Trying to make a life
After a battlefield injury, endless challenges
MIAMI--When John Quincy Adams came home last fall from Iraq, his wife, Summer, was just glad to see him alive. Adams had hovered near death in a military hospital, his brain sliced open by shrapnel, his chances for recovery slim. The doctors warned he might never talk or walk. But today the man standing before her is walking, however haltingly, and talking, though with a slur that makes him sound drunk. Summer has been touched by the kindness of neighbors and friends who help her husband carry out the routine tasks that are now such a challenge--cutting the grass, putting in the air conditioner, even training their young son for soccer. She is aware that she needs to stay calm, but there have been times when she feels overwhelmed. One day she banged her head on the shower safety bar. It hurt, and she was sure that she winced, but John just laughed. Another time she had to fight for control when her husband held a kitchen knife so clumsily that it grazed their young son's skin. "You need to be more cautious," she cried out, conscious of keeping her voice from breaking. Again John laughed.
Sergeant Adams went to Iraq as part of Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, 124th Infantry of the Florida National Guard, 131 civilian soldiers based in North Miami. Once energetic, Adams worked alongside his father-in-law, cutting grass for a living. Born in Chicago and reared in Puerto Rico, he joined the Guard 16 years ago. The military ran in his family--his father and four uncles had been active-duty Army--and Adams was cut from the same cloth. In the Guard, his men loved him, calling him Papa "Oso" --Papa Bear in Spanish--because of his unabashed, big-hearted attention to their needs. Now recuperating in Miramar, Fla., Adams, 38, hears from Guard buddies like Spc. Jason Recio and Spc. Ramiro Mayorga. They keep up with his progress even as they cope with their own battle scars. Summer has urged the guys to be themselves around him, so when he visited Adams one day recently, Spc. Esteban Lora teased him about the metal in his head. "How's it beeping?" he asked.
Netherworld. The transition back stateside varies from soldier to soldier, but the challenges each faces are pretty much alike. In dozens of interviews with returning Charlie Company guardsmen in South Florida, many shared the same concerns. They aren't sure what to do next and feel they don't fit into their old lives. Some have lost jobs; others have seen marriages and relationships end. For the wounded, the challenges and setbacks are compounded by pain and discomfort. Some languished for months in a military netherworld--a limbo called "medical holdover," waiting to go through the Army's physical evaluation boards to determine whether they are fit to stay in the military. Then they must wade through the thicket of benefits administered by the Department of Veterans Affairs.
So far, nearly 17 percent of the 168,000 soldiers back from Iraq have sought VA healthcare benefits, numbers that VA Secretary Anthony Principi calls small, compared with past wars. But the overstretched VA today is bracing for the biggest influx of disabled veterans since Vietnam. A huge challenge, Principi admits, is just identifying Guard and Reserve veterans, who return to their communities without the same support structures as regular Army units.
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