In 2009, he became a highly trained scout, what they call- a recon marine, and then became a part of the 1st Recon battalion in Camp Pendleton, California, after which the man was sent to Afghanistan for a rough 5 months. Who knew that soon he was going to step on an IED and injure both my legs and my left hand?
After one hour of this incident, the scout was rescued by a British helicopter during a very intense fire battle and brought to Camp Bastion. While narrating the incident, he said he has a vague memory of the event and supposes it’s for the better.
The doctors at Camp Bastion did their best, but the condition was such that it needed more care, so he had to be moved to a place with better medical facilities. The US Air Force carried him to Kabul, then to Bargam.
When he regained his conscience in Bargam, it felt like returning home. The intensity of pain remained constant, but what mattered in that moment was the thought of my family and the fact that I was alive.
The flight from Bagram to Washington, D.C., took a toll on the scout, who struggled to survive. Every breath he took felt like a loan being taken from his life with empty pockets. Arriving home felt like a moment of relief, looking at the faces of the people he loved.
But that moment was short-lived because soon he realised that both his legs were gone.
After gathering the courage to see the injuries, he began to touch his legs, but they felt numb.
There was no sensation. No feeling at all. It was as if he had been cut off from me. There was nothingness. Emptiness. Space. All he could feel was the hospital bed.
His existence felt like a question as he began to think of all kinds of scenarios- about how different my life would be now. But he did not have the time to think
about all this. He had to gather the courage to look fine, for the family and teammates back in
Afghanistan.
The scout says that even today, when he thinks of that time, he wonders where that courage came from. The courage to survive. It could be a product of the prayers the lovely people made for him, and perhaps his training, which has helped a lot. If anyone asks me one thing that kept me going at that time, it was gratitude. The ability to dance in the storms. Well, it’s not just a motivational quote. It’s a whole phenomenon—a guide for survival.
Nine years later, he finally narrated his story to thousands of people, many of whom related to
my story. On 4th April, he was going to Oregon to meet his platoon for training. They plan to climb Mt Baker in July to raise money for Force Reconnaissance Foundation.
In Denver, when he was boarding a flight, he was walking to my seat rather than using the wheelchair,
Captain Marc Vincequere, standing nearby, asked if he was in the military, to which he
replied yes. His next question,
“Afghanistan, 2010?” took the man by surprise. What he told me next was even more shocking. He was the pilot who flew me out of Afghanistan after the man got injured.
They took an iconic photo, which is being shared online.
It’s crazy how times change. Life changes. Today, he salutes all the doctors, nurses, and pilots who helped him escape that difficult time. It fills his heart with warmth and gratitude to this day.
