Accidental Blogger

The Bush administration has a horrible record of squaring with the American public about the true cost of the Iraq war. Yes, the relevant cost of a war is not measured in dollars but in human lives, lost and mangled. We will never know the true extent of Iraqi lives lost and destroyed but at least the  loss to Americans should be subject to honest reckoning. Right from the beginning of the war, the troika of Bush-Cheney-Rummy  worked diligently to block access to journalists wishing to report on the arrival of coffins of soldiers killed in Iraq at Dover Air force Base. The cowardly warmongers figured that Americans upset by the images will withdraw support for their pet "immoral" project. But we do know the number of soldiers dead. The media keep an accurate count.  Much more murky is the number of young men and women whose lives have been shattered by devastating injuries.  These soldiers face a complicated future where they must cope with life with broken bodies and diminished minds. Now it seems that these injured soldiers too are an embarrassment for the heartless Bush administration – its officials don’t want us to see those who came back from Iraq with missing limbs and other visible, life altering injuries.  They are not photogenic enough for the hollow presidency of George W. Bush !

But the amputees, the severely burnt, the brain injured and the mentally traumatized soldiers are out there. They live among us. They are not going away. They are sons, daughters, husbands, wives, mothers and fathers. The country must learn to deal with their needs with compassion and generosity. Denial is not an option. My good friend Nancy was recently at the wedding of a soldier. There she met another soldier with extensive injuries brought about by an exploding IED. Let us call him C.  Here is Nancy’s account of her encounter and a follow up of C’s current circumstances.

"I recently went to the wedding of a friend’s son­, a twenty-two year old Army corporal. He was home from his first tour of duty in Iraq and would, most likely, be returning in December. He had met his lovely bride in Germany, before he was sent to Iraq.

Some of his Band of Brothers were there to share this day with him. Their fresh faces and sharp uniforms contrasted with the rest of the congregation­, mostly like us, friends of the groom’s parents.

In front of me and my husband sat another young man and beside him, his adoring bride (I checked out their ring fingers). I learned later that they had been married almost a year. He was twenty-one and she had just turned eighteen. They had traveled to Houston from San Antonio for the wedding. He was one of the groom’s best friends in Iraq, but he was not in uniform like the others.

Throughout the sermonette on the mystery of marriage, the young couple sat very close. She leaned her head on his shoulder, her long black hair trailing down his back. During the vows, he put his arm protectively around her and hugged her tightly. It was then I noticed that he had been wounded. There were deep holes the size of silver dollars in his scalp where no hair would ever grow again. Some of the wounds were red, some were white. One larger scar spread across the top of his head making a shallow trench. Other smaller wounds, so called “collateral damage,” peppered his scalp in random patterns. I remember thinking, “So that’s what shrapnel does” and unwillingly pictured the pieces of metal that could have ripped away the flesh in such horrifying little chunks. How anyone could have been injured like that without sustaining brain damage? I couldn’t stop staring and I hoped very much that the young man did not feel my gaze.

The minister interrupted my trance and asked the congregation to stand and pray with him for the new couple. As we rose, the young lady with the beautiful black hair stood up, but her husband did not. I looked down on him and saw that he had no legs – ­none at all ­just enough stumps to allow him to balance on the pew. He reached out to his wife and she grabbed his hand and held it behind her throughout the prayer.

As the newly married couple walked down the aisle beaming to friends and family, we were dismissed one row at a time beginning at the front. Out of turn, the young lady in front of us darted from her seat and went through a nearby door quickly returning with a wheelchair before their row was called.  We waited while her husband transferred awkwardly from the pew to the chair his wife held for him. I felt my husband surge forward to help, but the transfer was made without his assistance.  Visibly embarrassed, the young man smiled at him and quickly tucked his empty pant legs under his stumps so they would not get tangled in the chair’s wheels, and his wife pushed him down the aisle.

I always cry at weddings, but never as much as I did at this one."

Nancy sent me the following update on C’s current situation which she learnt from her friend, the groom’s mother who wrote to say:

C is progressing in his recovery.  He has been walking on what are called"stubbies"; the first step towards getting full leg prosthetics with knees: I have attached an article regarding stubbies. Using two canes, C was able to walk across the parking lot – approximately 900 feet. He expects to remain at […….] (an army base in Texas) for another eight months or so. After that, he and S (his wife) hope to purchase a home and move there. Both of them celebrated birthdays in April – C turned 21 and S is now 19. Ron and I are planning to travel to San Antonio later this year; we will be visiting C and S at that time and will convey your best wishes to them.

(amputee wearing "stubbies") See stubbies in use here.

Note: Thanks Nancy, for sharing this story with our readers.