Connected Warrior Foundation is pleased
to have wounded veteran David G. as a
guest warrior blogger. His inspiring
story highlights the importance of garnering support and striving for
connection to effectively move forward in spite of obstacles such as Traumatic
Brain Injury (TBI) .
Guest Blog: David G.
I joined the Army in 1989, beginning my basic
training at Fort Dix, New Jersey. Little did I know how far I would come in my
military career—being in the Army for 16 years was an outcome I never expected.
At the time I needed a job, something to live for. I thought the Army would
teach me things that I would honor and uphold with a lot of respect. I wanted
to be part of something that was worth doing. Few people know how it feels to
live a life with no days off or vacation for months at a time; at the end of
the day the Army becomes your family.
I sacrificed a lot of things for the Army, all of
which were worth it because I knew I was doing something that held value for
me. The Army values—loyalty, duty, respect, selfless service, honor integrity
and personal courage—changed my overall attitude in my life, both military and
civilian. Embodying these values while being in the service contributed to the
medals I have earned, including the most important one that I received, the
Purple Heart.
Ironically, just when I thought I was lucky enough
not to be an injured soldier, I
experienced an event that would change me physically as well as mentally. I was doing my job with pride, courage and
honor. I was thirty-eight; I was at the peak of my life and had a lot to look
forward to, such as military retirement thereby completing my twenty years of service.
It happened on September 17, 2004 in Iraq, a day
that could have been the last day of my life; as it was I lost much that most
people take for granted. Word came down from Battalion that day that I was
changed to a new reconnaissance patrol/convoy. After I packed up my soldiers—a
total of 12 in all and four gun trucks—we departed with four other vehicles on
that hot, muggy morning through the dusty roads with the stench of garbage and
burned oil in the air. Somehow I knew it was not going to be a good day in Mr. Rogers’
neighborhood.
We moved out toward ‘MSR-Detroit,’ another name for
Iraqi highways. I could feel the hot air off the freeway hitting my face. As we
drove along, I checked with my other vehicles through radio contact that everything
was fine and clear. As we passed from village to village, Iraqi children ran alongside our trucks, begging for food. We had
been told by our command not to throw food to them from our trucks. It broke my
heart to see these children in this situation, but the only thing we could do
each time we came to a stop was give them bags of jelly beans from our cargo
pockets. I could not take their pain or their hunger away, but at least I gave
them a smile to remember me.
After we crossed the Tigris River, we went through
one more village. I noticed potholes in the road and saw a lone truck on the
right-hand side. When we drove by, I made eye contact with the enemy as he
stood next to his truck. We stared at each other and, right then and there, I
knew something was about to happen. My nerves tensed, the knots in my stomach
became tighter and tighter, and sweat ran down my face. As I held my weapon
tight, a roadside bomb (IED) went off within a split second.
Right at that instant it seemed everything moved in
slow motion. The dust was in the air,
the seconds that seemed like minutes just passed
right before me. My blood was splattered all around me and on my driver. I tried
to yell at him to see if he could hear me but could not
hear him because, as I learned later, the loud
blast had ruptured my eardrum. The shrapnel went
through my right leg, my right wrist, and my right
cheek.
When we finally came to a stop, I tried to check
myself to see if I was still alive. After moments passed, I realized what had
happened and tried to make sense of it. In my own mind I knew, but my body
would not move. I tried talking, but all I uttered was blood that flowed from
my mouth. Within a few minutes, my fellow soldiers removed me from my truck and
began to work on saving my life, quickly giving medical assistance. As they
dragged me to safety, I noticed a trail of my blood on the pale gray road that
was covered in sand.
As a medic worked on me, we started receiving fire
from the enemy. The medic moved me from one vehicle to the next. In the far distance,
I could see the Iraqi man, the one I had made eye contact with, driving back in
the opposite direction. Right then I knew that he had set off the blast.
As all these thoughts ran through my head, I prayed
and said my last goodbyes. As I looked again to see the trail of my blood, I
could not hear anything but saw the green smoke that my fellow soldiers had put
out for the helicopter to land to pick me up from the danger zone. I could feel
the hot waves from the air of the helicopter blades forcing the sand and the
hot air into my face and I could smell the stench in the air. Right then and
there I knew I was going to make it.
Although my situation was difficult and
frightening, I knew that I had done my time and service with honor and out of
love for my country. During the month I stayed in Iraq without being sent back
to United States, I almost died from gangrene. Recovery was exhausting and excruciating.
As a result of my injuries I had to learn how to both
speak and walk again. I lost my equilibrium balance (I walk sideways due to hearing
loss), have traumatic brain injury (TBI) and post traumatic stress disorder
(PTSD). My life turned sideways after these injuries; once a healthy fit
soldier, I’m now a disabled veteran.
When I came back to the US, I was a different
person: the brain injuries that I suffered are irreversible, and I’m destined
to feel anxious from time to time. I can no longer stand for long periods of
time, thus needing assistance from my Segway to move around from place to place
and cover long distances. It took me two years to learn how to speak again somewhat
normally, although I still struggle since the shrapnel cut my tongue.
Due to the injuries, I lost physical and mental abilities
that will never come back to me no matter how much rehabilitation or medication
I undergo. My mental disorder has become debilitating to the point where I
cannot be myself again as I once was. I have learned to live with my disabilities,
and adapted to the way my body and mind functions. As a result of PTSD I fear
crowds of people now and what they can do to me. I cannot tolerate being in
closed places or places where there is the stench of garbage or feces. When I’m
in my dwelling I fear trespassers and am always anxious about what is going to
happen next.
After my release from the Army in October 2005, I
began attending South Texas College. I still struggle with my basic skills and
therefore took developmental classes. Despite my lack of cognitive skills, I
still managed to graduate with two associate degrees—one in Culinary Arts and one
in Interdisciplinary Studies. At a college fair at South Texas College I was
made aware of Texas A&M University-Kingsville (TAMUK), where I then
enrolled and received credit for my two associate degrees.
When I was discharged from the Army, I lost my
interest in working with people; my life was an unending series of flashbacks
of the terrors I suffered while being in the service. Fortunately I began
volunteering for the Wounded Warrior Project (WWP) and was selected for the
National Campaign Team to raise awareness that veterans are still an asset to
their communities. WWP helped me get back into society; since joining I have
been more connected to my community. They
also helped me cope with my disabilities and at the same time helped my ability
to communicate with my professors, counselors and staff. They have given me the
tools to try and rebuild my life in a way of doing things that seemed
impossible to do in the first place.
My experiences at WWP helped me move over to TAMUK
to pursue my degree. When I first arrived on campus everybody just stared at me,
knowing that I was not one of them. Here I was the new kid on the block, just
zooming by students and staff on my Segway. People turned their heads, saying
“What the ?#$@@!%?!” Having my new toy
to get around campus gave people the chance to ask who, when, and why. In
discussing my Segway I had the opportunity to explain how organizations have
helped me out with ways to get back on track to do something with my life and be
productive in my community.
My degree, of which I am very proud, is in Agricultural
Science (Wildlife Recreational Entrepreneurship). I chose this career path
because I want to open up my own restaurant/smoke house with the intent of
serving the best food for my community. I also want to help veterans in the
community who are less fortunate by providing them meals. I hope to gain ways
of providing wellbeing to wounded veterans and their families because I know
how it feels to be in their position.
There have been a lot of days that I wanted to give
up because it is hard sometimes doing essays, book reports, and projects with
the TBI and loss of memory that I have. As time passes I still have my good
days and bad days. My professors, counselors, tutors and deans put me on the
track to finish up with a bachelor degree; I do not know where I would be now
without them. I’m a first generation college student, combat wounded veteran,
and most of all an AMERICAN.
- David G.
(CWF extends a hardy thank you to David G. for his meaningful contribution to our monthly blog.)
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