thedrifter
01-21-07, 09:06 AM
Marine's time in Iraq ends; new struggle begins
A Marine lance corporal faces the "bigger fight" of organizing his life after suffering injuries during the war.
John Cramer
Jordan Sherwood sits by the sea, looking forward to the rest of his life, as another 21,500 U.S. troops prepare to go to Iraq.
It's been nearly two years since a roadside bomb severely wounded the Roanoke native during his second tour of duty. He also was wounded on his first tour.
Like many U.S. troops, he's trying to cope with scars that could be with him the rest of his life.
Since the fall, the Marine lance corporal and combat cameraman has been diagnosed with chronic pain syndrome and chronic post-traumatic stress disorder.
His marriage fell apart six months after he married a fellow young Marine in a romantic beachside ceremony in Hawaii.
But Jordan, 24, who is based at Camp Pendleton near San Diego, is determined to remain upbeat.
"Despite everything that's happened," he says, "I feel very lucky."
Pain and frustration
Generations of families have sent loved ones off to war from the farms, factories, coal mines and military schools scattered across Western Virginia. Jordan is one of thousands of local troops who have deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan since Sept. 11, 2001.
After a troubled adolescence, he joined the Marines in 2003 at age 20. He soon found his niche in the structured world of the military.
On March 13, 2005, a roadside bomb shattered his left leg and right hand and sliced him with shrapnel from head to toe.
After a dozen surgeries and eight months of rehabilitation and healing at home in Roanoke, he returned to Camp Pendleton in October 2005.
He loved the Marines and was optimistic he would quickly return to full duty. But that didn't happen, leaving him frustrated with his slow healing and the military's medical bureaucracy.
At Christmas 2005, a few months after they met, he married Randi Foust, 24, a Marine combat videographer. The marriage dissolved within six months. She was stationed in Hawaii and he in California, so they were together only a few weeks during their marriage, leaving them saddened and frustrated.
Jordan's unit deployed again to Iraq in the spring of 2006, leaving him behind at a desk job. But he didn't feel guilty; he felt he had done his duty.
In the fall, Jordan was diagnosed with chronic pain syndrome. He takes daily pain medication but can run only about a mile before his leg gives out. His ankle turns swollen and red, the nerves on fire. Doctors tell him he likely will develop arthritis within a few years.
In January, he was diagnosed with chronic PTSD, which often accompanies chronic pain syndrome, according to a study by the Department of Veterans Affairs, Yale University and other researchers.
Many U.S. troops are suffering both physical and mental injuries from the war, but further studies are needed to understand the relationship between the two disorders, scientists say.
Jordan accepts his PTSD diagnosis but disagrees with Navy doctors about its severity. He plans to see a counselor, although he doesn't think he needs to take anti-anxiety medication.
"I do have bad dreams and thoughts of death and haunting memories that I can't seem to forget," he says. "I think if I didn't have these thoughts, then I'd be wary of my mental status.
"Anyone that has seen what I have seen in just one day of either deployment would have the same reaction."
Jordan's mother, Ginger Fitzgerald, thinks he will adjust to the civilian world.
"When he was home for Christmas, he asked me, 'Mom, do you think I'm crazy?' " Ginger says. "I told him I think he's functioning perfectly. God, he's so calm and even-keeled.
"He's even got a sense of humor about it. He told me: 'Mom, look on the bright side. At least it [the PTSD evaluation] says I don't have a tendency to be an alcoholic, a drug addict, homicidal or suicidal.' "
No regrets
Jordan and Ginger don't regret his joining the Marines, which they believe helped him to mature.
"But now he just wants to get on with life," Ginger says. "He fought the good fight and now he's ready to fight the bigger fight, getting his life together."
Jordan says he has much to be thankful for -- he didn't come home in a flag-draped coffin; he has the skills, confidence and friendships he gained in the Marines; and he has a supportive family and a new girlfriend.
He expects to be medically retired from the Marines by springtime. He hopes to move to Tempe, Ariz., where his father lives, and buy a house with a VA loan.
Jordan struggled through high school, but now he wants to enroll in summer community college classes and attend Arizona State University in the fall on the GI Bill. He may study business and hopes to use his art and photography skills in a career in music promotions or graphic design.
Much about his life remains uncertain -- whether his physical and psychological pain will ever diminish, how much he will receive in medical disability payments, whether he will ever marry again.
Much also remains uncertain about the war in Iraq as President Bush dispatches another 21,500 U.S. troops in an effort to stem the chaos. More than 3,000 American military personnel have been killed and nearly 23,000 wounded since the war began in March 2003.
Jordan knows what the new U.S. forces in Iraq will face. He knows how quickly they will lose their naivete.
He believes their fate, like his, won't be decided by luck, God or military skill, but by the brutal randomness he believes decides everyone's fate in Iraq.
Ginger empathizes with the parents who are going through what she did.
"I pray for them all," she says.
For Jordan, the combat is over. Now comes the rest of his life. When he leaves Camp Pendleton for the final time, he will depart with two Purple Hearts and no regrets.
"You have to take what happens in life and go on," he says, "or else you'll just be angry."
Ellie
A Marine lance corporal faces the "bigger fight" of organizing his life after suffering injuries during the war.
John Cramer
Jordan Sherwood sits by the sea, looking forward to the rest of his life, as another 21,500 U.S. troops prepare to go to Iraq.
It's been nearly two years since a roadside bomb severely wounded the Roanoke native during his second tour of duty. He also was wounded on his first tour.
Like many U.S. troops, he's trying to cope with scars that could be with him the rest of his life.
Since the fall, the Marine lance corporal and combat cameraman has been diagnosed with chronic pain syndrome and chronic post-traumatic stress disorder.
His marriage fell apart six months after he married a fellow young Marine in a romantic beachside ceremony in Hawaii.
But Jordan, 24, who is based at Camp Pendleton near San Diego, is determined to remain upbeat.
"Despite everything that's happened," he says, "I feel very lucky."
Pain and frustration
Generations of families have sent loved ones off to war from the farms, factories, coal mines and military schools scattered across Western Virginia. Jordan is one of thousands of local troops who have deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan since Sept. 11, 2001.
After a troubled adolescence, he joined the Marines in 2003 at age 20. He soon found his niche in the structured world of the military.
On March 13, 2005, a roadside bomb shattered his left leg and right hand and sliced him with shrapnel from head to toe.
After a dozen surgeries and eight months of rehabilitation and healing at home in Roanoke, he returned to Camp Pendleton in October 2005.
He loved the Marines and was optimistic he would quickly return to full duty. But that didn't happen, leaving him frustrated with his slow healing and the military's medical bureaucracy.
At Christmas 2005, a few months after they met, he married Randi Foust, 24, a Marine combat videographer. The marriage dissolved within six months. She was stationed in Hawaii and he in California, so they were together only a few weeks during their marriage, leaving them saddened and frustrated.
Jordan's unit deployed again to Iraq in the spring of 2006, leaving him behind at a desk job. But he didn't feel guilty; he felt he had done his duty.
In the fall, Jordan was diagnosed with chronic pain syndrome. He takes daily pain medication but can run only about a mile before his leg gives out. His ankle turns swollen and red, the nerves on fire. Doctors tell him he likely will develop arthritis within a few years.
In January, he was diagnosed with chronic PTSD, which often accompanies chronic pain syndrome, according to a study by the Department of Veterans Affairs, Yale University and other researchers.
Many U.S. troops are suffering both physical and mental injuries from the war, but further studies are needed to understand the relationship between the two disorders, scientists say.
Jordan accepts his PTSD diagnosis but disagrees with Navy doctors about its severity. He plans to see a counselor, although he doesn't think he needs to take anti-anxiety medication.
"I do have bad dreams and thoughts of death and haunting memories that I can't seem to forget," he says. "I think if I didn't have these thoughts, then I'd be wary of my mental status.
"Anyone that has seen what I have seen in just one day of either deployment would have the same reaction."
Jordan's mother, Ginger Fitzgerald, thinks he will adjust to the civilian world.
"When he was home for Christmas, he asked me, 'Mom, do you think I'm crazy?' " Ginger says. "I told him I think he's functioning perfectly. God, he's so calm and even-keeled.
"He's even got a sense of humor about it. He told me: 'Mom, look on the bright side. At least it [the PTSD evaluation] says I don't have a tendency to be an alcoholic, a drug addict, homicidal or suicidal.' "
No regrets
Jordan and Ginger don't regret his joining the Marines, which they believe helped him to mature.
"But now he just wants to get on with life," Ginger says. "He fought the good fight and now he's ready to fight the bigger fight, getting his life together."
Jordan says he has much to be thankful for -- he didn't come home in a flag-draped coffin; he has the skills, confidence and friendships he gained in the Marines; and he has a supportive family and a new girlfriend.
He expects to be medically retired from the Marines by springtime. He hopes to move to Tempe, Ariz., where his father lives, and buy a house with a VA loan.
Jordan struggled through high school, but now he wants to enroll in summer community college classes and attend Arizona State University in the fall on the GI Bill. He may study business and hopes to use his art and photography skills in a career in music promotions or graphic design.
Much about his life remains uncertain -- whether his physical and psychological pain will ever diminish, how much he will receive in medical disability payments, whether he will ever marry again.
Much also remains uncertain about the war in Iraq as President Bush dispatches another 21,500 U.S. troops in an effort to stem the chaos. More than 3,000 American military personnel have been killed and nearly 23,000 wounded since the war began in March 2003.
Jordan knows what the new U.S. forces in Iraq will face. He knows how quickly they will lose their naivete.
He believes their fate, like his, won't be decided by luck, God or military skill, but by the brutal randomness he believes decides everyone's fate in Iraq.
Ginger empathizes with the parents who are going through what she did.
"I pray for them all," she says.
For Jordan, the combat is over. Now comes the rest of his life. When he leaves Camp Pendleton for the final time, he will depart with two Purple Hearts and no regrets.
"You have to take what happens in life and go on," he says, "or else you'll just be angry."
Ellie