Before I joined the military I defined a ‘hero’ as someone who inspires someone to do something great with his or her life. Since the military had done good things for my family and friends, I chose to see what it could do for me.

I knew the risks that were involved, and to be very honest with you, I'm not sure I really paid attention to it. I joined because I saw it as my way out, and I never really cared what could possibly stand in my way; I would take those obstacles on when it came time to, and not a second sooner.

I had never really paid much attention to politics and what was going on with the country. In all honesty, I lived a pretty selfish existence before I joined the army. I was involved in my friends' and my family’s lives. That was pretty much it.

Reality Check

When I first set boots in Iraq we had been ushered directly from the plane to a bus, only to find out that we had about 10 minutes to get off the bus to stretch and relax for a little bit.

I was standing in a circle of guys that were smoking cigarettes. I bummed a light and looked down at the ground, kicked the dirt around with my right foot and it hit me. I said, "Holy shit... we're in the desert. This is freaking cool."

I was injured on November 24, 2005. I ended up losing my foot in the blast and had my other foot and lower leg amputated at the end of the following February.

I do not have any true personal memory of the day of the blast. All I can remember is where I was after the blast, where the truck was, the smell of burnt flesh, a bright light and screaming. Other than that, I remember nothing.

In my initial state of shock, I had no idea what was going on. I was calm. I am told that in response to being asked if I wanted some water, I requested a beer. Other than that, they told me I was pretty quiet.

Fallout

The range of emotions following was crazy. I did not know after I woke from my four-week coma that I had been injured as badly as I was. I was lying in my hospital bed and had to go to the bathroom. I had a catheter, but did not understand it, so I kept trying to get myself up to walk to the bathroom.

My right leg was severely injured, and my left had been amputated midway through my shin. Needless to say, walking was not an option. I still attempted multiple times to get up. I would call my mom over to the side of my bed acting as if I wanted a hug, would go in to hug her and use her to try and pull myself out of bed. She would push me back into bed and sit back down.

Finally I decided that wasn't going to work for me, so I reached up and grabbed onto the handle that was hanging from the top of the bed, and pulled myself up and swung my leg over to get up. My mom ran up to my bed, and as she was pushing me back into the bed, I reached down and realized that my leg ended mid-shin.

My first response was "It's all my fault." My emotions were guilt, fear, motivation, anger, sadness, depression, some more anger, quite a bit more guilt, and a whole lot more motivation.

I tried to use humor to cope. I laughed about how I would never have to deal with any more broken toes or ankles. I would never have Athlete's Foot, or have to worry about stinky feet.

I still joke around when I have my prosthetics on if I step in a puddle about my foot being cold and wet or randomly tell someone that I'm going to take my leg off and throw it at them.

Obviously, my mom took it pretty hard, as did my brother. His reaction was that it should have been him. The very first time he broke down and cried in my hospital room (while I was still in the coma) he said exactly that: "That should be me." He stayed home and had a family; I went off to war. (shrug) I chalk it up to nothing more than the choices we made in our lives.

Road To Recovery

I went through physical therapy for 18 months and occupational therapy for 15 or so. We also worked with the range of motion in my right wrist. They were scared that I was going to lose a lot of it because of the injury sustained from the blast.

How well I adapted to the prosthetics really depended on the different prosthetics. I went through a few different systems with different feet for different activities. In the end, I took home the feet I felt the most comfortable in.

The Story Newsweek Didn’t Tell

When Newsweek originally came to me, I guess I just wasn't really clear on what kind of a story they had planned to write. I was still in the military and was not considered a veteran at that point. I was angered to see that I was used as the poster child for abused veterans and soldiers.

I had a pretty positive experience with the hospital and 90 per cent of the staff. I spent a long time on the phone with the writer from Newsweek talking about the hospital, praising the surgeons, doctors and therapists. I ultimately credited them with my survival, along with the quick and skilled reaction of my squad mates, yet the only thing Newsweek printed was from the one bad story that I did tell him.

I do want to say that they did do a follow up story that I was very pleased with. I have no ill feelings towards the author or the magazine.

Ties That Bind

At the time I was in the hospital, I wasn't interested in making new friends because I knew I would have to leave them. I knew I would be going home at the end of my recovery and didn't want to make it any harder than it was already going to be.

Yet, you can't live in a place for 18 months of your life and go through what I went through with the people I went through it with without having some kind of emotional attachments.

Now, I still have a small amount of trouble getting close to people. I've lost a lot of people who were close to me over the past few years and it's mostly a fear of more of those people being taken away from me.

Honestly, I'm not quite sure why so many people relate to my story. Maybe it's because I am just a normal, everyday hometown girl. Everyone goes through a tough time at one point or another in their lives. I just hope that I can use what happened to me in a positive way and help others with my story.

The Anti-War Movement

I think that everyone should be allowed their own opinion. I also feel that everyone should be allowed to voice that opinion. However, I do feel that that right should be taken away when it turns against those men and women who protect the very freedom that gives you that right.

I have said it before, and will say it again; I stand firm in my belief that if you don't like this country and you dislike it enough to discontinue supporting the men and women brave enough to shed blood for your freedom and safety, I will gladly buy you a one way ticket to any country in the world. I will come to your home where I will pack your knick knacks for you so that you can go away and never come back.

Taking Care Of The Broken Soldiers

No amount of money will ever replace my body parts. NO amount of money will ever give me back my teammates, or the career that I had in front of me. However, I do feel that I am adequately compensated for the losses I have incurred and would never say that I felt my government was unappreciative of the service I gave.

I have noticed the surprise on people’s faces when I tell them I was hurt in Iraq. It has become my goal over the past two years to make it a well-known fact that there are women in Iraq and Afghanistan getting hurt alongside our men.

While I was in the hospital, it always seemed to me that people had a harder time seeing me in a wheelchair with no feet than they did seeing a man sitting next to me with the same injuries.

It's simple. America is not ready to see their women bloody and broken on the battlefield. Women are still not allowed in the infantry, which I understand completely and agree with.

You don't hear about women getting hurt often because it does not happen often. The ratio of men to women in Iraq is 20:1 if not more, so it's only normal for the ratio of men to women getting injured be quite a bit higher. It still happens though.

It happened to me, but I regret nothing from my past. Everything that has happened to me up to now has formed the person that I am today.

American Heroes

Now I define 'hero' the same way I did before. My personal heroes are my mom, who played the roles of mother, father, friend, warden, good guy and bad guy while raising my brother, myself and the kids she watched while she ran a day care, my brother, who hit rock bottom more than once and pulled himself out to make himself a loving father and fiance, and last, but definitely not least, my teammates, who taught me more about myself in the short time I had to spend with them than I could ever even begin to explain.

*****

If you appreciated this story, you may also want to read The Real Cost Of 4,000 Dead In Iraq [1]