Circling the Moon

Osama bin Laden Photos!

2011-05-08T20:04:00.002-04:00

I had some guy chase me today, when he found out I was a reporter, to tell me what an "idiot" President Obama is for not releasing the photos of Osama bin Laden. Wow. First of all, why do I deserve this tirade? What did I have to do with it? As he's going on and on, my leg is pounding me with pain from the IED OBL is responsible for. OBL ruined my life. But he hasn't made me lose my mind. Stop and think for a minute. The pictures, once released, are out there for WHOEVER to do WHATEVER with them (think t-shirts, coffee mugs, etc), inflame tensions (at a time when the Arab Spring could allow us to make real inroads), and endanger the lives of US troops in Afghanistan and Iraq. Maybe it's just me....but a thoughtful, cautious, and intelligent approach to an issue like this beats out your stupid ideology and political bent. Go back to YOUR cave, will you? I won't stand for any more young soldiers or Marines blown up because of your ignorance.

Sadly another...

2011-02-12T05:49:00.000-05:00

NYTimes

KABUL, Afghanistan — A British photographer on a foot patrol with Afghan and American soldiers in southern Afghanistan was gravely wounded this week when he stepped on a makeshift bomb, military officials and his family said.

The photographer, Giles Duley, was working on Monday beside soldiers from the First Squadron, 75th Cavalry Regiment, near the village of Sangsar in rural Kandahar Province when he stepped on a pressure plate that detonated a hidden explosive charge, according to the United States military.

Mr. Duley, 39, lost one leg below the knee, the other leg above the knee and his left arm was severed above the elbow, according to his brother, David Duley. A finger on his right hand was fractured, and he had other superficial wounds. He was the second photographer to suffer multiple amputations while covering the military campaign in Kandahar since last fall.

But he did not suffer internal injuries or a head wound, his brother said by telephone, and he has been conscious and lucid while undergoing treatment in the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham, England. No one else was wounded in the blast.

A freelancer associated with the Camera Press agency in London, Mr. Duley was formerly a fashion and music photographer, shooting for GQ, Esquire and other magazines. He had in recent years shifted his focus to humanitarian causes.

He has worked in Africa, Asia, Ukraine and elsewhere, documenting suffering and seeking “inspiring stories of the human spirit, stories that would otherwise remain untold in an era of commercialized media and news,” according to a written statement from his family and agency.

One his photographs, of a woman in southern Sudan delivering a stillborn child, was a 2010 prize winner in the Prix de la Photographie Paris.

Mr. Duley had been in Afghanistan less than two weeks when he was wounded, and he was covering military operations for the first time. The statement said that he had traveled to Afghanistan in late January intending “to cover the plight of bomb victims, but an opportunity presented itself to join front-line action with the U.S. Army; an offer that the true photojournalist within him couldn’t resist.”

His brother said he had a clear view of the risks. “He was fully aware of where he was going and what he was getting himself into,” he said.

Sangsar, the village where the Taliban reorganized in the 1990s and began their spread through much of Afghanistan, lies in an impoverished agricultural zone along the Arghandab River basin.

Since last year, the area has been the focus of a large United States-led offensive to subdue the insurgency and develop an Afghan government presence in one of the regions where the Taliban have been strongest.

The American and Afghan patrol was clearing a compound when Mr. Duley stepped on the pressure plate, according to Lt. Col. Michael D. Wirt, an Army doctor at Patrol Base Wilson, an American outpost near Sangsar.

Soldiers applied three tourniquets to his wounds and stabilized him, Colonel Wirt said. He was evacuated by a Black Hawk medevac helicopter and flown to the NATO military hospital at Kandahar Air Field.

David Bowering, a Canadian photographer traveling with the medevac crew, said that Mr. Duley, though in terrible physical condition when the helicopter arrived, “put up a good battle.”

“He was coherent most of the way,” he said. “He answered questions.”

In late October, Joao Silva, a photographer working for The New York Times, stepped on an antipersonnel land mine in another village near the Arghandab River. He lost both legs and suffered other wounds.

This week, after being fitted with prosthetic legs, Mr. Silva took his first steps.

David Duley said that his brother, consistent with his demeanor on the helicopter flight, was “surprising everyone with his resilience and humor.” He was awake on Thursday, and had been talking, joking and flirting with a nurse.

Mr. Duley had planned to start his own quarterly journal, tentatively titled Document, his brother said, and added that Mr. Duley, like Mr. Silva, has already said he will resume his work.

“Giles is a triple amputee, but he is still a photographer,” he said. “He still intends to do what he does. This is not going to stop him.”

A few words about George (with his toy Rudolph)

2011-02-05T15:39:00.005-05:00

George is an "assist" dog at Bethesda (he worked at Walter Reed when I was there) and came to stay with me recently for a weekend. He is probably the best therapist I know. He is loving, kind, knows to wait for you on stairs, and doesn't snore. He also keeps his toys in a neat pile on his sleeping bag.

I love him more than anything.

I hope to have him come live with me.

This, by the way, is George smiling. He has a permanent look of sadness until you ask him for help. And then he lights up like a Christmas tree. Good doggie.

Can I just say...?

2011-01-20T08:21:00.005-05:00

After having lived with Wounded Warriors for more than a year, crying, struggling, suffering and laughing with them, I have become a surrogate mother to more than a few. I have also become one of their greatest defenders. There's not a lawmaker or VIP I encounter who I don't grill about what they'll do to help injured troops. More than one soldier has asked me to write a book about my experience so people will know what THEY'RE going through.

Even those troops who normally don't think much of the press took me in as one of their own. I have seen more combat than most of them. I have covered wars for longer than most of them have been alive. I have tried my best to tell their stories, and the dangers they face in combat. I got blown up doing my job. And as one General said to me "that makes you as much an American as any of us".

The only positive thing to come out of my recent experience has been the opportunity to live with and love the greatest Americans there are.

Still working on walking

2011-01-15T08:31:00.008-05:00

I am being fitted for a new Super Brace, developed in San Antonio. Hopefully it will take some of the pressure off my right foot and not only elminate much of my pain but allow me to put off surgery for some time. There are skeptics, including one man who joked, 'why put off the inevitable'? Meaning amputation, which most eventually opt for.

I don't want to lose my other leg. And I think, as fast as they're developing new technologies they may come up with something in the future (ankle replacement).

The iWalk

2011-01-15T08:21:00.010-05:00

I was fitted for the new power foot this week. It was a long process...and I walk so slowly I threw off the software. My therapist says I'm driving a Ferrari like a Honda Accord. So I'm not yet getting the full benefit, which is an ankle. I walked ramps and stairs and hills and it did start to kick in. Its noisy, tho. So I won't be coming up behind anyone and yelling 'surprise'!

Unfortunately its also battery-powered and its run out of juice. And we can't get the battery back off the foot...so back to the old Mod3...two steps forward, one step back.

A special thanks...

2011-01-11T08:04:00.003-05:00

I don't think I could every properly thank the people who saved my life. From FOB Shank in Afghanistan, to the trauma teams at Bagram, to the air ambulance crews and the staff at WR. I have been blessed to meet some of the most amazing people on Earth.

Sucks that I had to get blown to bits to do so. But there you have it.

My chief therapist at WR appropriately helped me move my last "load" from the hospital grounds to my new apartment. Our last item? The wheelchair. A piece of furniture now in my new apartment.

My favorite prosthesist is moving back to New Orleans to private practise where he promises to serve me gumbo.

The "think" tanks

2011-01-10T17:33:00.003-05:00

Today I went to a press conference at a well-known think tank, where some of the brightest minds available discussed why winning in Afghanistan is possible. The current strategy is working, major headway has been made and the turnaround in the South is un-precedented. But hold on...

We'll have to wait until next "fighting season" and even the NEXT "fighting season" to know for sure.

Really? And that means how many more lives and body parts lost?

If our strategy is working, then how the hell do we allow the Taliban and Al Qaeda to enjoy a "next" fighting season? Either we win. Or we don't. Either we crush their balls or we don't. But we don't take a winter hiatus (ala Congress) and agree to meet again in the Spring and see where things are...

The new life

2011-01-10T06:48:00.002-05:00

It's really tough out here! I wake up at 4a still and there are no squirrels to feed. I am back to urban living. I miss Ed, Walter, Itchy, Twitchy and Fatty.

I miss the guys even more. My team of amputees (the guys I lived on Ward 57 with) have evacuated Mologne House and they're all doing well. One is teaching at West Point, one is an EOD expert in Pensacola, one has enrolled in college here in DC and is making straight A's despite some recent health setbacks, and one is working on IED research at the Pentagon.

I'm so proud of my boys. They still inspire me. They are rock stars.

But its tough. The days are long, the pain is pounding and I never seem to feel rested. Everything I do requires every ounce of energy I can muster. But hopefully it will get better.

I'm moving on up...

2010-12-20T09:32:00.005-05:00

I have finally found an apartment in Washington. It is wheelchair accessible and in a luxury building I cannot afford. But this first year away from Walter Reed is all about convenience.

I am stressed about the "move", even though I have no furniture to speak of, no cooking ware, no fork or spoon. I am starting from scratch in every aspect of my life.

I am terrified. And excited. Hopeful. But worried.

And I will miss my squirrels.

Real Stories

2010-12-20T09:26:00.003-05:00

Today's random meeting involved a soldier who has 450 stitches from a suicide bomber. He was stationed near the Pakistan border, in an area I know well. The one Afghan they completely trusted was a soldier who had just the day before taken out two enemy fighters. The very next day he wore a suicide belt and blew up several Americans at an outpost. My soldier--we'll call him Miracle Man--was standing closest to him. Luckily for him he went airborne when the Afghan blew himself up. That saved him, though he later died twice on the operating table. His friends were not so fortunate. They died in the spot where they stood, smoking cigarettes. One was Miracle's best friend.

Many operations later, Miracle survived. His legs were blasted to bits and have been rebuilt. His face and skull were shattered. He is now legally blind. He's lost hearing completely in one ear and struggles to hear with the other.

Our hero is a true miracle who told me this morning...the war in Afghanistan needs to end. Under the current rules of engagement there is no way they can fight to win.

Today's quote

2010-11-26T07:26:00.002-05:00

Amputee soldier, injured in Afghanistan: "I'm running out of lives, bro!"

Thanksgiving at MH

2010-11-25T11:56:00.002-05:00

Quiet. The squirrels cleaned me out of nuts, the birds pecked away all of my seeds...there's only one soldier around and he has TBI. So he's a bit chatty.

Its dark and gloomy outside. A veterans group is giving away stuff downstairs, and for once I thought I wouldn't have to fight over a pair of sweatpants but remarkably they ran out of them. I'll know who got them when the hotel staff arrives in their new sweats.

Not really....

2010-11-22T05:33:00.000-05:00

Raleigh at "work"

It's scary out there

2010-11-19T18:01:00.008-05:00

Raleigh, the dog, in his Halloween costume. We dressed him up as a panhandler with a sandwich board that said "will work for food". We hung a cup from his neck. Shortly after this photo was taken, he ate it.

One soldier used his prosthetic leg to offer the kiddies candy on Halloween.

Another Amputee Soldier said he didn't need to dress up: "I AM a Halloween costume"

They finally labeled boxes of boots someone left for us at the hospital with signs that read "single boots only". Someone really thought it would be helpful to donate only single boots? What are we supposed to wear on the other "foot"? Real or fake it still needs a boot!

I went home hunting today. I can't afford anything. And even more frustrating...all of the homes here seem to have basements and attics. Space I'm not ever likely to use. Why climb flights of stairs? It's going to be a painful search. In more ways than one.

Yes we have no hats

2010-11-19T17:59:00.000-05:00

Walter Reed

2010-11-13T09:35:00.002-05:00

It's been a long time

2010-11-13T09:18:00.008-05:00

Walter (Reed), our pet squirrel, has been moved to rehab. We rescued him after his mother died. He would sit in the palm of our hands and eat peanuts. When it was clear he wouldn't survive the winter (and was very clearly going through his "terrible twos"), two soldiers delivered him to an animal rescue organization. They were eyed suspiciously and asked how long they'd kept him....

Three days. Really.

More amputees have joined us. Dozens have arrived in just the past few weeks at Bethesda and Walter Reed, the hospital. I worry about them. One new quad amputee's girlfriend broke all of the dishes in his California apartment, ripped his uniforms to shreds and the apartment complex management is evicting him. It's not like he can fly out West to fight them as he is missing both arms and both legs. Don't worry, I'm on it...

I have gone through more surgery. I have been advised on whether I will keep my "other" leg (chances, 50-50). I am in line, I hope, for the new "power foot", which by all accounts is awesome. Tested in Texas, rumor has it the amputees wouldn't give them back at the end of the trials.

I am learning to drive again. Well, my right foot is. My teacher is concerned about my stops since I'm hesitant to slam on the brakes with my tender foot.

Another journalist has joined us here. I won't give out his private details but a quick Google search should tell you who it is. I get sick to my stomach when I think about what's ahead for him. But I am thankful he's alive.

I have celebrated another birthday.

I am looking for a new home.

I feed the birds and squirrels every day. They recognize me and surround my wheelchair when I roll out back. I'm a f*cking Disney movie.

I love the Fall but missed most of the color because I was laid up after surgery. Luckily I had company.

I go back and forth between looking forward to my new life and worrying obsessively about it.

Veterans Day has come and gone. I am grateful I got stories on the radio about the number of wounded coming back from Afghanistan and Iraq.

My nephew has just graduated from Ranger school. I worry sick about what is coming for him but am so very proud.

Another anniversary

2010-08-26T10:34:00.002-04:00

I have ventured away from Walter Reed for my first story on the road. I have a wonderful assistant who is helping with the driving, the producing, the running around.

I was so nervous before leaving I thought I would vomit but I made it down to New Orleans for the 5th anniversary of Katrina. We spent all afternoon in Plaquemines Parish talking to people and it reminded me why I have always loved this place. You walk with a cane? So what. The people here are so unique no one notices something like that.

They've also reminded me that everyone has challenges. But being a part of New Orleans is like belonging to a special club of misfits. Funny, wacky, fatalistic but life-loving misfits.

We have a poll today on whether New Orleans will ever recover from Katrina. It will recover like I will. Missing some parts, mourning that loss, but moving on...with a tad more character.

Alive Day

2010-08-23T15:18:00.003-04:00

My "alive day" is coming up. That's the happy term the people here at Walter Reed give the day you got blown to smithereens. I prefer "bomb day".

And while "alive day" sounds so much more like a celebration I don't want to celebrate. Why would I want to make happy on the day a bomb impaled the soldier next to me and changed my life forever?

But as much as I would like to forget the whole thing my body is intent on reminding me. Last night I had the first nightmare I can remember since the bombing a year ago. I dreamed I watched as a humvee got hit by a rocket or RPG. There was a loud, odd sound. It suddenly occured to me that I recognized that sound. I'd heard it somewhere. That's when I shot out of bed with my heart pounding.

It was the sound that MY bomb made as it turned out ASV to mush. While I don't remember my bombing I know my body does.

My therapists and docs also say my body will likely mark the anniversary, whether I want it to or not. They are a little worried I suspect. So am I.

Iraq

2010-08-20T07:16:00.004-04:00

I have such mixed feelings about the departure of the last combat brigade. I spent so much time in the country, from the days just after the invasion through 2009. I saw so much violence. So much craziness. I always figured I would die there. I traveled to Diyala, Mosul, the Syrian border, the "belts of Baghdad" and the border with Iran. I traveled in Humvees, Strykers, MRAPs, Helos and Ospreys.

Now because I was blown up in Afghanistan I've missed the Big Story. I think that will make it hard to ever have any closure on Iraq.

The guys here, and some of them were injured in Iraq, have barely mentioned the developments.

I was having brain tests as the Strykers were rolling across the border in to Kuwait. And oddly had a headache all day.

Wish I'd been there instead of here...

2010-08-11T17:35:00.003-04:00

Defense Secretary Robert Gates talked this week about the number of useless studies being conducted and how they're costing taxpayers millions. And lo and behold, I saw this poster (above) at the hospital yesterday. Why do servicemembers get tattoos? Really? How much is this study costing?

I, on the other hand, am taking part in another USEFUL study that is looking into why some of us with perfect vision are having the blurries. They think its the trauma from bomb blasts shaking loose connections between our brains and our eyes. Friday I go in for extensive testing.

Man, can we sweat...

2010-08-09T14:28:00.002-04:00

Our legs/stumps/itty bittys get so hot under liners and carbon fiber sockets they DRIP when you let them out for air. Some of the guys are trying Botox. I tried laser hair removal. We're not allowed to shave or wax, so aside from the sweat issue I was having real body image problems.

It would have gone off without hitch had it not been for my own clumsiness. You have to shave before they do the laser so they handed me a little specimen jar with water and a safety razor. While I worked on one side of my stump, a sweet male resident carefully shaved the other. He did beautifully. I, on the other hand, cut a hole on the top of my leg and then managed to open an incision. With a safety razor! As blood covered every surface of the room they went ahead with the laser anyway. Thankfully.

Hopefully it works.

Roadster

2010-08-06T12:57:00.003-04:00

Today I went for a drive. Really. Outside the gates of Walter Reed. I did the block (it was a big block) twice. I can do this. And its such a great feeling, mostly because I know driving will bring me independence. Even though I haven't owned a car since I was 23 I know I will need to get one if I'm to live in DC. Part of my therapy will involve a trip to a car dealership where I will look for one to lease.

You can bomb me to kingdom come but I still don't like to own too many things. They tie you down and all...and I think I just may fly again.

A sobering assessment from a friend in Afghanistan

2010-08-06T04:58:00.000-04:00

"Kandahar was interesting. The way I would describe it is the Wild West, a frontier city. Drug runners, war lords and insurgents really run the place and the 'sheriff' ( or governor) has no power, a figure head that hides in his protected office surrounded by Western security.

The Afghan forces are shockingly bad, a trainer said off the cuff, he'd prefer to train the Taliban because they have better discipline and determination than the Afghan forces. It is really very depressing. I have no faith at all that the Afghan forces will be able to hold the country. When the West pulls out Afghanistan will fall, there is simply no institutions that can stand-up on their own.

I'm sorry to depress you but that is my honest assessment. For all the treasure, lives and sacrifices America has given to Afghanistan, there seems very little to show for it. Kabul still has mud roads."

Depressing indeed.

Scaredy Cats

2010-08-06T04:53:00.002-04:00

In my latest nocturnal wanderings (they've changed my meds again), I've discovered that while many guys don't go to sleep until 6 a.m. others take to their beds with their room lights on and their doors ajar.

I personally like to lock out the world when I'm in my room. But I think a lot of the soldiers and Marines here feel safer with their doors open. Its kind of like when you're a kid and ask Mom to leave the door cracked just in case the monster under the bed (or in the closet) is planning to attack you.

PT

2010-08-02T16:43:00.005-04:00

I know physical therapy is a wonderful thing, but so is a day off. I was so tired after last week that I refused to put my leg on yesterday. Instead I laid around and read and watched HGTV and lo and behold everyone marveled at how my foot looked like a foot this morning. No swelling.

That was before my physical therapist got a hold of me. After doing three laps of lunges, the stair-climber and walking without shoes...I look like Bigfoot again.

I am so old

2010-08-02T16:43:00.002-04:00

A man sitting in the MATC watched me try to walk the other day and then asked, "did you have hip replacement surgery?"

Jerk.

We're not handicapped

2010-07-29T07:39:00.005-04:00

A couple of soldiers and I were talking about the horrors of airport security. One said at DC's National airport they have a new machine that requires you to twist and turn your prosthetic leg so they can get a better look. They may think its better than asking us to take our legs off but this particular soldier had a broken hip so all the twisting gave him a lot of pain. He begged them to let him remove it so they could inspect it. But that might scare the other passengers!

In all fairness, the man behind him in line was muttering under his breath about how unfair this was to a Wounded Warrier.

I dread my first encounter with TSA. My liners and socket are so thick I'd have to take my pants off to remove my leg. Also, I have steel in both arms, both legs and my back...so the wanding should be a hoot.

I was complaining about the drawbacks of being newly handicapped when one of the soldiers said, "we're not handicapped we're mal-functioning."

I like that.

Btw, Happy 20th ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act).

Ditching the simulator

2010-07-28T17:23:00.004-04:00

Today I ditched the simulator for a real SUV. I drove around the parking lot at WRAMC and didn't hit a soul. My foot worked. Rollie, tragically, had to stay behind at the hospital where he was last seen sniffing for pretzel crumbs.

A claim to fame...

2010-07-28T17:20:00.001-04:00

My "event" made Wikileaks...

RC EAST,ENEMY,,TF East JOC Watch/TF WILD HORSE,1-221 CAV,CF,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,0,42SXD0085456375,34.84469223,70.10312653,TF East JOC Watch,A SIGACTS MANAGER,,,ENEMY,RED
6046951A-1517-911C-C547C34062FB478E,28/8/09 00:00,Explosive Hazard,IED Explosion,20090828080242SWC0100044100,(EXPLOSIVE HAZARD) IED EXPLOSION RPT (VOIED) 3-71 CAV : 1 CF KIA 3 CF WIA ,"TM LOGAR reported that while conducting a NFO mounted patrol, 3-71 CAV struck an IED resulting in 1x US MIL KIA, 2x US MIL WIA (CAT A) and 1x US CIV WIA (CAT A) . The first vehicle (M1117 ASV) in the convoy was hit and was disabled (front wheels blown off). Casualties were MEDEVAC to FOB Shank. EOD and recovery assets deployed to the site. CF reported that the IED consisted of 40 lbs. UBE and a pressure-plate."

The General retires

2010-07-24T08:12:00.008-04:00

I was lucky enough to be invited to this event by the General's wife, Annie. It was a very special honor for a man who has dedicated his life to fighting the enemies of this country, particularly in his Special Operations career in Baghdad. I knew people who were part of the forces that regularly went out every night and popped "bad guys".

McChrystal had put the same sort of plan in place for Kandahar. Even in his absence I am told the bodies are stacking up, though we'll never hear about it in a news report.

2010-07-23T13:23:00.001-04:00

“We can't all be heroes, because somebody has to sit on the curb and applaud when they go by” -- Will Rogers

Me, the dog, and driving school

2010-07-23T12:53:00.021-04:00

I have begun taking driving lessons at Walter Reed. Most of it has involved testing my eyes and brain power to see if I'm safe behind the wheel. My damaged right foot, which I thought was my biggest obstacle, isn't so much of a concern to the instructor. She is more worried about my anxiety.

She tests me with all sorts of roadblocks. Today, she put the car radio on, talked to me, and had me drive around the simulated town all at the same time. Another test involves lights on a board you must hit within a second of them flashing. At the same time, you must count up numbers that pop up on a screen in front of you.

It is taxing but T knows her stuff. She is one of the only Army specialists who teach vets to drive. She reads our faces for signs of panic. She keeps detailed notes of our medical progress. She knows everything about cars and hand controls (should you need them). Most importantly, she cares very deeply about our emotional well-being.

Maybe its my PTSD but all of the vehicles on the simulator look like Humvees or MRAPS. I know I've seen an insurgent behind at least one building. And twice I've been hit by other cars and I swear they did it on purpose.

But if you feel overwhelmed, Raleigh (the resident assist-dog flunky), will jump in the passenger seat and ride with you. IF you have a pretzel to spare...

2010-07-21T19:31:00.003-04:00

Photos: C McCormick

Remember when...?

2010-07-21T18:30:00.037-04:00

I have been missing for a while. I have a reason for this. I will explain when I'm able, without so many watchful eyes. In the meantime....

There are some who are pushing me to face my demons. This is easier said than done. And in spite of conventional wisdom, I'm not sure it is what's best for me. I protect myself.

I am a reporter, in the truest sense of the word. I'm old school. I specialize in disasters and wars, though not by choosing. I have seen a lot of dead bodies, blown to bits in war zones, some with gaping holes, and some which resemble ghosts--slippery beings floating in the Katrina flood waters. I once saw a horse in a tree. Katrina victim. Really. I stared at it for hours.

I have to have some degree of separation or I could never do my job. I empathize. I get it. I help people. I think very clearly in the face of disaster or emergency, so much so that when I was bombed I calmly requested a smoke and a whiskey. In Israel once, as I was chased by an Israeli tank (I was on foot), I managed to squeak out "I paid for that tank!" as I ran down the street.

The gunner was laughing and so didn't mow me down. But just seconds before he had shouted he'd blow my American "sorry-ass" to "f*cking kingdom come".

When death is facing me, I am as calm as a cucumber, as my Grandma used to say. I can tell people to go here for help, or shout here for attention. I think more clearly than at any other time. I am never afraid. Never.

But it is only because of my detachment. A sniper opened fire on us once in Diyala Province, Iraq. The American soldiers I was traveling with were screaming at each other, trying to figure out where the shots were coming from. When they finally shut the f*ck up, I told them where he was. On the rooftop behind us. They were so busy screaming, they couldn't focus on the threat. Poor training, in my eyes, or youth. Whatever. I was as calm as could be. I listened for the gunshots, followed the sound, and saw the poofs of smoke from a rooftop. And there was that shadowy ass figure...BLOW HIM AWAY.

Follow the leader and you're dead. If a group of crazed, panicked soldiers ran one way, my instinct was to head out the other. Follow the herd? Sure. That's what got me bombed.

One lapse in judgement and here I am.

My detachment keeps me safe and sound. My experiences go well beyond any PTSD a soldier battles. I have experienced it so many times it has become the norm. PTSD doesn't scare me. I don't have nightmares of the scorched bodies I've seen. My nightmares are all about not being able to return to what I do.

In the meantime, to force all of my demons to the surface would jeopardize not only my job but my mental health. So there is the quandary. What to do....?

A social worker today asked me what would keep me going? I told her my passion for my work. And that is my passion for life. Its absence has been the scariest part of all of this.

But perhaps even scarier...the docs say PTSD is cumulative. I'm in deep shit...

What was that...?

2010-07-11T14:46:00.003-04:00

I'm not sure what is happening. I seem to be experiencing blackouts. Entire afternoons, evenings, days just....gone. It just happened again and was embarrassing. I have no recollection of getting to a friend's house yesterday. None. And I can't remember much of what happened while I was there.

Maybe it's PTSD? Maybe I really do have that traumatic brain injury the docs were worried about. If the bomb was big enough to flip an armored vehicle, kill the soldier next to me and break most of my bones I guess it's only fitting that it also turned my brain to mush.

Newbie alert

2010-07-10T08:51:00.007-04:00

A soldier told me this morning he'd seen the newest "Quad", a Marine who is missing all four limbs. The soldier said all he saw was a torso when he approached him.

This young Marine has one hell of a challenging life ahead of him. We wish him well.

We're also a little embarrassed by our own lame injuries. Between the two of us, the soldier and I have two working legs and at least three functional arms but who's counting, right?

The young limb-less Marine is probably stronger than soldier and me combined.

Squishy Saturday

2010-07-10T08:47:00.007-04:00

The blasted heat has been snuffed out for a day by some rare rain. I can't even remember the last time it was so moist my prosthetic leg squished.....blessed relief (although somewhat treacherous as you can probably imagine).

I gotta get that "water leg".

Fried on Fridays

2010-07-09T17:27:00.004-04:00

Most of the rest of the world looks forward to Fridays. We here at Mologne House do, too. But not for the same reasons. Some of us get out and about. Some of us are stuck here listening to the noise from weekend BBQs in the courtyard. But mostly Fridays are about being fried.

Fried from five days of pounding in PT and OT. Walking. Struggling. Getting our legs "adjusted". Building muscle. Sweating off extra pounds. Sweating out toxins (my sweat has the oddest odor since I was blown up). Climbing on that damned shuttle bus to go back and forth and back and forth between Mologne House and the hospital. Learning new things you can't do and things you might re-learn. Meeting new soldiers and Marines who arrive every week. Chain-smoking as many cigarettes as possible. And, in my case, trying to go to work too. Sometimes I fall asleep on the ride in.

Usually on Fridays I can't imagine how I will stay awake for the weekend much less alive for yet another week ahead.

But plotting the end requires more strength than I can muster.

Walkin barefoot

2010-07-08T12:54:00.004-04:00

My surgeon wants me to walk barefoot (which will also mean taking the shoe off the prosthetic) to build the muscles and bones in my remaining foot. I tried it today, wearing non-stick socks and walking within parallel bars at the MATC.

Its a little strange walking on my right foot. The first thing I noticed is I have no heel bone. I knew this, of course, from my x-rays but imagine standing on your foot with no heel. Its an out-of-body experience.

And then there is the bicycle chain of steel in the center of the foot holding what's left of the bones together.

Not a pleasant walk by any means but a first step...

Grounded

2010-06-29T17:11:00.003-04:00

I have had to turn down a trip to the war zone with a high ranking commander. It was to be my first trip back since being bombed. It gave me something to work towards. Every day I wake up, walk and exercise thinking it's making the trip more likely.

Today I had to tell them I just am not there yet.

It's hard. It's embarrassing.

I want to go back. I'm not scared a bit, except for one thing. I fear being a lame-ass, weak journo who can't keep up with the boys. I will never, ever let one of them look at me with pity.

I will go back to Afghanistan. I just have to be patient. I can't go back til I can jump off a helo without being afraid I'll land face down in the sand with my leg still on the bird.

Petraeus

2010-06-29T17:00:00.003-04:00

Gen. Petraeus was approved today by the Senate Armed Services Committee (nice pick, Obama) and was grilled on timelines, etc. Snore. We all know the date to begin withdrawing troops was never anything more than Obama trying to appease the public and when he said it would be dictated by events on the ground well, duh. The media just loves this. They won't let it go. Even Obama said too much is being made of this and he created this shit-storm.

The only issue the soldiers and Marines here care about is "Rules of Engagement". You know how when some guy is shooting at you and you can't shoot back because he's firing at you from a HOME with CHILDREN inside? So you're supposed to just lay down and die because you're American and have a soul. And then the enemy forces start firing at you from mosques, homes and playgrounds because they realize you can't shoot back??? And they're thinking "Yippee! We're so smart and they're so STUPID!!!"

Petraeus said he would take a hard look at the issue. He'd better. The only thing worse than having Congress and the American public in your face is having your own soldiers despise you.

Deadly deadly

2010-06-26T09:37:00.001-04:00

June is already the deadliest month yet for NATO troops and now is approaching the awful milestone for American soldiers. The deadliest month of the war.

Enjoy your new gig, Gen. Petraeus. Can't imagine why you'd want to ruin your war record now.

The Weekend

2010-06-26T09:23:00.009-04:00

It was so hot by 9a, it was difficult to be outside. So many of us remain in our rooms, watching TV. I should be walking on my new leg (a Mod3) but I'd rather chill in the chair.

More than a dozen new "patients" have arrived at Walter Reed. Civilian nurses and aides are often called on to perform tasks that used to be reserved for doctors. Like washouts (to prevent or kill infections in our stumps). Everyone is working overtime I'm told. I've never heard any of the doctors or aides complain.

I've met some of the new guys here at Mologne House. One was hit in Wardak, the province bordering Logar where we got blown to pieces. I told him I'd heard Warkak was even more dangerous and he said "you're the one who lost your leg". Wink.

At Bethesda, they opened a new building for incoming. A lot of the Marines were forced to go to the ceremony this week. It was a long, brutally hot day and most of them resented having to make the trip. It wasn't about their guys, who they'd do anything for. The ceremony, they said, was about a building and they could care less.

The Marine Liaison has been very kind to me. He worried I was always alone and invited me to show up for formation. I told him the ONLY advantage to being a civilian here is not having to wake up early for that.

The real story

2010-06-20T21:37:00.021-04:00

I remember nothing. This story was related to me tonight by the very young soldier who rescued me.

We left Camp Altimur, in Logar Province south of Kabul, for Camp Chark and the beginning of "Chark Week", an operation by the U.S. military to route out bomb makers.

Minutes before we rolled out, the soldiers in the first vehicle asked me if I wanted to join them, instead of riding in the MRAP behind. I agreed, but asked them which vehicle was safer. A soldier told me, "it depends which vehicle gets hit".

The driver of my new vehicle, who now claims our ASV (Armored Security Vehicle) "should never have been outside the wire", has just called me. It is the first time he's been able to talk to me because of the PTSD he is suffering from. He remembers a blast, the smell of smoke, oil and blood. He remembers ammo "cooking off". He lost consciousness.

When he woke up he screamed at the soldier in the passenger seat to come to. The driver then jumped out of the vehicle, realizing it had completely rolled over to an upright position, all of the windows and doors were blown out. Still, he climbed in the back. The ammo rounds were exploding. The smoke was so thick he couldn't see anything.

But he found his gunner, Wheeler, dead. There was a pole through his head and jaw. The ammo rounds had penetrated his brain and lung. He died instantly.

I was screaming "somebody get me out of here" and remarkably complaining I needed to pee. The driver and the other soldier worked to free me. They yelled at me to pee where I was. No one would care. My legs and body were "jello". They found a stretcher and tried to figure out how to get me on it. My limbs were everywhere. I was surrounded by ammo cans and the driver said he couldn't believe they hadn't crushed my body or exploded, incinerating me.

Helicopters were called in. I was flown, with the driver and other soldier, to FOB Shank. There, I was isolated. Someone came in to the room where the driver was being treated and said the journalist is screaming for the blond haired, blue eyed soldier. He came to me and I asked him, "are my legs still there?" The medics wouldn't tell me. He told me "yes, they are, but there are steel rods in them". He had come to me with pen and paper and I told him to write everything down. It would be months later before I found his note in my bag explaining, briefly, what had happened. "You were hit by in ied August 28, 2009. Spc. Wheeler was killed. I pulled your body from the vehicle".

We were NOT hit past FOB Shank as I remember from my coma, but 50 meters beyond the gates of Camp Altimur. The bomb was NOT an 80 pounder as the military told CBS and my family but a 300 POUNDER that left a "massive crater", according to driver, who also said EOD told him they couldn't believe anyone survived. The ASV was banned by the US military after our hit. We should have never been in it.

As we left for our mission, my driver was told by an Army Major Moore (10th Mountain Division, Fort Drum) that we were going to travel through an area heavy with ieds and to "have fun". My driver and Spc. Wheeler (who was killed) prayed before we rolled out, sensing something horrible was about to happen. Delta Force and Route Clearance troops were supposed to be on the road ahead of us. Delta was out TWO HOURS before. Route Clearance stayed on base for "maintenance".

And now we know the story...which I've just begun to re-live, factually.

The call was always going to come

2010-06-20T19:54:00.004-04:00

The soldier who pulled me from the destroyed vehicle, along with his broken friend, has just texted me. He says he has TBI (traumatic brain injury) and PTSD and at Ft Drum they think he's crazy. He wants to talk. I knew this call would come one day.

He had left a note in my bag which I found months later at Walter Reed.

And now we will talk.

PSTD

2010-06-17T05:49:00.003-04:00

Woke up from a nightmare. Dreamed I was a double. Sweating, heart racing, stomach churning.

Food for champions

2010-06-16T20:17:00.004-04:00

I rarely eat at Mologne House. I have wonderful friends who know that the best medicine is good food and they bring me fresh treats. Not everyone here is so lucky apparently. They talked tonight about the "hamburger patties" swimming in water before someone tosses it on a stale, hard bun and hands it over with a side of brown lettuce. Yummy! Want a pickle with that?

That got the soldiers talking about MREs....the military's way of torturing its soldiers and Marines. The smell of preservatives so strong you have to close your eyes to take a bite of the mystery meat.

Having said this, none of us is under-weight. Those who have cars hit Mickey Ds. Some soldiers survive on Kit Kat bars. And almost all of us are now addicted to sugary drinks (before I was blown up I would never touch one) and put on lots of extra pounds by pounding them down non-stop.

A head count

2010-06-16T19:59:00.006-04:00

A bunch of us were sitting out behind Mologne House smoking when one of the soldiers says, "Hey! We have more people than legs!"

A quick count proved him right. Five of us and only four legs among us.

There was also one arm missing.

We thought it was so funny.

P.S.

2010-06-16T13:12:00.002-04:00

I was done. I really was. There is something inside of me keeping me alive. Just barely. But its doing its job. For now.

Quote of the day

2010-06-16T13:05:00.001-04:00

Off the meds "you're feeling your PTSD more"--from the surgeon who chopped off my leg.

I want my meds back.

Incoming

2010-06-16T13:01:00.003-04:00

11 more soldiers arrived here over the weekend. 4 more Monday night. When will this country realize what is happening here? There are no news stories (though David Martin tries his best), and obviously the military isn't going to comment. In the meantime, I hear Walter Reed is 50 million dollars over budget...and the blown-up soldiers and Marines just keep arriving.

Some of the Marines at Bethesda (including a few more triple and quadruple amputees) are not dealing well.

But shhhhhh. Don't tell anyone. It's one of those hidden costs of being an American.

And by the way, with five to ten NATO soldiers being blown up each day...the battle for Kandahar is officially on hold. We wouldn't want to lose now would we?

PTSD

2010-06-10T03:58:00.002-04:00

After nine tours in Iraq, three in Afghanistan, 9-11 and Hurricane Katrina I thought I knew PTSD. I've suffered bouts of it. It wasn't so obvious to me, but to others who would recommend I get help. But NOW I know I have it and it sucks. Nightmares, sweats, constant anxiety and depression. I dreamed the other night I couldn't get off a bus because I'd forgotten my leg. That's the dream I remember. The others are tearing me up inside. I wake up every morning wanting to vomit.

I have amnesia about my bombing (thankfully) but maybe somewhere deep inside I AM remembering.

I'd give just about anything for a night of restful sleep. So would most of the soldiers and Marines here.

Dangerous roller

2010-06-10T03:55:00.002-04:00

When I was outside for a smoke this morning at 3a, a double amputee in a wheelchair bummed a cigarette from me and thanked me for being outside because he lives in the barracks and "everyone's in their rooms". He was getting off meds, but the pain is constant and keeps him awake. So he'd taken three or four Ambien and was downing Red Bulls. I told him I thought that may be part of the problem, but he says the withdrawal from RB is even worse than the narcotics.

He was so sleepy that he nearly fell out of his chair twice.

He rolled off into the night, but I'm worried about him. He is alone and hurting very much.

7 a.m.

2010-06-09T14:47:00.003-04:00

A young soldier traps me in the smoking tent, grilling me about my back (broken). His, too, was badly injured and he wants to know when it will stop hurting. He asked me why his pain meds weren't working. I told him different drugs work for different people but bottom line: get the f*ck off them.

He's a newbie, fresh from hospital (on his first day pass), and full of questions.

His company of 100 men was stationed near Kandahar. 20 of them are either here now, on their way, or dead.

Here's a story you'll never read anywhere else

2010-06-09T14:38:00.003-04:00

A lot of the guys who arrive here don't make it. You don't hear much about that. We only see stories about the guys who died when they stepped on the bombs, or the amputees who are so "lucky" to have survived.

But apparently there are lots of guys, blown to bits, who make the journey all the way here to Walter Reed, just like I did, on the flying ambulance with the brilliant medical assistants. But then they die.

Someone told me the other day that the mortuary workers here quit in droves. Most of them young people who never expected to see so many broken bodies, young soldiers and Marines, who lost their final battle.

Help wanted...

Walking on the Moon

2010-06-09T14:32:00.002-04:00

I walked on grass and gravel for the first time today. The grass was easier than I expected. You never know where that hole will appear but at least it's soft if you fall. The gravel, that was another story. My ankle and knee got a real workout as I was slipping and sliding over the rocks. And to go down there would have hurt like hell.

But I needed to do it. Most military bases have gravel. Even healthy I hated it, but it was unavoidable.

I walked thirty minutes with a belt attached (and my therapist on the other end) but it felt like hours.

Extra Storage Space

2010-06-09T14:29:00.002-04:00

A Marine, double amputee above the knee and missing a few fingers, was telling me he uses his bed for storage. I asked him where he sleeps. He said he only needs several inches of bed space. So he sleeps amidst his stacks of clothes, books, etc.

Bloody June

2010-06-08T05:46:00.001-04:00

Ten NATO service members killed yesterday, including five Americans in one bombing. Two already today...

Is anyone paying attention?

I guess it could be worse

2010-06-07T06:25:00.002-04:00

For all of the boredom and insomnia I am dealing with, some of the guys are worse off. Mainly because they have NOTHING to do. A couple of soldiers have injuries that prevent them from even going to Physical Therapy. So they sit around Mologne House, and smoke, and pace. I see them often at 3am. They seem almost brain dead.

This place really will suck the life out of you.

Part of me worries about moving on with all of the hassles that will entail. Another part of me knows it will be the best thing I can do.

Really?

2010-06-07T06:21:00.001-04:00

Sandra Bullock compares her personal troubles to an IED

(UPI)-- In a surprise appearance at Spike TV's Guys Choice Awards, the Academy Award winner accepted the "Troops Choice" award from members of the military and received a standing ovation, People Magazine reported.

"Did I win this for being entertainer of the year, or did I win this because of the spectacular IED (improvised explosive device) explosion that became my personal life?" Bullock, wearing a fitted leather mini-dress, asked the audience.

Those people who post comments to news stories

2010-06-03T06:08:00.006-04:00

I added some news stories (see links to the right), but I get so angry at some of the people who post comments about them. The piece David Martin did on a quad amputee brought out all kinds of war chatter. The soldiers and Marines are visiting these sites to watch the videos. I know this for a fact. And they shouldn't have to read all that crap.

Why can't people just wish them well for the many challenges that lie ahead? They face the rest of their lives battling daily obstacles. They need support and love and encouragement.

Yes, war is hell. But we here at Walter Reed already know that...

Leave your war comments on the political websites.

A weekend away

2010-06-02T06:12:00.006-04:00

I finally got out of Mologne House for a few days. My first trip away since I arrived here last August. I was taken to the eastern shore of Maryland and I went two days without getting in my wheelchair. A huge accomplishment. I guess getting away IS good.

The showers and bath in the house were not accessible so I came back smelly but happier.

Now I'm on a mission. The withdrawal symptoms still pound me at night (insomnia) and in the morning (anxiety), but they are easing some. I took the shuttle to the hospital yesterday, leaving my chair in my room, and walked all day. Last night I had MUSCLE cramps in my right leg. Odd in that there isn't any muscle there. Yet. My knee pounded me last night from climbing on and off that shuttle bus. The drivers stood by in case I fell out the door...

I feel like I'm emerging (or at least peeking out) from a black cloud. I just have to find the strength to keep moving forward.

Day 17

2010-05-26T05:29:00.002-04:00

...of withdrawal. The insomnia still rules my world. When I sleep I have the most anxious thoughts and dreams. Its usually a stomach ache that wakes me. This morning it was phantom pain in my amputated leg. It felt like someone was going at me with a hammer.

I found a forum on Lyrica on the Internet. Most people describe the exact same symptoms I'm having. I went through another round of arguing with the docs here yesterday. They want to put me on anti-depressants now.

The pain was so pounding yesterday I barely walked at all. And I snapped at most of the people who came near. Lack of sleep = irritability.

A quote I found

2010-05-21T17:54:00.001-04:00

"Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'"

Good thing I gave up horses

2010-05-21T14:43:00.002-04:00

I'm told during yesterday's ride, which I skipped, one of the horses was startled and bolted and the others followed suit. Including one horse carrying a soldier who was riding for the first time. So much for therapeutic riding.

One more thing NOT to say

2010-05-21T14:37:00.004-04:00

A woman commented to a soldier today, "it must be so nice to wear shorts!"

The soldier offered to trade HIS shorts for HER legs and uniform.

For the record, the guys wear shorts year round. Ever tried to get a pair of pants over a prosthetic leg? And the liners make them so hot your leg is sweating even when the temperature outside is below zero.

And one more thing....

2010-05-21T10:27:00.001-04:00

How difficult is it for the housekeepers here to remember NOT to put the shower sprayer back up on the hook so that an amputee can't possibly reach it?

What NOT to say to a "wounded warrior"

2010-05-21T10:21:00.005-04:00

A therapist asked me today how my "good" foot is doing. I told her I am trying to walk more and hope it will get better and better. And she said, "I don't know. Your x-rays are really screwed up".

Idiot.

So here I was feeling so accomplished, having walked almost the entire distance between Mologne House and the hospital for the first time. And she ruined it...

Like I needed a reminder of just how blown up I was.

Now I feel like everyone is lying to me about whether I'll recover.

More arrivals

2010-05-19T23:03:00.002-04:00

The guys tell me 9 more soldiers arrived Sunday night. A doctor's assistant was telling me today how busy everyone is with "so many amputees"!

What the docs don't seem to know

2010-05-19T05:13:00.009-04:00

The docs seem surprised by my withdrawal symptoms from Lyrica. The soldiers are not. Three of them have described symptoms similar to mine and the awful loneliness in trying to stop. No appetite. Constant trips to the bathroom. Insomnia. Anxiety. Depression. Constant pain. Night sweats and chills. Weeks of it.

One of them was just taken off it while an inpatient at Bethesda. One of the sweetest boys I've ever met, he was embarrassed because he'd been so "irritable toward the nurses".

I went to a psychiatrist yesterday. He wouldn't give me anything for the anxiety and actually suggested I take a Lyrica capsule. Why would I do that when I've suffered so much already? He reminded me again of why we all feel so isolated and helpless. No one, not even the doctors, truly gets it. This same doc said to me "of course, I've never taken Lyrica..."

Of course you haven't. And that's why you're so irresponsible in prescribing it so freely. What do you care that we'll suffer quietly and alone in our rooms later?

out of my mind

2010-05-18T05:52:00.002-04:00

It won't stop. The morning sickness. The panic attacks. I feel like nine months after being blown up the PTSD is just now gripping me. And it won't let go. And it will kill me if I can't numb it somehow. The insomnia. The stomach aches. The thoughts. I can't get out of my body. I can't escape my head. The thought of doing anything or going anywhere is more than I can handle. Everything weighs on me, pushing me down like I'll drown. I turn the tv on to tune out my head but it drives me nuts, the babble. I even tried watching religious shows Sunday morning. Maybe God would help me. But he didn't. I took a sleeping pill last night. What a waste. I still woke up at 2 a.m. wanting to spew...

Mornings were my best time. I had some hope. The pain of the day hadn't set in yet.

Now mornings fill me with dread. I feel paralyzed.

Morning sickness

2010-05-13T05:20:00.003-04:00

Nothing like waking up at 4a for the third straight morning, wanting to puke your guts up. On the bright side, my quest to get off meds means I don't sleep til 9 and still have trouble getting up. On the other hand, all I want to do is roll around in bed moaning requests to God to make it stop soon.

A day to wallow

2010-05-11T15:23:00.019-04:00

Today is the Alive Day of a young Air Force EOD officer here. Your Alive Day is the day you were blown to smithereens. You're supposed to mark the occasion annually by doing something. We're not sure what.

"Mississippi" (imagine the lead character in The Hurt Locker, but sane) is choosing to wallow instead of celebrate. He keeps picturing himself blown up one year ago just after he discovered and detonated the big one, but somehow managed to miss the small one nearby. Whoops. That cost him a leg and a half. He saved the life of an Afghan soldier, though, waving him off just in time.

Tragically, two days ago, Mississippi fell off a stationary bike and banged himself up pretty good. So he's not in a good mood anyway.

Mississippi doesn't want a drink to toast his Alive Day. And he wasn't even tempted by a Kit Kat bar. That's just strange.

Maybe this Alive Day sh*t is just over-rated and we should all go back to celebrating our birthdays.

Sure my opinion is warped...see below..

2010-05-09T13:49:00.000-04:00

Maybe it's just me...

2010-05-09T10:52:00.013-04:00

My stomach hurts over Hamid Karzai's visit to Walter Reed and Arlington National cemetery this week. One soldier's mother just said to me, "I hope he makes it out of here alive". Karzai writes an editorial in today's Washington Post that he wants to pay tribute to Americans who have fought in his country.

A more fitting tribute would be cleaning up his act.

The three men arrested in connection with my bombing had an Afghan official's phone number on their cell phone. The Afghan government demanded the U.S. release one of the men, even though they were all clearly guilty. Not just for wounding me. The U.S. soldier next to me was killed. His murder made August the deadliest month for American troops since the invasion of Afghanistan.

Two of the bombers, I mean suspects, had been freed at last check. I'm sure the other is skipping his way to weekly Taliban meetings now.

I'm very anxious to see the reaction of troops here to Karzai's visit. But it will also be hard to watch. I am having difficulty just thinking about it.

From CBS News Correspondent David Martin's story in August:

Lt. Col. Tom Gukeisen told CBS News three men were arrested after a search by the Afghan army brought in suspects with evidence on their hands.

"There were three individuals there that had explosives three times the normal limit or tolerance levels for TNT," Gukeisen said.

David Martin watched as a team of investigators boarded a helicopter carrying the physical evidence, including fingerprints, that could convict the three men of murdering an American soldier and wounding a U.S. citizen -- except one of the bombers had a cell phone with a number to the Ministry of Defense in Kabul. That might explain why a letter arrived from the Ministry saying they'd arrested the wrong man.

"We think he was tied to the Ministry of Defense," Gukeisen said. "Someone in that office that began to put political pressure."

The three are still in U.S. custody and could be put on trial. But U.S. officers say there will be neither justice nor security -- no matter how many American troops -- if the central government pulls strings for roadside bombers.

Chatty Cathys

2010-05-08T15:55:00.011-04:00

I've noticed you can tell the new arrivals because of how much they talk. I mean no disrespect. I did this, too. Chatting away happily about anything and everything, annoyingly. Ask my sister. I tortured her for months. But now I get it. That sense that life is out of your control and you're so frightened you think you can talk your fears away.

It doesn't work.

But the soldier who just annoyed ME, quoting the bible every five seconds, talking AT some fellow soldier non-stop like only HE had injuries, doesn't know all that yet.

He was like a machine gunner with his talking. All you could do was duck for cover.

Those of us who have been here awhile tend to be a little more introspective. And rather than talking about every thought that pops in to our heads....we don't always feel the need to share. How will I get through today? You have to figure that out for yourself. All the talking in the world won't bring that leg back.

And if you're not LISTENING, you're not learning.

And trust me. If you don't learn from these guys... YOU ARE SCREWED.

Karzai visit

2010-05-07T16:39:00.001-04:00

President Karzai visits Washington next week. Some soldiers and Marines here hope his motorcade hits an ied. Now we find out he may visit here?

We can do anything and then...

2010-05-03T12:35:00.004-04:00

This is my friend, Josh. I stole his photo and posted it here. He won't mind. It's cool. And so is he. Here he is at the Boston Marathon.

Nice leg.

I walked all weekend. I survived incredible pain in BOTH legs. And then I noticed my left ARM was swelling? WTF? The plate running on the outside from my elbow to my wrist is sticking out, red and hot.

I was afraid I had an infection and went to the hospital this morning. My wing is wrapped now and I'm resting. A therapist said I was "riding my canes too hard"?!

It's a little early for this, dude

2010-05-01T08:30:00.002-04:00

A soldier just bummed a smoke from me. He was nervous, waiting for his mother, who was driving in from New York. His wife beat him up last night. They were arguing. He has all four limbs but fell on a box in Iraq and got stabbed by something. It punctured a lot of his major organs so when his wife punched him in the gut last night he ended up in ER.

His mom is coming to the rescue but the soldier said he wants to get back with his wife, who is staying with a friend after he called police. He texted her early this morning that he couldn't live without her and said to me, "she is my everything".

It's tough being alone and going through all of this I suppose.

Go on, stick me

2010-04-29T15:24:00.011-04:00

Obviously the acupuncture isn't working. My ears are ringed with tiny golden studs. One fell off last night as I was sleeping. But the docs say to expect that. My doc also commented on what a "good patient" I am, sitting so still as he stapled those little bastards into my ears. Think of getting your ears pierced through the cartilage. Hurts a wee bit but nothing compared to getting yourself blown up.

My withdrawal hasn't improved much. The phantom pain in my amputated leg is kicking my ass. I just went to the pharmacy and waited an hour for a higher dose of Lyrica. It's a non-narcotic drug that helps relieve nerve pain. The pharmacy is only slightly less painful then the acupuncture. Old people crashing into you with their wheelchairs, babies screaming, etc.

I talked to a soldier this morning who is hooked on Methadone. He also happened to be stoned out of his mind on Percocet. He couldn't keep his eyes open. I was afraid he was going to fall over on me. He's been here for five years.

I did get some good news this morning! The docs and the therapists say I am ready for my carbon fiber socket. Lighter, more flexible and horrifyingly expensive...you only get it when you quit shrinking, which I have. Better days are ahead.

2010-04-29T11:56:00.001-04:00

Back in the saddle (and pardon my f*cking language)

2010-04-29T11:44:00.010-04:00

You gotta give me some credit. I keep trying. I get back up again, as that Tubthumping song goes...but son of a bitch if I didn't get pissed off today and it's a good thing journalists aren't armed. My horseback riding days are OVER.

I go to the stables, which by the way is an agonizing trip in a mini van with a young female driver speeding, slamming on brakes and swerving through traffic while your wheelchair is flying from one side of the van to the other...it doesn't get much more fun.

Back to the stables..Minnie jumps immediately after I'm on her when a motorcycle roars by. She nearly throws me off. Then again when there is a jet flyover. Funeral. Both times my so-called side guard react AFTER I'VE calmed her and somehow stayed in the saddle.

BECAUSE THEY'RE F*CKING TALKING. It's non-stop chatter. About movies, books, tv shows, girlfrends, etc. I can't hear the horse therapy people. My horse can't hear my commands. The side guards aren't listening to anything other than their own chatter and then one of them nearly takes my OTHER leg off when Minnie sideswipes a F*CKING STEEL POLE. WHILE HE'S F*CKING LEADING HER!!

Able-bodied soldiers. They can't shut the f*ck up for one f*cking hour a week while I ride a god-damned horse. I will never forget one of them telling me his arm was tired. Incredible. I told him he should try getting around with one f*cking leg for a day.

F*CK THEM! And the horse they rode in on!

Hell

2010-04-28T12:21:00.003-04:00

I am officially in withdrawal hell. I somehow got to the hospital today. All I wanted to do was lay down on a PT mat and sleep. But I managed to work out. Then I was told to go to the "amputee clinic" where they would perform acupuncture.

So my ears are ringed with pins. And I feel as if I'm on some alien planet. Doses of other meds were increased to handle the phantom pain which has returned since I stopped the Methadone. But I was too tired to go to the pharmacy.

A therapist had to wheel me back to Mologne House, where I got shit from the guys as soon as they spotted me being pushed.

No one cuts anyone a break here.

A soldier told me he'd quit Methadone cold turkey after being on the maximum dose. Though he added that his doc said he should be in a coma right now.

When company is NOT a good thing

2010-04-28T07:58:00.002-04:00

A soldier came outside to burn one on his way to the hospital and said when he'd returned to his room yesterday there were military types inside going through his things. He thought his room was being searched for drugs, but they claimed they were preparing for a ......ROOMMATE!! And, not to worry, but the new guy's on WATCH.

My soldier friend, who has all four limbs but beauty issues after the bomb blew up in his face, was very concerned when the new roomie arrived and said he was on a mental watch list. Pretty Boy got all of thirty minutes sleep last night, afraid the guy was going to jump out of bed and try to kill him. He says he wishes he had drugs to block all of this out. But I told him 'bad idea..you'd just have to suffer from that later'.

Dear Diary

2010-04-27T16:56:00.029-04:00

6a: Wake up. Make coffee. Smoke. Decide against showering. It's too difficult and really only needed a few times a week. Take a Percocet.

7a: Wheel down to cafeteria and snag a frozen cup of OJ and a warm yogurt.

705a: Eat leftover bacon from a friend's visit on Sunday.

8:45a: Wheel to the hospital. Occupational Therapy: Get arm warmed, then manipulated.

9:45a: Smoke.

1045a: Physical Therapy: Walk. Get tired. Get limb and stump checked. Walk a few more laps. Check for an available exercise mat. They're all taken. Pop a Percocet.

11a: Washington Redskins Cheerleaders arrive. Several people comment how they should put some clothes on. Soldiers on meds equals no sex drive. Politely decline teddy bear. Twice.

12p: Yoga. Share a laugh with the amputee soldier on the mat next to me when the instructor suggests Downward Dogs. Lie there comatose. Point out to soldier he isn't doing many of the moves, and he points out he came there to nap.

1p: Smoke. Check Blackberry. Try to fit four wheelchairs with Marines and myself into one elevator. We accomplish. One Marine is high out of his mind and keeps yelling, "Lemme outta here! I'm gonna vomit!"

2p: Therapy. Question your survival and suggest dying would have been f*cking easier. The therapist tells me a psychiatrist who has seen me in the MATC is "worried" about my attitude.

315p: Smoke. Catch the shuttle back to Mologne House. Soldier in the wheelchair next to me doesn't speak. Idiot. He must be new.

3:30p: Eat everything in the tiny refrigerator in my room. Then devour the chocolate people have brought me.

4p: Chat on phone to connect with outside world. Wondering when I can go to bed.

5p: Smoke. Sunny, breezy and cool outside. A soldier complains, "This is shit, man. The steel in my bones is freezing." He wheels inside. And I am left alone.

8p: Full moon. Stunning. The soldiers and Marines and I sit outside and talk about our Methadone addiction.

NY Yankees

2010-04-26T10:45:00.001-04:00

A woman just came outside shouting, "the Yankees are here!"

The banging

2010-04-26T08:53:00.001-04:00

I finally figured out what's causing the pounding noise above me. It's a one-legged soldier hopping around his room.

Methadone

2010-04-26T06:53:00.000-04:00

WHEN will the withdrawal end?

USMC

2010-04-25T14:55:00.012-04:00

There is a new Marine here. He is married with a beautiful baby and wife. We hit it off immediately. He is highly doped and sometimes forgets my name. He calls me "the journalist". He often wears dark sunglasses. He lost his leg in Marjah.

He reaches out to clasp my hand when we pass one another in our wheelchairs.

It's a 'blown up thing'.

Flashbacks to a parallel universe

2010-04-24T09:48:00.004-04:00

I'm starting to think a lot about the time when I was unconscious, and living in a parallel universe. I thought the military was trying to kill me. A female Marine had broken my leg with a baseball bat. It was all part of some grand experiment in which my boss had volunteered me to sacrifice. I remember nurses ignoring my pleas for help, even when an officer put a price on my head and I saw the assassins (young soldiers in need of money) coming for me at night with loaded weapons. I could see their gun barrels sticking through the tent where I was laying on a gurney unable to move. President Obama was trying to reach me by telephone and the military nurses wouldn't hand me the phone. I couldn't move to get it myself. I was afraid he'd be angry. Barbara Starr of CNN was doing live shots about my survival and hoping to air the President's phone call to me.

Sometimes I walked around and smoked a cigarette, wondering where I was.

In reality I wasn't walking, of course. And the phone never rang. It was safely hidden on the floor under my bed. The military had orders not to let anyone contact me by phone or in person. There was a blackout on my condition and whereabouts. But I didn't know that in my medically induced coma.

And I didn't understand my sister's looks of concern and confusion when I told her everything I believed was happening.

Sometimes the entire thing seems surreal. I wake up and roll to the hospital and along the way wonder if this really happened at all.

You're old and your bones aren't growing

2010-04-22T16:11:00.007-04:00

My surgeon told me today that the bones in my right foot are weanies. Partly due to my age, partly due to not using the foot, and partly due to getting blown up in Afghanistan. They're just these tiny things that aren't strong and healthy.

I've been put on a mega dose of Vitamin D, extra calcium (ice cream?) and ordered to lose my boot!

WAH!

That's my security blankie!

I'm to use my FOOT. My BARE foot. And walk on it without wearing a shoe on the prosthetic foot, either. Doc Gordan did advise I should have someone around. But as that's not possible, I'll just try it in baby steps.

Grow bone grow! And don't break if I fall!

Junk TV for the recovering addict

2010-04-22T08:13:00.006-04:00

It's not getting any easier. Three nights now without Methadone. I couldn't sleep last night and instead watched the 25 Most Horrible Hollywood Murders (or some such drivel on E!), which only upset me. I almost cried when Charles Manson's followers murdered Sharon Tate. The Black Dalia story broke my heart. And who decided we needed to re-hash the Nicole Brown Simpson murder one more time?

It was either E! or one of the Housewives of....reality shows. They always depress me because I wish I could go back to the days when my concerns were so petty. I mean, really. How many hours a day do they spend getting dolled up to go before the cameras and accuse each other of being the biggest, baddest bitch?

The noise last night from my Mologne House neighbors drove me nuts. Doors slamming, kids running around in the room above me, and even the baritone voice of the soldier in the room next door. I was wondering why the noise never kept me awake before and then I remembered...I've been doped up every night!

I didn't last long on my second day back to work. I was worn out within a couple of hours, my foot was hugely swollen. I was sick to my stomach and bloated. So I called a car and came back "home". But there just wasn't any rest available here.

This morning I slept too late to make horseback riding. Instead I'm hosting a pity party.

I will give myself a pat on the back, though, for not reaching for that Methadone pill...I know it would make my world better, if only for a few hours.

Addicted

2010-04-21T08:40:00.002-04:00

I've written about this before. Getting off meds SUCKS. But I am now two nights without Methadone. That's a huge victory for me. I've been on Methadone since my arrival here at Walter Reed eight months ago. My first attempts were failures because the night sweats and chills were overwhelming, almost as much as the dark moods that came over me. So I took it slow, using a pill splitter and getting down to such a low dose that when it came time to quit it wasn't so jarring to my system.

One med down, only seven more to go.

Welcome to the Real World

2010-04-20T13:38:00.003-04:00

It felt so strange to return to work Monday. Granted, it's a different environment from New York. Much calmer, quieter. But just being there for five hours wiped me out. I'm trying out my arms, and typing, and the legs.

Mostly, it just wiped me out being somewhere other than the MATC (Military Advanced Training Center), our gym. It will be an adjustment for sure.

Poor Rolly

2010-04-20T13:37:00.005-04:00

Just sent back to the Academy for a little "continuing education". Will he still beg for food when he returns to the MATC? Will he be nicer? Pay attention to the Wounded Warriors? We'll see...

Rolly welcomed me to the MATC many months ago by giving me a tongue bath as I laid on my mat for the first time. Then he ignored me completely until another round of surgery after which he cleaned me up again. I've seen him follow this same routine with countless soldiers. Otherwise he doesn't want much to do with us. He once knocked my five pound weights off the mat to make room for a nap.

SATURDAY

2010-04-17T12:19:00.011-04:00

It's Saturday and some friends have offered to drive me to Annapolis for a late lunch. It's a beautiful day. I tossed and turned all night, worrying about my foot and starting work next week.

I ordered some new clothes online, as shopping is awful in a wheelchair. Stores push clothing racks so close together you can't wheel around them and spend the entire time figuring out how to get out of the clothing jungle. You're invisible to other shoppers and they run right in to you. You can't reach the cashier's counter. Most stores have front doors you can't get through because they open outwards and you can't pull them towards you from your chair. I've waited for other shoppers to open doors for me but sometimes they just brush past you. My mother, God bless her, stormed out of one department store when my chair couldn't squeeze into the fitting room. She made sure to let the saleswoman know why we were leaving and not trying on the hundreds of dollars worth of clothes we'd picked out.

It's a whole new life as a "disabled" person.

This morning I tipped my housekeeper 20 bucks just to set up my ironing board.

Annapolis is a historic district and that scares me. Steep inclines, second floor restaurants, etc. I'm hoping to have fun but each day in a wheelchair is a challenge.

And more incentive to get the hell out of it...

And most definitely more reason to fight for the rights of the disabled.

TGIF

2010-04-16T12:46:00.012-04:00

Wait! What do I care that it's Friday?

The second most annoying question at Walter Reed Army Medical Center is "what are you doing this weekend?"

The MOST annoying question is "how was your weekend?"

You understand.

Anyhoo....I'm wheeling to OT this morning, barely moving the wheelchair and feeling old and tired, when who should come walking down the hall....? Doctor Shawn! Foot and Ankle Surgeon! Also, an incredibly wonderful person. I haven't seen him in months so it strikes me immediately that this encounter is fateful.

He actually kneels down next to my wheelchair, pulls out a piece of paper and draws me a picture of my foot and ankle, explaining to me as he's drawing what's going on inside me. Tragically one of my fractures is a 5 on a scale of one to 4. That sucks. BUT...there is hope for me and it doesn't necessarily involve surgery. Yet. Heel wedges, orthodics, special shoes...all this I can do! Old age is just around the corner so I'll be better prepared than most!

I guess what struck me most about all of this is A) Doc Shawn is one of the surgical rock stars who deserves the praise soldiers heap on him B) Doc Shawn can talk about a bone implant like it's the most simple procedure on Earth--but hey, this is Walter Reed C) I won't have to give up just yet.

When I asked him if I'm going to walk on this foot he said, simply, "that's the goal".

Clobbered

2010-04-15T14:32:00.002-04:00

I may need more surgery. Nice knowing everyone...

"If you're going through hell, keep going"--Winston Churchill