I Blew Myself up in 2 seconds: The Skin Graft

When last we met I had just had my burns scraped down and was finally brought to my room, a lovely private space in the Westchester Burn Unit. I had a TV and an adjustable bed. I also was given a regimen of pain medication every 4 hours. I don't remember what they gave me but certain injections had a much more profound impact than did others. They would sometimes tell me what they were giving me and other times they just lit me up. But then sometimes they only gave me pills and I couldn't figure out why. I know at one point I inquired about the meds but I was so spaced out by then I couldn't remember one conversation from the next.

What I do remember quite clearly was that the Unit was completely devoid of life.

The windows are kept closed and the air is kept sterile in an attempt to keep the burns from getting infected. At night the temperature vaccilates between hot and cold and this torture is enhanced by my inability to regulate body temperature due to the damage to my sweat glands.

For two days I lie back in a constant stupor as Television shows all blend in to one running commentary that I can only describe by the image in my mind of a young adult sinking to his death in polluted quicksand while hysterically grabbing at Pizza Hut Bread sticks? (A reasonable metaphor for America's public life I think).

Through the haze of pain medication I feel a continuous, searing sensation around and over my bandaged arms, torso and chest.

Finally, I am prepared for surgery.

The Doctors have told me they won't know whether they will be grafting skin until they get me under the knife. Then, they will cut into my skin, layer by layer. If the skin does not bleed at the first layer or two, it is a sure sign that the skin is dead and new skin must be grafted. If they graft, they will use something akin to a cheese slicer and take off a thin layer of skin the whole circumference of the right leg from the knee up to the top of the thigh. This skin will be put through a mesh system that flattens it to so as to allow it to cover three times as much area. The skin will then be put as one large piece over the entire torso/chest area, and other pieces over the relevant portions of the arms, and then stapled in place.

Needless to say, I didn't bleed and therefore had the skin graft placed from my waist to just below my nipples. Somehow, my belly-button did not get burned and somehow my nipples did not get burned (thank God for small miracles!).

When I awake from surgery I no longer feel the painful burning sensation under my bandages! I am quite amazed. The staples hurt a bit, but aside from that I feel very little in the way of burn pain. Apparently, the skin graft was a success!!! But remember that saying about taking from Peter to pay Paul.

I begin to sense a new and unusual pain. It takes me a minute to locate the source. I feel around below the sheets and then on my right leg I notice a bandage surrounding my knee and thigh. Then I remember that my leg is where they were going to graft the skin from. This is a wholey new pain that I have only felt on a tiny level once when I scraped my knuckle. But now the scrape covers the entire area of my right leg. The top layer of my right leg is gone. When I try to stand up I can only let out a moan and cry that becomes a muffled scream as I bite down on the bed sheet I am holding.

But the fact that my leg feels this painful isn't what worries me. What really worries me is when I find out that the leg has to be washed daily. How in the hell can you possibly put anything on this wound, I wonder? The feel of a slight wind blowing over it, let alone water and soap, makes me want to puke. Well, you can do it yourself or they'll do it for you. Either way it's going to be the worst pain I've ever felt, next to the emotional humiliation of crying, nude, in front of a nurse every time she has to wash me.

"it will go away eventually," she keeps telling me.

xxx

What They Did to Pat Tillman

As we reach another grievous anniversary in the disastrous War that is America in Iraq, we relive yet another chapter in this sinister act.

June is the month when, 7 years ago, the truth began to surface about fratricide killing of Spc. Pat Tillman.

First, the facts:

Pat Tillman's story is well documented, but basically Pat Tillman was a 24 year old Safety for the Arizona Cardinals in 2002. He was offered a 3.6 million dollar contract that year which he turned down in order to volunteer with the Army. He became an Army Ranger and was deployed in both Iraq and Afghanistan. Pat Tillman was killed in Afghanistan on April 22, 2004. On May 7, 2004 the Army’s official casualty report stated that Tillman was killed by “enemy forces” and “died in a medical treatment facility.” This was later proved to be a lie which the military was aware of. Tillman's body armor, fatigues, weaponry, and all other traces of evidence were burned in the following days. And, another little known fact, although he fought and served out of a sense of duty and loyalty, Pat Tillman was seriously questioning the War. He was scheduled to meet with Anti-war activist Noam Chomsky after his deployment ended.

When Pat Tillman first entered the Army he was hailed by The War's main supporters as a hero. Sports telecasters around the country spoke of the bravery and courage of this man who was walking away from millions to serve his country.Conservative War Hawk mouthpieces like Ann Coulter described Tillman as "an American original--virtuous, pure and masculine like only an American male can be." Donald Rumsfeld sent him a letter calling him a hero and the President used the Tillman name often to garner support for the War. And, immediately following Tillman's death the military and the the Bush Government said that Tillman was killed by the enemy while heroically leading a charge against them. They initially tried to use the death of "Pat Tillman" as Propaganda. The only problem was that they lied.

In reality, Pat Tillman was killed by three bullets to the head which came from someone within his platoon who fired during an ambush by Afghan rebels. The Military knew of this the day after the killing but rather than tell the truth, they hid the facts, tried to cover up the story and have ever since reversed course and attacked Pat Tillman's family accusing them of being "disgruntled atheists" simply because they want to know tthe truth about how their son died.

The best proof that our Wars in Afghanistan and Iraq are wrong is that our Government and Military have had to lie in order to "make" heroes for us. The stories of Pat Tillman and Jessica Lynch are a testament to that.

To be sure Pat Tillman is a hero. He is a hero because he stood for what he believed even when his beliefs changed. He not only courageously walked away from millions of dollars to serve his country but he also questioned the War he was fighting while being in the middle of it.

Supposedly, in the real "friendly fire" incident that resulted in Tillman's death, Tillman was mistakenly shot from 70 yards away amidst smoke and chaos.

How does someone who fires from 70 yards away amidst smoke, fighting and the chaos of battle manage to put 3 bullets into his buddy's forehead?

Just a lucky shot?

Who Will Speak for the Trees?

If you remember Dr. Seuss's book, The Lorax, then you remember that woeful, pleading of the mossy, bossy little-man, "Who will speak for the trees?"

For the longest time I thought of this story in the context of humans doing something for nature. Someone would ultimately "speak for the trees" because it was a "good" and "right" thing to do. However, I have recently learned, first hand, that there is a lot more to it.

Last Summer I had 25 trees cut down on five acres of land that surround my house. I was a little anxious about it. I was admittedly worried about causing some kind of environmental problem. Basically, I felt guilty. But somehow losing 25 trees out of about 200+ just didn't seem unreasonable. Besides, I was getting a much needed $1200 infusion of cash.

After the tees were cut, the first thing I noticed was how ugly it looked. It was like a bomb had been dropped. I knew that at some point other trees, plants and vegetation would grow, but to look at it I felt a great loss of something beautiful. I just tried not to look at the area too often and wanted to quickly get through the Summer, Fall and Winter so new growth would cover the "wound."

This Spring I was very busy planting my garden and plants around my house and I was happy to see growth begin to cover the areas where the trees had been cut. But then I began to notice something very different from previous years. One of the things I have always loved about where I live is that I wake up in the morning to the sounds of what feels like hundreds of different bird songs. But this Spring I heard relatively few birds, mostly right up around the house. The deep and vast sound of birds' songs echoing throughout the woods was gone. Nearly every morning now I wake up missing the greatness of that sense of life and awesomeness of bird song.

It has become clear to me that the concentrated removal of those 25 trees has greatly reduced my quality of life and my sense of the largeness of the world around me. I miss the diversity of birds and the feeling like there were hundreds of them. It's as if a city of life is gone. It makes me understand even more how the mass-destruction of the environment must be adversely impacting the senses of human beings: making us lonely. I wish I could give the $1200 back because it in no way has an equal value to what I've lost.

I'm not sure what the trees would say if they could speak words. They'd probably say something like, "You'll miss us and the birds when we're gone." And now I know that the real question is, "Who will listen?"