This guest essay reflects the views of Major Jarrod Rostron, who lives in Ridge and is a 20-year veteran of the U.S. Army and Army Reserve.
For many veterans like myself, Memorial Day reminds us of sacrifices on the battlefield and those that endure beyond it. While Americans enjoy barbecues and beach days (as they should -- that's what we fought for), many veterans like me spend it scrolling through photos of buddies lost not in combat, but alone, in silence, by their own hand. I still call their voicemails sometimes, hoping to hear a voice I know is gone.
It's in that spirit of remembrance and responsibility that I write in my civilian capacity, informed by 20 years of military experience, including as a combat veteran in Afghanistan. My intent is not to criticize the Northport VA, but to partner with it in building stronger, more human-centered therapy options for the veterans it serves.
Like many veterans, I spent more time denying I had post-traumatic stress disorder than I did earning my combat patches. We were taught to push it down, keep it moving, and never show weakness. Therapy? That was for someone "broken." So, we carried our trauma quietly, often self-medicating and drinking in ways that numbed rather than healed.
Eventually, the weight of the memories catches up. After nearly a decade of avoidance, I finally walked into the VA hopeful but expecting indifference. Instead, I found a therapist who saw me -- not through a checklist or worksheet -- but as a human being, a husband, a father of two. She didn't rely on buzzwords or handouts. She listened. She asked real questions. She helped me start to rebuild.
Then, two years into the most meaningful therapy of my life, the VA began pushing an initiative called Measurement-Based Care. On paper, it sounds like progress. In practice, it prioritizes data collection over therapeutic connection.
Each month I get a checklist -- the PCL-5 Survey -- asking me to rate my symptoms like I'm leaving a Google review. While it may have some initial clinical diagnostic value establishing a baseline for early treatment, its continued use does little more than force veterans to needlessly relive deaths, funerals, guilt, and years of repressed pain monthly. My therapist doesn't need the form to know how I'm doing. She asks, listens, and adjusts. That's what healing looks like.
According to the Northport VA's internal Standard Operating Procedure, recovery is expected within 24 sessions. That might work for short-term stress, but it doesn't scratch the surface of the trauma, survivor's guilt, and moral injury many combat veterans carry for years with chronic and complex PTSD. It's a shortcut in the name of "efficiency," not in the spirit of lasting healing.
Let me be clear: I'm not anti-science. I've read the studies, aided by my degree in psychology. Yes, data matters. But there's a difference between using research to inform care and using it to justify budget cuts. When spreadsheet management wins out over personalized care, veterans don't get better. Some don't even survive. Studies show self-report tools like the PCL-5 can be unreliable, especially for complex and chronic trauma. The American Psychological Association emphasizes individualized, therapist-guided treatment over rigid metrics.
So, this is my plea to the VA, both locally and nationally: Let clinicians be clinicians. Use tools when they help, but don't let metrics override the human connection. Healing isn't a checklist. Let's measure progress not by fixed numbers, but by how veterans rebuild their lives. That's how we truly honor their sacrifice -- not just on Memorial Day, but every day.