Lt. Col. Tim Maxwell
This was posted on another forum with a specail request for prayers for these people. The article originally was run in the Los Angeles Times.
By David Zucchino
Times Staff Writer
July 31, 2005
Camp Lejeune, N.C.
A hospital therapist pressed down hard against a ridge of crimson scar tissue on the shattered left leg of Marine Lance Cpl. Donald Ferguson. The corporal gritted his teeth.
His face red and contorted, Ferguson tried to snap to attention as a Marine lieutenant colonel approached. The officer's hair was cropped close on top and shaved on the sides, revealing a jagged pink scar across his left temple from a combat wound.
"Relax, relax," Lt. Col. Tim Maxwell said, resting his hand on the corporal's shoulder. "Just wanted to see how you're doing."
"Doing good, sir. How about you?"
"I feel like I got no brain left," Maxwell said. "My brain got whacked pretty good. I kind of have to fake it to get by."
On Oct. 7 in central Iraq, mortar shrapnel tore into Maxwell's skull, causing severe brain damage and lacerating the left side of his body. Seventeen days later, a rocket exploded near Ferguson in western Iraq, shredding his lower left leg.
The two Marines had never met before the 40-year-old colonel sought out the 22-year-old corporal in the physical therapy ward of the Naval Hospital at Camp Lejeune this month. Their encounter was part of an extraordinary endeavor by a Marine officer with a faulty memory and a speech impediment, in which the walking wounded helped care for injured comrades.
Even as Maxwell recovers physically and psychologically, he patrols military hospitals and barracks to comfort and counsel a handful of the U.S. service members injured in Iraq, which number about 14,000.
Sometimes Maxwell's speech is halting, and often his right foot "flops," as he puts it. He struggles to recall mundane words, like "strawberry" or "compass." But Maxwell, who has endured depression and self-doubt during his recovery, says he is determined to make sure that no wounded Marine is left alone to sink into depression or despair.
"People who haven't been wounded can't possibly understand the sense of loneliness and abandonment you feel," Maxwell, a slender, sharp-featured figure in a tan Marine uniform, said as he hustled through the therapy ward.
Maxwell, one of the highest-ranking U.S. service members wounded in Iraq, recalls encountering a 20-year-old Marine sitting alone inside a Camp Lejeune barracks in May.
"The kid couldn't use his arm. He'd seen his buddy killed. His family was in Florida," Maxwell said. "And he told me he felt so lonely and lost. I decided no Marine was going to be left all alone like that."
This spring, his solitary mission evolved into an informal effort approved by Marine brass. Maxwell has recruited several other injured Marines to help wounded comrades — most of them very young and far from home.
They tell them what to expect during surgery, therapy and recovery. They help them negotiate the military health system. They have heartfelt talks with wives and parents.
They also display graphic photos of their own wounds to show that even the most grievous injuries can heal. Mostly, they try to lift spirits during what is probably the most trying period in the lives of these soldiers.
"I want these families to know that their guys aren't forgotten," Maxwell said. "There are Marines here for them, right by their side."
Maxwell says the military will provide a small office and vehicles as he recruits more volunteers. A 10-bed living quarters for wounded Marines will open at the base on Aug. 8, he said.
Sometimes Maxwell brings along his wife, Shannon, on his visits. She helps him finish his sentences and fill in holes in his memory. She urges him to be gentle and patient. "I was a scary guy with a bad temper" as a battalion operations officer in Iraq, he said.
Shannon Maxwell says her husband doesn't remember rolling his wheelchair through a ward at Bethesda Naval Hospital just days after brain surgery in January, searching for Marines. He does remember the first thing he told her after awakening: "I want to be with wounded Marines."
Maxwell still longs for the intense bonds forged in combat. Every wounded Marine he has met, he said, has described a deep emotional void that develops after being ripped from a tightly knit unit.
"Worse than getting hurt is leaving the team," Maxwell said. "These Marines feel guilty: 'Did I abandon my buddies? Did I quit on them? How will they ever get along without me?'
"Their unit — their crew — is all they care about. So we've created a new crew for them."
Maxwell finds camaraderie in what he calls his "wounded warrior team." There's Staff Sgt. James Sturla, 26, a tank commander whose right hand was "de-gloved" — the skin, tissue and muscle ripped from the bone — during an attack in western Iraq in September. And there's Gunnery Sgt. Ken Barnes, 35, whose left arm was shattered by a roadside bomb in central Iraq in November.
Barnes was recovering in the hospital here last month when Maxwell called.
"He was so excited, it took me a minute to figure out what he was talking about," Barnes said. "But once I realized he meant reaching out to wounded Marines, I jumped at the chance."
Barnes has had seven surgeries. His left wrist was broken and his face and arms were tattooed by shrapnel. His left arm has lost muscle tone. His children call his injured hand "The Claw." Once a 225-pound weightlifter, he weighs 180. He can barely do three pull-ups.
"You get discouraged with how slow the recovery goes," he said. "I tell these Marines that no matter how bad things look, they will get better."
Sturla, who was recruited by Maxwell at the hospital in late May, has struggled through 24 surgeries on his hand, arm and back — including skin grafted from his stomach to his hand. His face is dotted with tiny purple shrapnel scars, and his right hand is still bandaged.
He was in the middle of his daily therapy recently when he encountered Ferguson. When Ferguson mentioned that he was awaiting a special shoe lift because he had lost an inch of bone in his injured leg, Sturla said he had just had surgery to remove excess bone growth.
"I wish I could give you my extra bone growth," he told Ferguson.
The two began exchanging war stories. Most Marines will not tell anyone except a fellow Marine the details of their injuries, Sturla said.
"They just don't feel comfortable sharing their stories with outsiders, even the nurses and therapists," he said. "But once I tell them what happened to me, they open right up. There's this huge release — they just talk and talk."
There are two basic questions most wounded Marines ask: Can I go back to my unit? Can I stay in the Marine Corps?
(continued in next post)
Author