I ran across this diary entry on the DKos back some time ago. The diary writer is among the few friends that I have made there. She has emailed me to give me updates on this Marine, and I now have to call out for help. This goes beyond insane and corrupt. Can you imagine the nerves of our government, demanding back the equipment, that a Marine lost while he was shot in action, and on the verge of death? Well it is happening, and this is just one story. This story might run too long for one post, so I will try to split it up if I have to. I will edit it for any words that I might need to, but some of the screen shots, are not gonna be done. So keep in mind, before you go further, the F-Bomb might be dropped a few times during the course of this three part series. He is a Marine after all, and his relative can be expected to respond in that manner, given the situation.
So this is the scene that started it all. This is from the first diary of zoots dream gearle
I’m pissed! Pissed enough to diary for the first time. Here’s a story for you…
My cousin’s son is a Marine. He joined before he had even graduated from high school (of course). About a year after he graduated, while yet a teen, his unit was deployed to Afghanistan. Three months later on August 14, 2005 he was out on a mission with about 35 Marines. Insurgents surrounded them, and shots were fired. Many shots. When all was said and done 211 “Taliban bitches” (as he calls them) were killed that day and 5 Marines were injured, two very seriously. My cousin’s son was one of them. This kid has wanted to be a Marine and fight for his country for much of his life. He was injured doing something that he signed up for and was proud to do. I do not agree with this war, and I am pissed off that we are there and all that…but that is not why I am writing this, that’s a whole different diary. It’s what has happened since he was shot that f’king(Edited) pisses me off…
Back to that day…he was eating when the first shots were fired. He tried to get up and roll over to grab his gun, but he couldn’t stand up. He didn’t realize it at the time, but he had been shot in the front of his lower leg, just missing the shinbone. The bullet exited through his calf. By the time he got his gun, from just beside him, he had been hit a second time, this time in the butt and out through the thigh (some think these wounds were actually not entrance and exit wounds from one bullet, but actually from two bullets, it’s all a bit sketchy). He lost a lot of blood and nearly died while waiting 3 hours for the transport. The good news is he is alive.
Like many injured soldiers, he spent five days in Germany before heading to Bethesda, where he spent three weeks. He was in and out of several surgeries throughout this time, and was finally sent home in September for 60 days of convalescent leave. A very thin, shell of a boy got off that plane, in a lot of pain and in a wheelchair. We were all there, with signs of welcome, proud handshakes, tears, and even television cameras. My kindergarten students and their “third grade buddies” made cards for his return. No matter what you think of this war, this administration, the lies…etc…when you watch someone you love, a child, get off the plane in that condition, none of that matters…for a moment. All that matters is that he made it through the hell to get back home.
Fast forward sixty days and we are getting closer to why I am writing. He was sent back to his base, in November. He’s been sitting there, doing nothing since then. When he first got there, his unit was still out, so none of his “buddies” were with him. He was put in the barracks and left there, basically forgotten. He had to beg for rides to and from his therapy (keep in mind he is still in a wheelchair at this time). They would get him to his therapy, and then be too busy to get him back. Or they would forget to take him, etc. He turned twenty during this time.
Now I’m starting to get pissed. But there’s more…
His unit came back to their home base in January. Just before they arrived, my cousin’s son actually did something. He made “goodie bags” for his unit’s return. That’s it. At this point, he’s been on base, basically alone, without transportation, without work or anything to do but sit, while “waiting around for chow” as he puts it. So making “goodie bags” was something, at least. He was glad to see his buddies again. He actually got to hear the story of that day in August…the story that he didn’t really know because he was unconscious much of the time, dehydrated from vomiting, and passing out from the blood loss. As soon as his unit returned, they were sent home on leave for a month, leaving my cousin’s son on the base, alone again.
Fast forward to now. My cousin’s son is walking, sort of. He is not in a wheel chair, he is walking with a brace on his ankle and a cane. He purchased a bicycle to ride to and from therapy…apparently the only f’king(Edited) way he was going to get there. He will be disabled for the rest of his life. His foot/ankle will never be right. In fact, his foot just flops…it hangs there. It must be in a brace for him to be able to walk at all. But he is alive. He is still doing nothing. He is bored. He is restless. Why isn’t he home? If they are just going to let him sit there, decaying mentally, why don’t they send him home? He calls our house at 2 a.m. after nearly drinking himself to death. He talks to my 17-year old daughter, his cousin, and friend. He tells her about seeing people tortured. He tells her about the blood. He tells her about the 5 year old little girl that would carry her 2 year old little sister on her back everyday to the base, begging them to help her burned little sister. He tells her about pregnant women and children that had to be shot because they were pointing guns at them. He tells her about seeing his blood on the buddies that were trying to save him while they were waiting for the helicopter transport. He tells her about going to the restaurant with his buddies when they came back and everyone ducking to the floor shouting “fuck” when fireworks were shot off outside. He tells her that he sometimes wishes that he had just closed his eyes and died, instead of fighting to live.
That’s what he’s sitting and thinking about while he’s “waiting around for chow”.
He still lives two blocks from the rest of his unit…the boys that are now training for their next mission, this time to…you guessed it…Iraq. Their deployment has been moved up from December to September. They are out training all day for their mission, while he’s “waiting around for chow”. He’s depressed, most definitely suffering from PTSD, and getting no help. He’s a “good Marine” and really just wants to be with his unit preparing for the next mission, but he will not ever be able to do that. Now, I don’t mind at all that he is not going back, of course. But I’m pissed that he is sitting around “waiting for chow” instead of home with his family, getting the medical treatment (physical and mental) that he needs and deserves, and getting on with his life. He’s been trying to get a medical discharge for months. His mother and my cousin are doing all they can to help their son, as you can imagine. The medical discharge papers that he needs have been sitting in Pearl Harbor for months…months! He will, most likely spend the anniversary of that horrible day in his life, away from his family and friends, still “waiting around for chow”.
“The Marines take care of their own” is a fallacy. The f’king(Edited) Marines can kiss my ass.
This is part one, of the series. You can go and see the other entries, by zoots dream gearle and see parts two and part three in advance, before I put my own two cents to it. Needless to say, she kinda changed her mind about the Marines, once some of us pitched in to help out. Her email I just got, is what made me go over the edge and I have to make sure that our soldiers are getting the best we have to offer. Stop this insane war and bring our troops home. And “No More Marines Waiting Around For Chow” should be the call of the day!