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Carbonelli—Bravery Across the Globe 1

Bravery or valor has been a virtue of the human personality for as long as the human race

has existed as a species this is made evident through the various heroes that have emerged

through turbulent times such as mythological heroes, civil rights activists throughout the world,

war heroes, and scientists contesting modern scientific thought to name a few groups of persons

considered to be heroic through bravery. Valor is something that is valued, praised, and adored

by most people; this adoration is displayed throughout the ages via songs, stories, monuments,

and paintings. If history has taught the world anything it is simply that the single most apparent

shared aspect of all historical figures is that they possess an arguably immense quantity of

bravery consider Rosa Parks compared to George Washington. While, one was a famous war

general fighting for the independence of his adopted country and the other was fighting against

the oppression of a set of backwards societal regulations.

Typically, this character trait is most easily illustrated in the actions of a soldier on the

battlefield doing something heroic such as saving the lives of a few dozen orphans within a

burning church while risking his or her own life, or something to that effect. Without the

presence of an obvious risk, there would be no such thing as bravery and without bravery there is

the very real possibility that progress would not be made in society. Forward societal progress

would be halted, since people would not be brave enough to learn new things or challenge

conventional mores or fighting for the civil rights of their fellow man. These risks are not always

easily identified or even acknowledged by the average layperson. There exist risks or struggles

that occur every day that everyone endures throughout their day, without anyone even realizing

or understanding the situation as a whole.

These risks or struggles can be anything from social anxiety, performance anxiety, or any

other cognitive deficit, which may produce a more difficult situation for that person, aside from


obvious physical risks. The most apparent example of this are the survivors that spoke at the

Take Back the Night event and the bravery those women have is very moving. One cannot define

bravery through these risks without first understanding that the absence of bravery is an entity of

such shame and typically brings scorn upon the person and perhaps their entire family. Desertion

due to cowardice in even today’s military is punishable by execution by firing squad. While,

most modern militaries do not practice this extreme punishment it is noteworthy to understand

that a complete absence of bravery is such a hated thing that military societies have deemed it a

death sentence.

This leads one to consider life and how there exists a certain amount of courage, bravery,

and valor that must exist in everyone’s life because the opposite would conclude one would be

better off dead within the military. Although, I would argue that to lack bravery would lead to a

reclusive and a probably sad existence. Even cowards must have at least an iota of courage

because it must be difficult turning one’s back on their comrades. The Wiseman, Victor Hugo,

explained it best when he said, “bravery is not the absence of fear but the mastery of it.” One

would be inclined to agree with this statement because most “heroes” understand the risks of

their actions or inactions. Heroic figures are such an important aspect of modern society that

there are monuments, statues, buildings, you name it, and there is something named after or built

for a hero.

I spent the majority of my life not knowing the true meaning of bravery; I learned things

from childhood, daily life, simulated bravery from television and comic books. I did read stories

of all these different famous heroic figures such as Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan,

Augustus, and Gaius Julius Caesar, even the mythological Greek heroes. While, these people

have achieved a many great deal of things in their lifetimes, I never took the time to understand


that there are heroes that are still alive. Having read several of the Greek tragedies I simply

thought in my naïve mind that a necessity of the sacrifice of life is what makes all of these

individuals truly heroic and noble individuals.

My understanding of contemporary heroes was bleak—at the time—I considered that no

one would ever act this way in the face of similar immense hardships those days. I remember the

events of September 11th vividly with a consortium of emotions that I still cannot describe, but it

ranged from sheer rage to utter despair to amazement and a surprised impression. Rage and

despair for the apparent reasons, however, amazement and surprise by the rescue workers

responding to this situation could respond so quickly and benevolently. I do remember the

number of rescue workers that lost their lives was around 340 during the operations, which to me

seemed like a fruitless effort—who survives that type of disaster—is what I thought. After

watching the news for the following days I learned that only 20 people were rescued from the

rubble of the two towers. That is the moment when I realized that there is such a thing as

contemporary heroism and if 340 people risked their lives to save 20 people. Therefore, that

means an immense amount about the human spirit, benevolence, and humans as a whole.

These tragic events took place while I was in sophomore gym class actually reading

about Greek mythology—I never cared much for organized sports, I played baseball and was

decent but thought for the most part it was a waste of time. My gym teacher made me a “student-

leader” so I just read instead of doing anything. Anyways, I found it ironic that I was reading

about ancient heroism only to stop and watch modern heroism in effect. I quickly became a news

junkie for the next few days—currently I think televised news is a joke. I wasn’t watching

because it was interesting or horrifying I watched with a hopeful spirit that more people would


be recovered from the catastrophe. This and my already shy demeanor only worsened, since I

began seeing the world as a threat and a possible hazard to well staying alive.

The following year I turned 17 years old, this was months after the anniversary of

September 11th and my friend Elliot who recently turned 17 also and enlisted in the army told me

that it is possible to enlist early with parental consent (in retrospect I have no idea what my

parents were thinking to allow me to, they probably knew I would anyways at 18). I did not

really give it much thought; I knew it was something that I needed to do. Honestly, I figured it is

better that I go compared to anyone else. So, the soul-stealing army recruiter and I talked my

parents into it.

This process would begin in one of the most hated aspects of joining the military at the

military entrance and processing station (MEPS). Within the confines of MEPS, these soldiers

male and female underwent various tasks in front of their peers that are seemingly pointless, such

as walking like a duck in one’s underwear and being nude in front of a physician who clearly

hated his life. After the borderline questionable methods of their “physical assessment,” these

same people are expected to take the armed services vocational aptitude battery (ASVAB), after

completely embarrassing one’s self. Although, I clearly did not care about the ridiculous physical


nor was he fazed by it since he scored in the 99th percentile of everyone that took the examination

to date, at the time. This allowed me to have my pick of any military job currently available.

After, the army liaison lady, Catherine, found out of my high score she desperately

wanted me to be a 09L (Arabic Translator) and a 35M (human intelligence collector), I was

curious why she wanted to send me to two different schools back-to-back like that, so I asked

what these jobs specifically are. She gave a very short-winded answer about “simply talking to

people and getting information”. I knew better at the time and this is the funny current definition

goarmy.com uses “They provide Army personnel with information about the enemy force’s

strengths, weaknesses and potential battle areas”. Basically, they are interrogators and that purely

does not seem honorable or courageous at all. The other position was something to do with some

aeronautical something.

At that point I remember thinking “do I not look brave to this lady or what is her

problem?” Admittedly, I weighed around 120 pounds soaking weight, but I was there. Then I

remembered my grandfather Salvatore who was a navy corpsman during the Korean War and my

other grandfather was an infantryman, but the former sounded way more appealing to me. Since,

helping others benevolently seems more brave them shooting at people. So that is what I

decided, but since I signed up so young, I would have to wait a year before I could actually go to

the medic training, I would first have to be “soldiered”.

This “soldiering” took place in Fort Jackson South Carolina, which seemed like endless

days of muggy heat and sand seemed to appear in places where it just sound not be. When I first

arrived it was around 4am and some jerk in a Dudley Do Right hat gets on the bus wakes

everyone up yelling “get the heck off my bus!” Then we had to drag our bags roughly a quarter


mile to this building, luckily I packed very light at the advice of my friend. This made this

endeavor comparatively easy, so much so that I actually started helping others carry their bags.

This caused me to “earn” my first “smoking” (basically the Dudley Due Rights make you to

pushups for as long as they want); at the time this was very strenuous in the Carolina heat.

This initial portion of “training” was not even technically part of training, it is known as

reception. Reception is basically the cream on the top of a nacho cheese that has been sitting out

too long, you want to get to the layer beneath because you think it will be good but it is usually

just as terrible. For the most part though, it is dealing with all kinds of ridiculous chores that are

completely arbitrary such as pulling weeds out

of sidewalks, raking sand, and cleaning areas

that have been cleaned multiple times in a day.

Dudley due rights told us that this was part of

our training to be the best soldiers we could be

for the finest army in the world, but at the time it

certainly did not feel like that. The worst part of

it was that we would literally have to wait in line

for hours just to get breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

After ten days of the reception nonsense, we were finally “ready” to actually enter basic

combat training. At this point we had acquired all of the equipment we would need for the rest of

our training sans service weapons, but we had to carry all of this equipment about 3 kilometers

from the reception area to our new “homes”, and for a 120 pound boy carrying about 60 pounds

of equipment that far was immensely grueling, however in reception there was this Drill

Sergeant named Staff Sergeant Hernandez who was a small Mexican lady and the whole time I


was trekking through the sand carrying half my weight that at the time, like worthless equipment,

I kept thinking if this woman can go to Iraq and back twice can do something like this I should

be able to also. I wouldn’t classify it as bravery that perpetuated me through the following

months but more of a fear of failure. I do not think I could have gone home and been able to

explain to my family and friends what I left to and wanted to do but could not accomplish.

Finally, the other recruits

and I arrived at the alpha

company 2nd battalion, 13th

infantry regiment where all of us

would spend the next 13 weeks of

our lives. As soon as we set foot

and assembled on the company

training area we experienced what

is known as a “shark attack”, it is

merely a form of hazing that is

acceptable even though hazing

itself by definition is unacceptable. This would be the theme of the entire first month of basic

combat training and would progressively turn into a joke for my friend recruits.

It was also at this point that I

was assigned my battle buddy (the

army’s attempt to force friendships

between recruits and enforce

accountability between them) who was


a five foot and two inches Chinese-American named Chong. Chong could do an insane amount

of pushups even though his figure resembled that of a rollie-pollie (woodlouse) bug. At any rate,

towards the end of that month Chong and I were already acclimated to the “suck” and began to

regard it as a complete joke, so much that we would start busting out laughing while doing

pushups as punishment. Drill Sergeant Hernandez “hated” us for this and some of the rest of the

group, except two other recruits named Beyer and “Puke” (I forgot his real name). He acquired

his nickname in the most awesome way though, Drill Sergeant Hernandez explicitly stated that

“we were going to do pushups until someone threw up” so Puke did just that. These acts of

defiance could perhaps be construed as courageous, but at the time they simply allowed us to

gain a makeshift coping mechanism for our already horrible existence.

Around week 7 or 8 the government decided it would be a brilliant idea to introduce

burst-fire assault rifles, bayonets, and grenades to a group of boys. For me, this was the first time

I handled any of these weapons, I am a suburbanite we do not need weapons. Needless to say I

was terrified of this 8 pound piece of plastic and metal killing

machine. However, I knew it was a necessity in my newfound

career so I overcame it. Also, luckily we turned them in at night.

Sleeping with it Full Metal Jacket style would have been too

much perhaps. Eventually, I managed to barely pass my marksmanship training, although later in

my military career I would consistently qualify “expert”. My point is that I was immensely

horrified of using an M16 that I would hesitate or shake too much while pulling the trigger and

that obviously ruins shots. The grenade range I managed to qualify expert in though.

After it was all said and done everyone went off to different training posts or back to high

school. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to use any electronic devices so we couldn’t even


take any pictures of the friends we made there or anything. However, my memory prevails since

I was somehow able to recall the exact company, battalion, and regiment I was a recruit in during

it. Another thing that made me horrified of the rifle ranges was that the targets looked too similar

to a person; I knew they were not people but it seemed oddly wrong to shot a human silhouette.

I went back home reunited with my family and friends and a week later I went restarted

high school. It was relatively uneventful; I did appear to see the place in a different perspective

though. I began noticing pretentiousness, materialism, hedonism far too readily and at first I

began to despise my fellow students. I began reading Kafka at the time and writing more

extensively, I felt like I was in an intellectual lull during training, and I quickly began to pity my

fellow students. Yet, at the same time I was more active in student organizations than before and

overcame my previous year’s social anxiety. After, training social anxiety mostly seemed silly

and a waste of time. I would still partake in the typical high school level gambling circles and

social gatherings, but it was apparent that almost everyone was superficial. This also seems to be

the case at Loras. After graduation, I spent my last few weeks as a free man with my family.

Combat medics in the United States army have a rich history of being a highly

prestigious combat role, bar none, the most decorated soldiers to grace the battlefield. These

soldiers have the most Medal of Honor recipients out of any other military position by far.

Moreover, these soldiers are so beloved by their comrades that they are often given the nickname

“doc,” despite not being medical doctors, whereas actually army physicians are typically only

called by their name and rank. At any rate, these soldiers additionally undergo some of the most

grueling training, second only to that of an infantryman (other service members may disagree).

Certain medics can be in training for as long as 60+ months depending upon their specialty, but

the majority go through the “basic” portion in about 5 months. During the initial portion the only


contact the majority of these soldiers have with their family is through regular mail and the

occasional phone call. This instilled a baseline of commitment and courage to the soldier-medics

to ascertain during their training and the accruement of independency, which would later be

integral to their experiences later during their military careers.

Health care specialist or combat medic, the latter being more accurate, training was as

physically demanding as it was mentally demanding. If a trainee was scoring below an 80% on

their test scores they would face mandatory supplemental instruction that ran into what little

personal time we already had. On the other hand, if your physical fitness performance fell below

average (completely subjective by the

drill sergeants) one would face

supplemental physical training that would

catch them “up-to-speed”. The schedule

of this training was equally as rigorous as

basic combat training sans the intellectual

aspect. Everyone was expected to wake up at 5am and clean every square inch of the barracks

until 6am. Then we would run 5 or more kilometers every other day or do endurance training, on

“easy” days we sparred against each other for two hours in the morning, males or females, it did

not matter. Around 8am all 200 trainees would go in and out of the dining facility within 30-45

minutes, go back to the barracks get dressed and march to class.

Didactic training was 8 hours a day Monday through Friday

and weekends were spent studying and exercising, with a one

hour break for lunch, but this did not come out of class time.

Instruction typically consisted of in depth anatomy and


physiology, to chemical, biological, and chemical warfare treatment, to rudimentary field

dentistry. Not only was there the physical and intellectual aspects to worry about they also

incorporated a psychological aspect, in that, they. decided to desensitize the trainees to blood,

guts, and all sorts of gore. At first glance, I thought they simply wanted to allow us to have

“mandatory fun” on weekends by screening various horror films, but it was the sole genera so it

quickly became apparent what the underlying cause was. Not only was it the horror films, they

perpetually showed us live footage of medics treating people in the fields at the Baghdad field

hospital or the Kabul field hospital.

I excelled at both the physical aspects and the intellectual aspects of this initial training

and all I received was this sew on patch for my army physical fitness uniform that I scoffed at

and threw away. From the moment I signed my contract I knew the reason I joined, it was not for

badges, tabs, ribbons, or medals, it was to do my part in helping my country and my comrades

thrive through a crisis. Moreover, at this point I grew a love for my fellow comrades that I

wanted to ensure their safety; the entire medic creed was read with cultish fervor every night.

Although, this creed has potentially instilled the spirit and expertise that is the combat medic,

which created so many of my comrade medics to doing heroic actions that make my career look

like a day at Chuck e. Cheese©.

The later few weeks of training were spent exclusively learning how to actually perform

all of the tasks that we learned coupled with anatomy and physiology. Training scenarios were

overtly intense, every one of which involved some type of pyro techniques such as smoke

grenades, m-80’s, blank-adapted rifle rounds being shot in your vicinity, using makeup artists to

produce life like wounds or whatever “scare” tactics they could think of. The production value

of the training was surprisingly impressive, this could explain the lower mortality rate of


wounded personnel in the field currently and the improved battlefield wound treatment

technology. This training was both terrifying and thrilling, I recall sweating profusely and

shaking uncontrollably before going into a few of these scenarios thinking that I would fail and

hurt the simulated wounded person. Everything we did was graded too from our behavior to our

completion of these scenarios so it was important to do well on everything. This simulated

wounded person was a real person and we had to do simulated treatments to them, more often

than not though the instructors would demand that we

give the person an intravenous infusion with the largest

bore needle we had available 14 gauge. This needle is

what needles are scarred of, so I practiced on my

comrades that were not afraid of being test subjects

during our off time. So, that gaining expertise in the

field would eliminate fear of failure.

Many of the halls within Fort Sam Houston, medical command headquarters, are lined up

to the ceiling with past and present soldiers that have exemplified bravery. Of these countless

people, one was the most strikingly brave to me was Master Sergeant Roy Benavidez who

received countless injuries while saying the lives of eight other men. He risked his life countless

times in order time save each one of his comrades; he received a total of 37 different bullet,

shrapnel, and bayonet wounds in the midst of the chaos. The medical evacuation on the ground at

the time presumed him to be dead, to such an extent that he was being put into a body bag.

Master Sergeant Benavidez wanted none of that nonsense so he proceeded to spit in the face of

the medic. Afterwards, he was treated and goes onto to receive numerous citations, including the

Medal of Honor. Oh, and he would continue living for another 30 years after all of this.


After graduation from combat medic training I went on to go to trauma specialty training

with two of the individuals that I went to that initial training with that would leave a lasting

impression on me for the rest of my life. Cadavero and “Big Worm” (Wormley), Cadavero had

this joke of the night in the barracks for the initial medic training that made it way more

bearable. They were standard issue Popsicle stick jokes, but the way he said them was comic

genius. Wormley and several others of us had these ridiculous slap bets about anything such as “I

bet Drill Sergeant Jones won’t promote you to squad leader and demote you back down in a day”

or “guess who is going to eat what in the dining facility for the next meal”. Nevertheless, it was a

silver lining to a potentially shitty situation that made our existence in a less than savory situation

that much better.

Camp Bullis, Texas was right outside of Fort

Sam Houston and San Antonio so all three of us

were excited to experience the night life of San

Antonio. Also, our superior promised us that

there was a “class six” (liquor) store right next to

our living quarters. Our quarters ended up being

what we called “dog houses”. Typically, after this

much training soldiers are already MOS-Q’D (military occupationally qualified) and are afforded

weekends off and can drink at their leisure (at the time the

military drinking age was 18 on base). So, these dog

houses were roughly a 10 by 20 foot structure with six cots

in them, no electricity, and since it was the middle of

August it was unbearably hot inside of them. Obviously,


after a long day of training and going back to one of those places is one of the worst experiences

imaginable. Despite this the experience was actually fun because I was able to hang out with my

good friends and the training was very fast paced so it made the days go quicker. The training

was all trauma training based so it was all blood, and gore, it takes some time to get use to but

everyone at the end was all about it.

Most medics assigned to combat arms units such as infantry, artillery, cavalry, or

reconnaissance have to work entirely independent of any other medical personnel. Although, if a

medic is lucky enough and resources permit, he is allocated a “partner” medic, however one of

the two medics is usually fresh out of training and is ill prepared. I was one of the lucky few to

be assigned a partner medic that went through as intensive training as I and was also in very

good shape, unfortunately he would later sustain injuries that would allow him to go home. I

spent a great deal of effort ensuring him to have the highest level of treatment he could render

and he would later be fit for duty after his injuries healed. This would be the first injured military

personnel that I would have to treat on the field.

I would end up treating countless soldiers on and off the field throughout my military

experiences, but the bravest patient was not a soldier but a young child. A young child was found

screaming in the alleyway of a local town, while my comrades and I were on patrol in search of

the ever-elusive antagonists. Barhan was approximately seven years old, it was sad that he did

not know his actual age or his birthday, yet he remained more chipper than most people in the

country did. Despite having, sustained third degree burns to both his legs causing him to be

immobile and covered in, presumably, his own urine and fecal matter. Luckily, for Barhan no

contact occurred, so I was able to begin treatment as soon as he brought the child to a safer

location.


Since, Barhan was a child and I received virtually no training with children I did not

know how much morphine to administer safely and neither did his “superiors.” Therefore,

Barhan was only permitted to take ibuprofen, during his initial treatment, which is typically the

most painful for all people who sustain burn injuries. The reason being that the injury usually

involves clothing or other debris being affixed to the injuries and to avoid further damage

through bacterial action, this debris must be removed via forceful scrubbing because of this it is

horribly painful. At any rate, Barhan was relatively silent compared to other burn victims that I

treated despite having only mild pain management administered. Barhan was quickly idealized

as a paragon for bravery for overcoming a few days in that alleyway unattended and for handling

his treatment with such a high level of fortitude.

Barhan would eventually be unofficially “adopted” by the group of soldiers I was with

and he would eventually begin scrubbing his

own wounds clean daily. It was assumed by

many that Barhan would never be

ambulatory again, but I and my comrades

pooled our resources and devised a physical

therapy plan so that he would be able to walk

again. This rudimentary physical therapy

would prove to be painful, challenging, and beneficial to the prognosis of his injuries.

Ultimately, he would be able to walk again, a few weeks into his therapy sessions he was able to

walk a few steps unassisted. After, roughly 3 months he was completely self-reliant, which led

him to take up a modest job as the post recreational “officer”, where he simply kept the rec area


clean and hung out. Eventually, his uncle, a relatively high-ranking reconnaissance officer for the

Afghan National Army would find out about him and begin taking care of him.

As the military genius, George Patton once said, “If we take the generally accepted

definition of bravery as a quality which knows no fear, I have never seen a brave man. All men

are frightened. The more intelligent they are, the more they are frightened.” This sums up

bravery in the rawest sense of the word, ignorance about risk is not bravery but stupidity and

willfully knowing all the risks, yet still endeavoring is where real bravery occurs. Barhan

overcame the risk, in his case pain, in order to achieve his desired goal of restoring mobility and

alleviating his wounds. Thus, he is the bravest child I have come across.

There were also several other brave people that I came across that were at least for a brief

moments displaying paragon-like bravery. For instance, one of my comrades rode a golf cart

down the side of a mountain while being shot at

in order to deliver ammunition to his comrades

down the hill, or all the soldiers that continued

to press on despite being tired, hungry, and

scared for their lives. Everyone in some way or

form showed immense bravery, even the

soldiers that found out their wives were

adulterous continued to carry out mission after mission for the common good of their comrades.

Moreover, climbing into mountains and valleys without the slightest clue of what was beyond or

within was a testament to the bravery of this group of stalwart individuals. Luckily no one was

killed and the guys that were injured I was able to “patch” them up very well. So, all the training

and dealing with all the nonsense that was part of the training process definitely paid off.


One of the more interesting and surprisingly funny injuries was when my comrade Randy

Schenk had his thumb shot partially off. I remember the night pretty vividly, it was pitch black

out and we were going through this field on our way back from checking out the nearby village

for this one individual. When we were ambushed by

about a dozen individuals with ak-47s and rocket

propelled grenade launchers. It only lasted several

minutes before the area was finally clear and we thought

everyone was fine until Schenk ran up to me grabbed

my collar and said “Carbonelli Sergeant my thumb is all jacked up”. I looked down at him

clasping his partially severed thumb in an awkward manner, kind of how a child holds something

they are trying to hide from their parents. I looked at him through my night vision goggles and he

had this giant grin on his face so I just burst out laughing, while he is still awkwardly grasping

his thumb. He just replies “you are such a douche bag right now”. I am still not sure why I

laughed maybe it was adrenaline or just the way he ran up to me and the way he told me about

his injury.

The treatment of his thumb was pretty standard sew it back on as best as possible and

apply pressure above the wound to control hemorrhaging. Then put his hand in ice to help with

the pain and swelling. When we got back to the MRAP (mine resistant ambush protected, it is

basically a giant armored truck) I gave him a bunch of morphine and he was just having a riot in

the back swearing up a store with fits of

laughter. It was like watching a bipolar

person, going through their stages of

mania and depression in rapid


succession. He finally calmed down by the time the helicopter came to take him to Bagram Air

Field, where he was in Landstuhl, Germany within two days. The military does not do very many

things well but one of them is the evacuation and treatment of battlefield patients. The moral of

this story is that even with the possibility of him losing his thumb and the fear that accompanies

that he was still jovial and content, albeit he was on 5mg of morphine though. Also, it is how I

got my 7th combat medic badge, although only one really counts.

Walking through the barren

landscape of Afghanistan was for the

most part calming. But, by far the worst

portion of this part of my life was guard

duty at night for six hours of simply

sitting silently in a hut waiting for

something to happen and hoping for

nothing to actually happening. The mind

has a tendency of wandering to some really obscure places while you are sitting in the darkness

cold and alone in the mountains sitting around a pile of munitions and explosives. The sky was

almost always clear and you could easily see all of the stars in the sky at night, it was beautifully

horrifying at night. Sitting there

though and battling your own

thoughts and dealing with being

on the other side away from your

family, friends, and decent food

was a daily burden especially on


nights like those. For the most part, I tried to keep as busy as possible so that I would not have to

think about those things.

That is why coming home from

Afghanistan was such an amazing and

great experience. However, I

remember being at Bagram Airfield

loading into the C-130 looking out the

back thinking about all of the

Afghanis that I helped or had an

impact on my life. I was offered a really cool position if I stayed in Afghanistan and I would

have been able to work with some really elite groups. I seriously considered and would have

liked to stay there, but then I thought I do not want to turn into Jon Rambo. Moreover, I was

pretty sure I would not survive another year

there.

Coming home was a pretty cool experience;

the Governor of Illinois (not Blago) gave a

speech at our return home ceremony at soldier

field. The following year I was at home was

relatively boring and my military contract was

modified so that I could spend the rest of my service length at home, but would have to have an

additional two years put on at the end for re-deployment if necessary. I enrolled in community

college. For the most part I felt like the introductory level classes were overly easy and

unchallenging so I decided to find a part time job and I looked in Craigslist. I found a job that


perfectly matched my experience so I applied. A week later I was hired as a medical instructor

for certified nurses’ aides and medical assistants.

Working at First Institute was initially very challenging since the majority of the student

body there is female and working with that many females from having worked with very few in

the army was a huge transition. I taught Afghani soldiers and civilians basic first aid and I taught

the American soldiers much more advanced combat medical tasks that could save their lives. The

format of a military class is vastly different and tailoring my learning objectives for a class of

female civilians was quite difficult. The subject matter that I taught at First Institute, for me was

very easy since I had been doing those things for the past years. Surprisingly though, I fit in very

well and my students quickly

became the highest achieving and

could perform their medical

procedures with military-like precise

and expertise. I remember every

morning before I would start class I

was terrified of giving the wrong

information or misinforming them

about medical practices. So, I was typically overly prepared for all my lectures. I think the

biggest driving force behind my bravery throughout my life has been the fear of failure and from

failure I feel like it would be impossible to achieve my life goals, which at that moment in my

life was very loosely defined.

Thanksgiving 2011, my close friend and comrade, Brent overdosed on drugs and soon

thereafter another one of my comrades committed suicide. I remember being angry at the world


and the Veterans Affairs office for not doing enough for us when we came back from

Afghanistan. The Department of Defense

spends billions of dollars training us and months

training us to go to war and do our jobs. But,

when we came back we were all rubber stamped

through the psychological tests and post-war

stress debriefings. So, I thought that well if the

military and the government can let all these

young men and women go through the travesties of war without helping them or providing them

with a way to get help afterwards. It is a huge disservice to what it means to be an America. It

was also during this time that I learned that the military currently has a record him suicide rate.

My anger with the government and how it simply lets soldiers suffer silently is

despicable; I understand there are programs that do help people that are experiencing post-war

stress. Through my anger I found motivation and joined every veteran’s organization that would

welcome me, Iraq and Afghanistan Veteran’s Association, Wounded Warrior Project, Veterans

of Foreign Wars, the American Legion, and the Disabled American Veterans association. I have

been actively participating in all of these organizations and have volunteered numerous hours to

the Wounded Warrior Project and the Disabled American Veteran associations. Working with

my fellow veterans led me to want to eventually become a clinical psychologist so that I could

help people such as Brent or the numerous other comrades I know that have committed suicide

or are currently struggling with their own lives and emotions. Even though I am not a disabled

veteran I can still understand and emphasize with them better than most people. It is for those


comrades that the necessity of my bravery so that I can push forward and ultimately help the so

many that have helped me through this crazy up journey of life.

In class, I felt that it was at times unnecessary for me to show my character strength,

since there did not appear to be a need for it. Yet, I suppose it did manifest itself outside of class

and in some of the exercises we did such as the gratitude letters. I consider myself to be a self-

sufficient person so admitting to another person that they have helped me is more difficult for me

to do. After I began writing my letters of gratitude it started to flow and came naturally. It felt

great to tell my friends and family those things. So, going outside of my comfort zone and

speaking about things like that was very beneficial and I should definitely try to do it more often.

The most important thing for me to try to do moving forward is forgiving the people that have

wronged myself or others while I was in the Army. Some of them did things that put hundreds of

people in jeopardy and it will be difficult forgiving such unprofessional conduct, but it has to be

done eventually.


References

Peterson, C., & Seligman, M. E. P. (2004). Character strengths and virtues: A handbook and classification. New York: Oxford University Press and Washington, DC: American Psychological

Association.


1.) You must provide evidence for each of the answers that you give to the questions above. Examples of acceptable evidence include, but are not limited to the following list. Also, this list is ordered from highest to lowest in terms of quality of evidence.

a. Artifacts—these can include emails, letters, pictures, sound bites, etc. These will serve as appendices to your paper, but will not count toward the page requirement.

b. Results from the various questionnaires, surveys, or other tests taken during the course. (All students must provide this kind of evidence in their papers)

c. Descriptions of your experiences—to serve as evidence, these experiences should be fully described (i.e., when, where, who, how, what).

The Combat Medical Badge is an award of the United States Army, which was first created in January 1945. The badge is awarded to any member of the Army Medical Department, at the rank of Colonel or below, who are assigned or attached to a medical unit (company or smaller size) which provides medical support to a ground combat arms unit during any period in which the unit was engaged in active ground combat. [Taken verbatim from Wikipedia.org]

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