STORIES FROM AMERICA'S CONFLICTS

Iraq

Time changes many things, but not the sacrifice and suffering of war.

The wounded are the hidden casualties of war – their injuries, daily reminders of a sacrifice that stays constantly with them.  From America's wars, more than 2,300,000 of our soldiers have returned home disabled. In this 21st century war in Iraq, there is no traditional battlefield, only the ever-present possibility of attack and ambush.  No one is safe – the insurgents target innocent civilians as well as military.

Despite their fears, our brave sons and daughters, loved ones and friends, have willingly gone into harm's way.  They face each day with the anguish of not knowing whether they – or a buddy – will be hit. 

More than 34,000 have been wounded in Iraq (as of 4/13/09).

We want to believe our young men and women will heal quickly, but the reality is that many will have to fight a lifelong battle of being disabled.  Each has a deeply personal story to tell.
     
Sgt. Erick Castro was in Iraq as a combat engineer.  He faced the possibility of guerilla attack on a daily basis.  He was wounded and disabled.  One of the strongest influences in his recovery process was Jim Mayer, a Vietnam veteran who volunteers at Walter Reed Hospital in the amputee ward. 

On our 2004 National Memorial Day Concert, the talented young television star Jason Ritter shared Erick Castro’s story of trauma and hope. Acclaimed actor Joe Mantegna recounted the story of “Milkshake Man” Jim Mayer’s experience as an amputee from Vietnam and then a volunteer at Walter Reed Hospital.

SGT. ERICK CASTRO’S STORY OF SURVIVAL
(As portrayed by Jason Ritter)

Last July, we were clearing rocks on Highway 10, on the road to Fallouja …and we got ambushed.  All we heard was a blast, a boom, and everything seemed to slow down.  It was like a movie in slow motion.  A rocket-propelled grenade ripped through our vehicle.  First it hit my gunner, and took off his leg.  Then it hit me, tore off my leg at the hip…and then hit the tank commander, and took off his leg. 

I tried to get up but I couldn't move my leg.  It was still attached by a couple of ligaments, so I picked it up, and laid down on the bench with it.  The gunner and the TC were holding their legs, what was left of them, and screaming their guts off in pain.  That's when I realized that we were in a world of hurt.  My wound was so massive that the tourniquet was useless.  The guys in the squad pressed their hands into my wound to keep me from bleeding to death. 

The next thing I knew I woke up at Walter Reed, a week and a half later.  I had a feeding tube and a chest tube, and another tube in my mouth.  I was really depressed – I figured I was screwed for life.  I couldn't do anything for myself.  I couldn't even brush my teeth without breaking a sweat.  I was afraid I'd be dependent on other people forever.

And the phantom pain – it feels like someone's twisting your ankle, your knee is getting bent the wrong way.  I was in the hospital for nine months.  It's tough to understand what I was going through.  There were some volunteers that did, though – like Jim Mayer.  We call him the milkshake man.

Thanks to Jim, I know that my life's gonna be different now.  But I'm only 24, I'm still young.  I mean, life's not over 'cause I lost a leg.  I see that Jim walks around like nothing's wrong.  He's doing everything for himself.  I figure, okay, there's light at the end of this tunnel. 

JIM MAYER’S STORY OF SURVIVAL
(As portrayed by Joe Mantegna)

Every weekend, I'm on ward 57 at Walter Reed Hospital, asking "Who wants a milkshake?"  I take it real light in the beginning.  "How's it goin'?  How's your family?  Are the phantom pains freaking you out?"  We're there to be a friend.  To just listen, and talk to them about it.

The kids in the ward know we vets went through the same kind of guerilla warfare.  I was in Vietnam long enough to have seen other soldiers, kids really, lose limbs. I don't want to be gross, but it was not a pretty picture.

One day, we were going through some rice paddies, and click, boom. I'd stepped on a land mine.  It blew me straight up in the air.  When I landed and looked down – my left leg had been blown off below the knee.  My right leg was still attached but it was like someone had taken a cleaver to it.  

When I woke up in the hospital two days later, both legs were gone.  I was in the hospital for nine months – I stopped counting after 21 operations. 

When you're "blown up" it blindsides you.  First, there's the physical loss. You look down and there's a stump there.  It's just so horrible to imagine.  But it's there, it's reality.  You think you're never gonna walk again.  

You lay there in bed, saying, "Why me, God?  What did I do wrong?"  You want to go back in time – what if you'd stepped an inch more to the left or right…what if, what if…what if no woman is ever gonna find you attractive?

Then there's the loss of dignity.  The things they have to do to you, you don't have privacy anymore.  The simplest things in life you got to learn how to do again.  How to go to the bathroom by yourself. 

How to walk again, get upstairs.  So dignity is a thing that you gotta try to add back to your life.  Basically, your life changes in an instant.  But with the right support, things can change for the better.  When the war in Iraq began, I started doing volunteer work with the amputees at Walter Reed and Bethesda.  I figure it's my turn to be the older vet.
 
You hear about the soldiers that died, but there's never any follow up about the wounded.  For the most part, the survivors suffer in silence. Sometimes these kids feel that nobody knows they exist
             
So write a letter to a soldier.  Be a volunteer. Help someone get a job.  These guys need to hear,  "You can do it; you can be a regular member of society.  We can help you through this."

Following the actors’ readings, Ossie Davis acknowledged the severely wounded veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan who were guests in our audience and thanked them for their service.  Joe and Jason warmly greeted these veterans, and the audience gave the brave men a rousing and appreciative round of applause.   

Jason Ritter and Joe Mantegna share the moving stories of Erick Castro and Jim Mayer.

REFLECTIONS

“With Memorial Day approaching, my heart aches even more than usual. I will be in D.C. to attend the Memorial Day Ceremonies and also to visit my father's gravesite at Arlington National Cemetery. I will also be honoring my son, Sgt. Thomas Butts, Jr. United States Army, who has been in Iraq since March. My son is a very fortunate soldier since he has with him his grandfather's (my father's) field jacket. I am very proud of my son and of all the other sons and daughters that are overseas protecting us. I have the 'Blue Star' in my front window to show the world my pride.”

Jeanne Butts
Cincinnati, OH