment where real healing can happen. I’ve never had a staff member at Emory make me feel like I was a bother. That’s not something you experience often in health care."

Patrick also found the cohort structure effective, as it encourages connection with other veterans. “It really helped to be surrounded by people who understood,” he explains. “We built strong bonds, and we still check in on each other all the time. We’re a big support system for one another.” He even coordinated a Zoom call for his cohort to help everyone stay connected.

The work was challenging, especially the exposure therapy, but the impact is lasting. “It gave me the tools I needed to move forward and take control of my life again.”

During treatment, Patrick and his wife participated in family sessions and their relationship began to heal.

“There were so many things I had never talked about, events and memories that were key to who I am. Once those started coming out, the secrecy disappeared, and we finally started communicating in a real way. We’ve learned how to take timeouts, how to talk through things. It’s not perfect. Healing is a daily process, but it’s so much better now. I’m better at expressing my feelings, and we’re both better at facing things together.” 

For Patrick, one of the most difficult parts of treatment was confronting his triggers in real-world settings through in vivo exposure, a therapeutic approach to exposure therapy that helps veterans gradually face the situations they fear to reduce anxiety over time.

“I was involved in several improvised explosive device (IED) incidents during service,” he says, “so driving in heavy traffic, particularly in places I don’t know well, has always been difficult.”

Being in Atlanta for treatment pushed those limits. But with the support of his therapists, he gradually built confidence. “They kept encouraging me until eventually, I was driving at night without GPS, just navigating new areas on my own.”

That hard work paid off. Not long ago, Patrick traveled to New Jersey for a friend’s wedding. While out with a group, they decided to visit a crowded boardwalk, unaware it was also the site of a festival celebration that day.

“There were so many people, people arguing, being aggressive. Normally, I would’ve shut down or said, ‘Forget it, we’re leaving.’ But instead, I stayed calm.”

His friend, who had known Patrick during his more reactive years, was struck by how different he seemed. “He said, ‘Man, you’ve really changed.’ This was the same friend who used to ride with me in Houston, where I’d yell at traffic, and he’d say, ‘You know they can’t hear you, right?’”

Patrick acknowledges he still gets hesitant at times, but he now has the tools to breathe, refocus and move forward. “No roadside bombs have gone off since I’ve been living in the United States,” he says. “That’s the point of in vivo — being able to enjoy life again. I finally feel like I’m living the life I earned through my service.” 

Patrick admits that, at first, he probably wouldn’t have believed treatment could make a difference. “The Army didn’t really talk about mental health,” he explains. “It was all about sucking it up, driving on. That was the culture.”

He buried the trauma and focused on taking care of others first. “It’s like weight gain,” he says. “You don’t notice it overnight, but suddenly you’re carrying 40 extra pounds, and you’ve forgotten what it felt like to be without it. That’s how it was with everything I was carrying emotionally — I just accepted it as the new normal. I thought that’s what I had to do to survive and keep my career.”

It wasn’t until treatment at Emory Healthcare Veterans Program that he realized how much he had been carrying. “If I hadn’t come to Emory, I wouldn’t be alive,” he says. “Now I have something I didn’t have before: hope. I look forward to every single day.”

Today, Patrick’s focus has shifted from simply getting through the day to embracing the future. “I want to be here for a long time — for myself, for my wife, for my friends,” he says. “We deserve to be happy again.”

For his fellow service members and veterans, Patrick has a clear message: “We owe it to ourselves to invest in our own healing. The return is exponential. You can feel like yourself again. You can come home more completely.”

He knows the path to healing isn’t easy, but he believes it’s worth every step.