War, through the eyes of a healer/soldier

In the Perspectives section of today’s Sunday Chicago Tribune, there is a very special piece written by a man for whom I have the utmost respect and admiration: Crime Boy’s eldest son, U.S. Army Captain Dan Possley. Please take some time this Memorial Day weekend to read this powerful piece. And remember to thank our men and women in the military for their extraordinary service.

— GG

WAR, ROUND BY ROUND (CHICAGO TRIBUNE)

BY DANIEL POSSLEY

Each room is separated into four cubicles by flimsy curtains that provide only visual privacy. All cries, movements in bed, blaring iPods and conversations can be heard throughout the room. Tacked on the wall, a piece of paper lists the occupants by name, rank and division. Rosaries dangle from many of the pushpins. Some rooms are marked with green stars, indicating that a patient is infected.

The rooms all looked the same to me, whether at Brooke Army Medical Center near San Antonio, Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C., or Madigan Army Medical Center in Tacoma, Wash. These were the hospitals where I rotated last year as part of my Army training with the Chicago College of Osteopathic Medicine at Midwestern University in Downers Grove.

Most beds are covered in blankets from home, some handmade. Frequently, they are topped by a metal support system with a ring suspended from crossbars so soldiers and Marines with battered legs can pull themselves up. A 10-inch TV hangs from the wall, with the fare ranging from ESPN to news to reruns of “Saved by the Bell.” Many of the patients sleep with headphones on, as I did in high school.

Bedside tables look like those in a dorm room—stacked with Gatorade bottles, cookie wrappers, Doritos bags, protein drinks and Skittles. Crammed amid the detritus are Purple Heart medals, usually still in their cases.

Some soldiers and Marines have pictures of their wives and children. Some have so many cards and balloons that you would think it was a high school graduation party.

When I asked these patients what happened, many responded with short sentences.

“I got shot.”

Or simply, “IED” (improvised explosive device).

Then, silence as tears welled up. Some patients just stared into the distance, and I didn’t know if they were trying to find the words or just couldn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say.

There is a lot I would have to know before I could begin to understand what they saw.

These young men and women now know in a powerful way that their world stretches far beyond their neighborhood. No one will ever have to tell them what Baghdad or Mosul or Fallujah is like because they have a permanent copy of it in their minds.

Eventually, I stopped asking them what happened.

The soldiers are almost always skinny. You can see their ribs. Many have tattoos. You can tell the newer arrivals at the hospital because they still have a deep tan on their hands and faces while their bodies look as if they have never seen sun.

Their fingernails still have Middle Eastern dirt underneath them.

FOR THE FULL STORY, CLICK HERE