Chapter One:  The Awakening

Captain Michael Amerigo woke in the middle of the night, sitting upright in the dark, reaching for his weapon.  He frantically looked around. He wasn’t holding a weapon; it was a blue control panel on a long, spiraling cord. He looked out into the darkness. That wasn’t the enemy; it was a young man sitting in a chair.  He looked down. He was not in his gear; instead, he wore a blue hospital gown. He was in a hospital bed with a large blinking medical console, blinking at him in the night.  He thought, “Where am I?” before reaching down to feel his legs, lifting the covers to see if he was all there. Sighing back into his pillow, he said, “Thank you, Lord.”  His movements woke an orderly, James, a tall, dark young man with short black hair, dressed in green scrubs, napping in a red metal chair, three times too small for him.  James jumped up, headed to the door, then returned to his bedside, out of breath, saying, “I don’t know what to do.” Michael had been unconscious for over four months, and the doctors and nurses did not expect him to regain consciousness, based upon his injuries.

James turned again and headed for the door, but Michael begged him to stay, asking, Where am I? What day is it?”  James paused and hesitantly replied, watching the door, “Walter Reed in Washington, and October first.”  Michael paused and then stated, “That can’t be true. What year is it?”   James asked, “Do you know what you did?”  Michael replied, “I can’t remember anything.” The orderly glanced at the door one more time, then took out his phone and held it close so Michael could see the YouTube video.  As Michael watched, he saw himself carrying his squad mates to a helicopter, being shot as he returned, falling down and then getting up again, over and over until all five of his squad mates were saved.  The orderly says, “You are famous. You are a national hero.” Michael replied, “I am hungry.”

James announced, “Wait right here. We will be right back.” Within seconds,  three nurses and a doctor, all dressed in shades of green and blue, rushed to his bedside, the overhead light suddenly glaring.  The doctor asked Michael a question as a nurse checked his chart, another took his blood pressure, and a third was checking his oxygen levels.  The doctor said loudly, “Can you hear me?”  Michael replied, “Yes, you are shouting and blinding me.”   The doctor lowered his voice,  motioning for one of the nurses to turn the light off, before repeating his question, “How do you feel?”  Michael replied, ‘Hungry.”  The young doctor held up his pen and waved it in front of his eyes, back and forth, saying, “Let your eyes follow the pen.”  Michael noticed that the doctor was about his age, young, with short brown hair matching the brown eyes he had been following.   The doctor was sweating profusely and looked confused. He took out his stethoscope and listened to Michael’s heart. Frowning, the doctor moved the instrument from one spot to another on Michael’s recently revealed torso, searching for something.  Michael put his hand on the doctor’s shoulder and announced, “That is my stomach growling,” as he reached down, finding a bag taped to his torso. 

The doctor stood up and announced, “We can’t give you something to eat until we determine more about your current internal organ status. We are going to sample your blood to determine your liver enzymes and the output of your kidneys.”  Michael asks, “What is your name?”  The doctor replied, “Doctor James.”  Michael reached out to grab his hand, trying to get the doctor to stay, and asked, “What is this bag attached to me?  The doctor winced and said, “I am not your primary doctor. I am finishing my residency, and on night shift, so I don’t know how much I am supposed to tell you. Michael grabbed him by the arm, saying, “If it were you. What would you want to know about yourself?”  The doctor stepped back and paused, solemnly reciting his injuries: “You were shot seven times: four times in the legs, twice in your torso, and once in your arm. You have a catheter that allows you to pass liquids, and the bag you feel is a colostomy bag. You haven’t had solid food in over four months, so your waste output is liquid. We have your colon bypassed until we determine if your internal organs will support natural waste disposal.”  The doctor reached out and put his hand on Michael’s shoulder, smiled, and said, “You were lucky that you didn’t lose any limbs.  I apologize if that is not comforting. I encourage you to count your blessings and work on rebuilding your strength for a full recovery.”

The young doctor, all the nurses, and James left, leaving Michael alone.  He reached up and said, “Thank you, Lord, for preserving me. We’re all alone now, you and I.  If it wasn’t my time to go, please tell me why and let my parents know I am all right. Give me strength if you want me to recover, and please forgive me for my shortcomings, including my disappointment with my injuries. Be with the members of my squad.”  He closed his eyes and was awakened by a young brunette nurse carrying a tray of food.  As she set the tray down on his bedside table, she announced, “My name is Claudia. Your test results look good, so the doctor is going to let you try a little food. Your stomach hasn’t had solid food for over four months. Please try just a little, and then wait to see how you feel before you try more.”   Michael replied, “I am feeling weak. Will you feed me?” hoping to get a closer look at her. She reluctantly sat on the metal chair by his bedside and opened a container of yogurt, holding a spoonful out for him to swallow.  He looked into her eyes, beautiful light brown eyes that contrasted with her auburn hair, and swallowed, saying, “Mmm.” 

She asked, “How do you feel with a little yogurt in your stomach?”  He looked at her and said, “I am ready for a hamburger.”  Claudia laughed as he reiterated, “I am serious; I want a hamburger.”She smiled and said, “All in good time, adding, “I don’t mean to pry, but it says on your chart that you have no immediate family members. Is that correct?” He looked closely at her. She was twentish and workout-thin, with a blue scrunchie pulling her auburn hair back. He asked,  “First, do you have parents and brothers and sisters?”  She was shocked for a moment, but seeing him smile,  his eyes dancing, dissuaded all discipline.  She replied, “Yes, I grew up in Cincinnati, my parents still live there, and I have two brothers and a sister.”  She asked, “What about you?”  He ignored her question and asked, “And no wedding ring?”  She sighed and replied, “You are incredibly incorrigible but cute.”  She paused, thinking about what to say, and continued, “I am just three years out of nursing school, working and studying to be a nurse specialist.  I am married to my work.” She paused, and then added, “For two more years.”  He smiled and said, “Thank you,” before continuing.  “My father died when I was twelve, and my mother died when I was eighteen.” He paused, thinking about what he was going to say, before beginning, “I was left all alone in the world.  I joined the service to have a purpose and a distraction.”  He looked, and she was tearing up, as he added, “I am never really alone,” pointing up.

The silence between the two was deafening, reverent, and appropriate. Claudia got up to kiss him on the forehead as two nurses pushed the door open and saw her leaning over.  They backed out of the room, faster than they burst in.  Claudia, posture restored, opened the door and announced, “Come in, we are going to give him a bath.”  Michael sat up in bed and replied forcefully, “No, I am having a shower.” Claudia responded, “The doctor said bathing.” Michael replied, “ I am getting up,” extending his legs over the edge of the bed, gathering his blue and green gown, to stand up.  Claudia led the two nurses to his side, yelling, “Oh, no. You have to sit in a wheelchair. I will get you a wheelchair.” She motioned to the first nurse, saying, “Rita, get a wheelchair,” and turned to the other nurse, directing, “Ramona, get a shower seat.”  The three nurses all put him in a wheelchair, barely squeezing into the bathroom with him.  Claudia slid him over onto the shower seat and pulled the curtain. Michael threw his gown over the top, turned on the shower, and stood up.  Claudia screamed, “You can’t stand; you have to sit.”

Michael was back in bed, out of breath and panting as the two nurses gathered up the dirty gown and the wheelchair, leaving Michael alone with Claudia. She sat by his bed. Michael asked, “What is wrong?”  She replied, “It is six forty-five; my shift is up at seven.”  He watched her as tears gathered in her eyes. “Please don’t tell anyone I told you, but we would sneak in and raise your eyelids, praying you would open your eyes so we could see your beautiful blue eyes.” He smiled as she continued, “And someone made this big sign, ‘He’s Awake,’ with hearts and butterflies on the wall above the punch-in clock,” as she showed Michael an image on her phone.  He replied, “Thank you,” adding, “Go home and rest. I am not going anywhere.” She replied, “But now I will worry about you all day.”  He smiled and said, “I will wait for my angel to return.” This time she did it; she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.  He said, “Go.” And she walked to the door and turned one more time, smiling before leaving.

Michael looked at the monitor. In the corner he could barely make out a little clock: seven.  He heard a commotion in the hall, nurses gathering outside, arguing.  One nurse came into the room, followed by two others.   They were suspiciously smiling s as the first nurse stated, “I am Cynthia, your day nurse, and these are your nurse assistants, Lavonne and Tamara.”  Michael was feeling better after his shower and flippantly announced, “I am Michael, your patient.”  He asked, “Who has been cutting my hair and trimming my beard?”  Cynthia replied, We have a daily, weekly, and monthly regimen. Daily, we check your fluid output, empty your catheter and colostomy bags, check the doctor’s orders, and give your food and medication.”  Michael replied, “What kind of food have I been given?”  Cynthia smiled and replied, ‘You don’t want to know,’ continuing, “Weekly, we bathe you,  take blood samples and test cognitive and physical responses, and monthly we trim your hair, trim your beard, and trim your nails.”   Michael looked at the three of them; all were thirtyish.  Cynthia was the oldest with short black hair tucked under a surgery cap. Lavonne and Tamara wore competing gowns, decorated with hearts and butterflies.  He thought, “I wonder who the artist was that drew the sign above the punch-clock.”

Michael heard a knock on the door, ‘knock, knock,’  and an older doctor, not as tall, not as thin, whiter with gray at the temples, appeared. He immediately announced, “Good morning, I am Doctor Rogers, your physician.”  He paused, and then smiled and added, “You can call me Steve.”  Cynthia stayed, picked up her iPad, and motioned for Lavonne and Tamara to leave. Steve turned to Cynthia and said, “I want an EKG and an echocardiogram. When is the last time we had a CT scan?”  She replied, “Two months ago.”  He replied, “I want a new one.”  He turned to Michael and asked, “How do you feel now that you have had something to eat?”  Michael replied, “Hungry.”  The doctor looked at Cynthia and asked, “Do you have that?”  She replied, “Yes, he is hungry.” Doctor Steve asked Michael, “What do you remember?”   Michael said, “We were pinned down, overwhelmed, and wounded, calling for an extraction.  I woke up here,” adding, “How did I get here?”  He replied, “You and your squad were airlifted to Landstuhl and stabilized before being transferred here.”  Michael asked, “Where is my squad now?”  The doctor replied, “I only have information on you.” 

He continued, “You are going to go through a series of cognitive and physical tests this week, combined with physical therapy.”  He waited for a response before continuing, ‘It says on your chart that you stood up to take a shower. Is that right?”  Michael replied, “Yes, why?’  The doctor replied, “Well, two things: first, that is a good sign that you can stand; second, that is a bad thing you did. You put your nurses at risk when you don’t follow orders.” Michael replied smartly, “I have always followed orders. What you are telling me is not orders.”  The doctor paused, trying to understand him, and then replied, “Try to work with the nurses and compromise when you can.” He continued, “Do you have any  questions for me?”  Michael replied, “Yes, when can I lose this bag and get reconnected?” The doctor replied, “We need to get farther down the road, showing real progress in rebuilding your physical strength and the strength of your core organs.” The doctor asked, ‘Anything else?”  Michael replied, “When can I have a hamburger?” The doctor smiled and replied, ‘We will let you know,” as he looked at Cynthia and then left the room. Cynthia said, “Try to get some rest today; you have physical therapy at seven in the morning.  She made some more notes and said, “Lavonne and Tamara will help you with breakfast. I am going to schedule your testing.”  She turned and asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”  Michael replied, “Is he any good or just annoying?” She replied, “He is the best, and he knows it. She paused and added, “We all do.” She turned to go, passing Tamara in the doorway, followed by Lavonne balancing a tray of breakfast.  He had decided Tamara was a little feisty and smart; she responded quickly at times and paused, thinking about what to say when she was troubled.  Shorter with black hair and a huge smile, she looked like someone you would enjoy getting to know.  Lavonne was quieter, taller, and heavier, with long black braids that extended all the way to her waist.  She was getting along and getting through her shifts.

He finished his last bite, and the door opened, revealing a tall lieutenant and two heavy-set sergeants in camo fatigue gear.  Claudia rose and left the room, leaving Michael with a napkin tucked under his chin as he returned their salutes, horizontally. The lieutenant identified himself, announcing, “I am Lieutenant Johnson, and these men are Sergeants Sipsoud and Natiling. The lieutenant was tall, with graying at the temples and an approachable but efficient demeanor.  The lieutenant's tone softened as he continued, asking, “How do you feel, son?”  Michael replied, “Confused,” adding, “Did Johnson, Siegle, Barthomew, Nothingham, and Jackson make it?”  The lieutenant looked at his paperwork and replied, “Yes, all of your squad survived.” The lieutenant added, “We are here to tell you that you are scheduled for a debriefing with General Hoboken tomorrow at 0900.”  The lieutenant added, “He will have more information on your squad and what happens next.” Michael looked up sharply as he finished, and asked, “What do you mean, what happens next?”  The lieutenant leaned over, placing his hand on Michael’s shoulder, and said, “Son, you are a national hero,” adding, “Here is my number. Call me if you have any other questions before tomorrow, but remember, I don’t have any information on your future or your squad.”  With that ominous statement, the lieutenant and sergeants saluted and left.  The door did not fully close; the lieutenant and sergeants left as Cynthia returned.  Michael looked up as she sat down, smiling and thinking: she looks good both coming and going. She saw him smile and asked, “How did that go?”  He replied, “From bad to good, thank you for coming back.”

The Monday, it was a Monday, was a parade of nurses, each jostling the other for a look at Michael, not just because he was handsome, but also for a chance to care for a hero.  The day ended with a little slice of heaven. His door opened just after nine in the evening.  Claudia peeked in, and he was sleeping. She sat in the little red chair, her blue scrunchie holding the auburn ponytail over the back,  watching him, and sat up as he rustled.  He turned over, opened his eyes, and said, “Good evening. I must not have been too badly behaved today. I got my angel back.” He closed his eyes and then opened them again. She asked, “Is everything all right?” Michael replied, “I am afraid to go to sleep for fear I will not wake again for four months.”  She smiled, replying, “Generally, once you wake from being unconscious for four months, the likelihood that you will fall back into unconsciousness is very low.” She watched for a response and continued, “Your organs are growing healthier each day.  Unless there is some new trauma, you should wake up normally going forward.” He replied, “Thank you,” closing his eyes. He woke again at midnight; she was still there. He woke again at 2 in the morning; she was still there.  He was fast asleep as he heard her get up at six. She saw him stir and said, “Sleepy head, you have physical therapy in one hour. I need to empty your bags and get you in sweats.”  She reached in her pocket, retrieving his identification tags, and said, “You arrived here with these, but you were unconscious for so long, we took them off so that you would not strangle yourself. We kept them for you,” as she draped the dog tags over his head, adding, “Get ready, soldier.”

Chapter Two: Debriefing

Claudia was busy unhooking Michael’s colostomy and catheter bags, as she looked up and noticed he was eating something. She stood up and exclaimed, “What are you eating?” He swallowed and replied, holding out a dinner roll, “A roll from last night.” He paused, and then added, “I saved it in case I got hungry in the night.”  She smiled, thinking, “I hope I get a husband just like him.” Michael announced, “You are not feeding me enough”. Claudia replied, “After physical therapy.” Michael looked at her with a look of disbelief and said, “I have a debriefing after physical therapy.”  She looked at his chart and said, “I am going to make some adjustments,” adding, “You are having pancakes with scrambled eggs for breakfast and biscuits and gravy for lunch. We will have the pancakes and eggs ready for you before your debriefing.” She finished replacing his bags, announcing, “Wait for me, I need to get the sweatpants and top you are wearing.” The door closed. Michael got up to go to the bathroom.  She returned, finding him missing. She looked around frantically and heard water running in the bath.  She quickly opened the bathroom door and saw him standing at the toilet. He looked up and asked, “Don’t you people knock?”  She could not believe her eyes; he had pulled his catheter out and was peeing in the toilet.  She backed out of the bathroom and waited for him.  He found her sitting in the chair with her head in her hands.  He asked, “Are you all right?”  She looked up and said, “Yes, I will let the day nurse deal with this,” handing him his sweatpants and top, and saying, “Get changed.”

Michael was lying in bed in dull gray cotton sweatpants and a matching pullover top.  Claudia made some notes and announced resolutely, “I will see you this evening.” Michael watched her leave, thinking, “The honeymoon is over.”  Cynthia pushed the door open with a blue wheelchair and said, “We are going to physical therapy on the first floor,” grabbed her iPad, and looked at Claudia’s notes.  She paused, her mouth open, before asking, “You removed your catheter yourself?”  “He said, ‘Yes, it was uncomfortable, and I had to pee.”  She replied, “No, no.  You are not following procedure. If you ever do something like that again, I will put your catheter back in you while you are awake,” adding, “And you are not going to like it.”  She began to help Michael out of bed, but he stood up and turned, sitting down in the wheelchair.  The journey to the first floor was quiet; Cynthia was mad, and Michael was busy watching all the staff watching him. She pushed the wheelchair through the door into the physical therapy area, revealing a huge grayish-blue room, full of struggling servicepeople. They were met by a large, dark man in blue scrubs; he was large enough to cast a shadow. “I am Jake, your PTA: physical therapy assistant.”  Cynthia gave his wheelchair one big push forward, abandoning him, turning to leave and saying, Good luck,” as the elevator doors closed.

Jake held out his hand to shake Michael’s, adding, “It’s an honor to meet you,” and added, “But I am not cutting you any slack. Let’s get to work.” Jake positioned Michael’s wheelchair at the end of a long gray walkway with yellow lights bordering the path, just below the handrails. A yellow sling hung from above on snaking black cables that extended from framework above the walkway.  Jake announced, “I am going to put a safety belt on you and hook it up to a cable that we use to hold you up or pick you up as you walk.” Michael was going to object, but decided to go with the flow, leaning forward as Jake fastened the belt.  Jake announced, “It is very straightforward; you walk down and walk back, take as much time as you need.” He stood up. Jake supported his body, grabbed him around the middle, and positioned Michael at the start of the long runway. Michael reached for the railing, his hands on each side, and looked at the end,  sighing. Jake said, “I am ready. Start walking.” Michael began, noticing his legs were not picking themselves up right, dragging themselves along.  He put more weight on his legs and dropped to his knees. Immediately, he felt the belt pick him back up.  He began walking again, getting about ten feet before dropping down again. As he went down, he felt the belt tighten and yelled, “Don’t help me, please.” He took a breath and pushed himself up, walking to the end. He turned to face Jake, who said, “Well done.”  Michael began his walk back to the beginning, making it about fifteen feet before dropping down, immediately saying, “No,” as he pushed himself back up and continued.

He reached the end, which was the beginning, and stood for a moment. Jake announced, “Let’s take a break.” Michael was dripping wet but said loudly, “No, again,” as he started back down the runway. He made it about ten feet and dropped down, saying out loud, “Come on. Get up.”  He pushed himself back up and made it to the other end.  Turning, red in the face, he started back down, making it to the end with the help of the guardrails.  Jake pushed the wheelchair under him and said, ‘You are a warrior; let’s get some water.”  Sitting at a table in a wheelchair, Michael swallowed, looking at all the servicepeople working with their PTAs, many missing a leg or an arm.  He looked up at Jake and said, “I don’t know what is wrong with me? I was in great shape when I was wounded.” Jake replied, “You were shot with .3-inch bullets that pierced your muscles in two places in both your legs. Those muscles need to regenerate, and they didn’t regenerate while you were unconscious.” He paused, watching Michael, and added, “Did you ever run track in high school?”  Michael looked up incredulously and replied, “Yes.”  Jake continued, “And do you remember your first week coming back to track? You were sore for two weeks and then good to go. Your recovery is like that. We are at the start of your track season today.”

Michael was in his fourth trip down the walkway when General Hoboken and four aides arrived at his room on the fourth floor, surprised to find their soldier not in bed.  Cynthia quietly told the General that Captain Amerigo was in physical therapy on the first floor. The General thanked her, as he and his entourage walked back to the elevator.  When the elevator opened on the first floor, a roomful of servicepeople struggled to rise and salute.  Michael reached the far end and did not see the General come in. It was his fourth trip, and he was tired, making it about halfway before dropping down, announcing, “Don’t help me,” as he pushed himself back up. He made it to the opposite end, pushing and pushing, trying his best,  turned, and spotted the general, and saluted.  Jake announced, “Let’s get you back upstairs.” Michael replied, “I am going to finish it,” as he headed back to the beginning. General Hoboken, a large man with gray hair neatly tucked under a four-star cap, watched him struggle, pausing in the middle before making it back without falling.  Jake caught him as he finished, unhooking his belt as he held him before dropping him down into the wheelchair.  Jake announced, “I will push him back upstairs.” The General replied, ‘No, I will take him.” The General reached the elevators and turned, returning the wounded soldiers’ worthy attempts at a salute, saying to everyone, “We are honored to be here with all you heroes.” He paused and then said, “At ease, carry on,” as the elevator doors opened.

The ride up the elevator was reverent, the reverence interrupted by Michael’s heavy breathing. Cynthia and the other nurses were surprised when the elevator doors opened, and a four-star general came out in full uniform, pushing a soldier in a wheelchair. She intervened, helping Michael back into bed. Michael lay there, trying to catch his breath, thinking, “You are pathetic.” He had just finished admonishing himself when the General pulled up the single red chair and announced, “We want to take you back through the day you were injured. Jay, my chief admin, is going to play the video that was captured by the evacuation chopper. Anderson here, pointing to another administrative assistant, is going to record our conversation.”   Jay began the video, uploading it to the television that was suspended from the ceiling. All eyes were on the television as the video began. The General said, “Describe it as you can remember.”  Michael began, “We were surprised and overwhelmed. We were often surprised being the special reconnaissance team, but we were never overcome like that. The intelligence was faulty.” He looked over and noticed Cynthia was still in the room before continuing, “We came under heavy fire. They had an automatic rapid-fire gun or something like that, and we were constantly peppered with bullets. Within minutes, Johnson, Siegle, and Jackson were hit and down. As a senior officer, I called for our evacuation and for airborne attack support. While I was making the call, I was hit in the back.”

“We waited; Bartholomew and Nottingham were helping me compress the bleeding coming out of Johnson and Jackson when they were both hit and fell. I put compression bandages on them and then heard the evac come up about fifty yards down the hill from us. The pilot would rise so I could see him and then, as the chopper was peppered with bullets, sink below the horizon.” The video progressed, showing Michael carrying one soldier over his shoulder down the hill.  General Hoboken asked, “Who did you take first and why did you choose him?” Michael replied, “I took Johnson because he was an only child. Everyone was bleeding and covered in blood. I had no way to do triage.  I knew we had to get out of there.” The general asked, “How did you know Johnson was an only child?”  Michael said, “I know everything about them,” adding, “I don’t have any family, and so it was fascinating for me to hear them talk about their parents and brothers and sisters.” He paused and then said, “And I took Bartholomew next because he was twice my weight and I didn’t know if I could carry him.” The General looked at his notes and said, “Bartholomew said he told you not to pick him up; he was too heavy.” Michael replied, “Yeah, I heard that.” The video progressed, showing Michael carrying a large soldier, hit in the leg, and dropping down to his knees for what seemed like an eternity, before rising again and carrying the soldier to the evacuation helicopter.  General Hoboken asked, “Did you know the evac would be there each time you arrived?”  Michael replied, “No, I can remember saying, ‘You better be there, you SOB.”  The group laughed as he lay back, catching his breath. 

Suddenly the door opened, and Doctor Rogers appeared, pointing to Michael and exclaiming, “Mr. Amerigo, you are not to remove your own catheter. You have violated hospital policy. I am recommending that you be reassigned to another facility.” The General rose from his chair, pointed at the doctor, and then at Michael, and said, “That is Captain Michael Amerigo, one of only a handful of living Medal of Honor recipients.  You will address him as such. I am not losing another hero because of your incompetent attitude. I am holding you personally responsible for this man’s recovery.  You are interrupting a secure military debriefing. Get out.” Doctor Rogers backed his way out of the room as the General composed himself and sat down, saying, “Please continue, son.”  I picked up Siegle, and he slipped out of my grip; my hands were covered in blood coming from my shoulder.  I got him up and was just about to the evac chopper when I was hit in the back. I knew I had to save them all, so I headed back and got Nottingham. Halfway to the evac, I blacked out.”  He pointed to the monitor and said, “There, that is when I blacked out.” The video showed Michael on the ground halfway to the evac with a soldier covering him. “I came to and got up. I don’t know how. When I got him hoisted up, I knew I was going to die and didn’t know if I could go back again. As I made my way to Jackson, I was hit and went down.”  There was a quiet veneration among those in the room as they watched the video, seeing Captain Amerigo lying on the ground, unresponsive.  Michael continued, “I crawled to Jackson and grabbed his vest, dragging him as I crawled with the bleeding arm, pushing with my feet. The evac chopper was gone when I got there.  I lay there with Jackson, thinking this is where we are going to die, and I heard the chopper again.  I pulled Jackson on top of me so they could reach out the door and grab his vest.” 

General Homoken commented, “You can see the black smoke from the engine of the chopper. The pilot told the crew he could not control the chopper for much longer and left you.”  They were about one hundred yards away when Siegle attempted to jump out of the chopper.”  The General looked at his notes, continuing, “Siegle said, ‘I am not leaving the Captain.’  The chopper pilot made one more swing by, and Siegle grabbed your arm.  You can’t see it, but you were dangling from the helicopter by one arm as they made their way to the advance field hospital.  As Siegle grabbed your arm, you were shot in the leg, your seventh wound. They actually shot a wounded soldier dangling from a helicopter.”  Michael looked at the General and said, “And I woke up here,” adding, “How is my squad?”  The General pointed to Jay, who replied, “Johnson, Siegle, Bartholomew, Nottingham, and Jackson are all reunited with their families.  Johnson was wounded three times, and he is going through physical therapy. Siegle was wounded once.”  He paused and said, “They all want to know about you.”  He continued, ‘Nottingham and Jackson were each wounded twice, but they are going to make it.” Jay continued, “And Bartholomew has lost thirty pounds. He said, He is half the man you are.”  The General said, “Thank you,” and then added, “You smell bad. Get a shower and some rest. It is with great humility and honor that I am recommending to the President that you be awarded the Medal of Honor.  From this point on, every person in the military will salute you, regardless of their rank.  As our hero, you will return their salutes.”  He rose and saluted Michael, who returned his salute.  The General leaned over and shook Michael’s hand, saying, “I will see you again soon,” as he and the entourage departed.

Cynthia remained in the room for the entire proceeding, standing in the corner crying.  Michael turned to her and said, “Thank you for staying. I am going to have a shower and breakfast now, if that is all right with you.” She approached him, her lips pursed, trying to hide her crying.  She took him by  his arm and led him to the bathroom, saying through her tears, “I will wait for you.” As he showered, he heard Cynthia tell Lavonne, “You get this man his breakfast now.” Adding, “Tamara, find him pajamas to wear.” Michael had just dried himself off when he heard a gentle tap on the bathroom door. He opened the door with a towel wrapped around him as a red-faced Cynthia announced, “Please try these on. They are made to be big so we can find your bag and help you when we need to,” handing Michael navy blue pajamas, adding, “Let me know if you need help.” Michael opened the door, dressed, and said, “Yeah, can you help me back to bed? “

Michael ate breakfast at ten, thinking, “I am getting biscuits and gravy at noon.” His frivolity was shattered when Michael was told his doctor was stopping by later. He had just closed his eyes and was thinking about what he found in the bath when Doctor Strange came in without knocking.  Michael saw him and threw the first punch, admitting, ‘I apologize for my behavior. I know that my acts have endangered your ability to care for me, and I promise I will be a better patient.” The doctor was shocked, stumbling over his speech, saying, “Thank you. I…,” and then “What I meant to say is…,” finally stating, We need to work together.  How are you feeling, Captain Amerigo?” Michael replied, “Better. I am not constantly hungry, and I have the best care team.” Doctor Steve, slightly strange, continued, “I am having our staff psychiatrist come by this afternoon to do some cognitive tests. Please cooperate to the best of your ability.” The doctor didn’t give Michael a chance to answer, instead adding, “I will check on you tomorrow,” as he opened the door to leave.  Michael was pleased he was gone, thinking, “Don’t let the door hit you in the behind as you go.”

Cynthia was changing his bag when he heard the knock. Michael had seen a lot of movies about psychiatrists but had never met one.  He imagined a middle-aged man with a bald head and glasses, maybe with a whiny voice and a hostile attitude, and SHE IS A REDHEAD?” The door closed as a tall red-headed woman appeared, about thirty, with a tiny waist, wearing four-inch heels. She looked at the chair and asked Cynthia, “Are there any chairs that you can ask someone to bring?”  Cynthia looked her up and down and said, “I will work on it.”  She was still looking at the psychiatrist as she opened the door to leave.  Standing by Michael’s bed, the psychiatrist announced, “I am Doctor Lovit,” adding, “The staff psychiatrist.”  Michael replied, “I am Captain Michael Amerigo, and I am very pleased to meet you.” She saw him watching her and asked, ‘Have you never seen a female psychiatrist?”  He replied, “Not one that looks as good as you.” She blushed as Cynthia pushed the door open, wrangling a larger chair she had dragged from the family lounge.  Doctor Lovit sat down, opened the organizer she had brought, and stated, “We are going to go through some questions and answers that are designed to test whether you have any cognitive challenges.” She added, “First, have you noticed anything unusual in your thinking, memory, or speech?”  Michael said, “The only thing wrong with me is that I cannot walk properly and I have this bag attached to me.”

The doctor took some notes and then asked, What is your full name?” He replied, “Michael Gabrielle Amerigo.”  The doctor then asked, “What is today’s date?”  He replied, “October 2^nd.”  She added, “Where are you right now?”  He replied, “Walter Reed in Bethesda, Maryland.” She asked, “Can you spell the word ‘world,’ backward?”  He paused and replied, “Dlrow.”  She said, “You are doing great. Can you count backwards from 100 by sevens?”  He thought and then said, “93, 86, 79, 72, 65.” She held her hand up and said, “That’s great; you don’t need to go on.” She looked at her paperwork and said, “What does the phrase ‘People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones’ mean?”  He replied, “If you are a beautiful woman, you should be attracted to a handsome guy.” She put down her paperwork and asked, ‘Were you always this intractable?”  He replied, “Only when I need to be.”  She took one more look into his blue eyes and announced, “You pass.”  She stood up as Michael asked, “If I told you I had dreams that upset me and caused my heart to race, what would that mean?” She paused, realizing what he was doing, and replied, “Perhaps we should meet again and deal with your dreams.”  He smiled and said, “Please.” She headed to the door and then returned to his bedside, placing her hand on his shoulder, saying, “Thank you for what you did. I had the opportunity to interview Nottingham, Jackson, Johnson, Siegle, and Bartholomew.  They hold you in such high regard; I can see why they admire you.” As she turned and left, he thought, “What is that perfume she is wearing?”

Cynthia arrived with attitude as Doctor Lovit left, asking, ‘How did that go?”  He replied, “Difficult.” She inquired, “What was the most difficult part?”  He smiled and said, “Watching her and listening at the same time.” He saw her smirk and said, “Women like that are married to their work. You think you want them, but you are setting yourself up for a life of loneliness.” He watched her to see if his statement had the intended effect, smiling as she nodded, and asked, “What about my biscuits and gravy?” She left to ask about his lunch as he thought, ‘Why is that not working?’ thinking about his trip to the bathroom. Cynthia returned, the door slipping shut as she said, “They don’t have any biscuits and gravy.” What else would you like?”  He replied, “A hamburger.” She looked at him and then checked to make sure the door was closed, saying quietly, “I do owe you a hamburger for that two-hour physical therapy session. If I get you a hamburger, you have to promise me that you will only nibble around the outside and not eat the whole thing.” He smiled, crossed his fingers under the covers, and said, “I promise.”

Michael had fallen asleep after his big lunch at three and was still asleep when he woke at nine, hearing Claudia crying.  He looked up; Cynthia and Claudia were looking at Cynthia’s phone. She had recorded the debriefing, and they were huddled in the corner of his room watching the video.  He could hear the General say, “I will see you again soon,” and knew the video was over.  Cynthia left as Claudia walked to his bedside and said, ‘Please forgive me for being so rough on you. I had no idea of what you went through. Every young person in America should have to watch that debriefing to understand the sacrifice of our servicepeople.” She put her hand on his shoulder as he tried to speak, letting silence speak for him.

Chapter Three: The President

Claudia came into his room at six in the morning. Michael rolled over and said, “I must be getting better; you only sat with me for three hours last night.” She looked at him in shock and said, “You can’t get any rest if you are watching me.”  She put her head down and admitted, solemnly,  “There is something wrong with me. At first I never wanted to leave your room, and now I feel that I am violating your space to be in the same room with you.” He replied, “I need you. First I didn’t want to fall asleep because I was afraid I would never wake up. Now I don’t want to fall asleep because I don’t want to dream those dreams again.” She replied, “Let me speak to your doctor about that,” adding, “Let’s get your bag changed and get you in sweats for physical therapy.”  Cynthia arrived with a wheelchair as Claudia leaned over and said, quietly, “I will stay with you tonight.”

 Cynthia enthusiastically pushed the wheelchair, realizing she was not mad but rather honored. Honored to be pushing a war hero to recovery. As the elevator opened on the first floor, Jake said, “Good morning,” his voice booming and presence looming. Cynthia said, “Good luck,” and patted him on the shoulder as she left.  Physical therapy was easier: upper body, which was not as damaged.  He was not alone with Jake, but thrust into a wild mix of cursing, sweating, cheering servicepeople, all wanting to meet him.  He watched as they traded barbs, “I am T-12,” another saying “ T-9,”  referring to their level of paralysis below the waist, and noted that they also had colostomy bags and catheters.  He was feeling better about himself, counting his blessings, when he heard yelling.  “Michael,” Jake yelled, “Are you listening to me?” He looked up at Jake, who stood at the end of the row of equipment, pointing at him, as he sat on an upright bench press, demanding, “Give me ten more for being distracted.”  Michael sweated and panted, working and watching. He thought, “These are my people.”  Jake patted him on the shoulder and said, “Let’s wrap it up.”  Michael loved the camaraderie and looked up at the clock, asking, “Why? It is only eight fifteen?”  Jake replied solemnly, “You have a date with destiny.” Michael arrived back in his room, but it wasn’t his room. This room had an oak-trimmed brown leather sofa and two large brown leather sitting chairs. Cynthia pushed him directly to the shower, saying, “Hurry up. The President is coming.”  He heard a commotion while he dried off. Cynthia tapped on the door, asking, “Are you dressed? The Secret Service wants to look in the bathroom.”

Two agents led the President in. Michael recognized the President from his press briefings, a tall man dressed in a professionally cut blue suit, a white shirt, and a red tie. The President’s blue eyes were his best asset. His demeanor was his second-best asset: easygoing but deadly.  Michael saluted.  The President said, “That is the last time I ever want to see you do that,” adding, “I wanted to meet you.”  Michael replied, “Why?”  The President said, “Because I have never had a chance to present a Medal of Honor to a living soldier. I have been waiting to see if you die.” Michael looked at him and said, “I voted for you.”  The President asked, “Do you regret it?”  Michael paused and then replied, “No, but you look younger on television.”  The President smiled. No one had treated him so casually in years, and he was relishing the tirade.  The President asked, “You do realize that I am the Commander in Chief?”  Michael replied, “Yeah, and you are also a veteran, so I get to speak to you like one.”  The President paused and said, “Yeah, please, call me Dan.” Michael commented, “You have a lot of Secret Service people here. Do you think I am a threat?”  Dan replied, “Well, I would say if I were threatened, I would want you on my team.”  The words hung all alone in the room, their prophecy not yet revealed.

Dan asked, “What do you need?”  Michael looked around the room, finding only two Secret Service members present, leaned over, and quietly said, “A hamburger and scotch.”  Dan laughed, replying, ‘I will see what I can do.” One of the Secret Service agents came forward and tapped on his watch, signifying their time was almost up.  Dan said, “You are amazing. It is my personal honor to award you the Medal of Honor on March 3^rd on the South Lawn of the White House. You have a month to get stronger.”  He asked, “Will you be there?”  Michael replied, “Yes, I will be there, thank you.”  The President got up, and Michael was about to salute, but the President put his hand out and saluted Michael first, saying, “It is an honor to salute you, Captain Amerigo. I will see you again.”  He shook Michael’s hand, patted him on the shoulder, and waited for the Secret Service to lead him to the door. Michael watched him go, thinking about his future, the big day, and that everyone was saying, “I will see you again.”

Cynthia burst through the door with Lavonne and Tamara in tow, excitedly asked, “What happened?” and breathlessly added, “They wouldn’t allow us to take pictures.”  Michael smiled, looking at the three of them waiting impatiently.  He thought if they were dogs, their tails would be wagging.  He replied, ‘They are awarding me the Medal of Honor.”  The three nurses were at his bedside, congratulating him as they heard his stomach growl. Cynthia put her hands over her mouth and exclaimed, “We forgot your breakfast.”  She turned to Lavonne and said, “Please find him scrambled eggs and pancakes,” and then turned to Tamara and said, “Please start on his bag. I am going to take his blood pressure.” She smiled as she pulled the sleeve over his arm, watching his eyes as he said, “I think it is upside down.”  She laughed, pulled it off, and turned it around as Tamara glared at her for taking the easier task. As Tamara left, Cynthia remarked, “You are having a CAT scan after lunch.”

Lavonne arrived with breakfast/lunch, straightened his pillows, and helped him prop up to eat.  He took a bite, watching her watch him eat, and said, “I would like to sit in a chair at a table to eat from now on.” Cynthia was back and replied, “I will ask your doctor.”   Michael finished his meal quietly.  Lavonne asked, ‘Are you feeling all right?”  He replied, “Yes, just bored.” Cynthia was busy checking his chart and updating his records; she looked up from her iPad and announced, “Siegle and his family are visiting you tomorrow morning.”  Michael’s head snapped up as he asked, “His family?”  She looked at him and said, “It says that there are ten coming tomorrow morning at ten,” adding, I have asked them to put more chairs that match this furniture in your room.”  She paused, then pointed, saying so Lavonne could hear, “I want a clear path from his bed to the bath.”   She was struggling around in his pajama bottoms when he asked, “Are you looking for something?”  She turned, red in the face, embarrassed that she had not informed him, stating, “Your colostomy bag has a metal clip that tightens and loosens the belt that holds it on you. I am removing the belt and taping your bag on for the CAT scan,” pausing and then adding, “I apologize for not letting you know what I was doing.”  She finished and announced, “We are ready.”

Michael was wheeled by wheelchair into the elevators in his oversized blue pajamas, passing a crowd of nurses jostling to catch a glimpse of him.  Cynthia announced, “We are going to the first floor where your PT is, but then over to Arrowhead for your scan.  Michael looked up as they passed the glass partitions separating the PT area, watching the soldiers watching him.  The CAT scan was uneventful, long, and boring. He was just about to object when it was finished, and he headed back to his room, Cynthia asking, “How was it?” Michael was about to answer as he was pushed through the doors into his room, but he stopped short, spotting his doctor waiting for him. Doctor Rogers greeted him, saying, “Captain Amerigo, your timing is perfect.”  As Michael was positioned in bed, his doctor began. We are starting you on extracellular matrix injections.” Michael looked puzzled as his doctor continued, “They are a complex network of proteins, glycoproteins, and polysaccharides that act as scaffolding to help rebuild organs and tissues.  They are particularly useful in wound healing.”  Michael asked, “How do I get it, and what side effects will I experience?”  Doctor Rogers replied, “It is by injection. You will feel slight discomfort at the injection site for a day or so and maybe some bruising. We are going to watch closely as you begin, and we are going to begin today.”

Doctor Rogers finished the injections and stood by, checking his chart and taking his vitals for twenty minutes before patting him on the shoulder and leaving.  Cynthia pulled up a chair as the doctor left. Michael looked over and asked, “Don’t you have an alarm or something that tells you when my heart stops so you can rush in?”  She smiled and replied, “I take great pride in the care I provide for you.  There is nothing more important to us than your well-being.”  He closed his eyes and didn’t wake up during dinner or after dinner.  Claudia arrived at nine, and Cynthia said with a hint of alarm, “Let’s try to wake him.”   Michael turned over and said solemnly, “I am awake.”  As the shifts changed, Claudia was left alone with him and asked softly, “Are you all right?” He replied, “I am depressed.” She was just about to ask him what she could do when the doors opened, and two Secret Service agents came in.  One agent was a shorter woman with blonde hair, and the other agent was a dark man with dark hair and a serious look, both dressed in blue suits, not quite as expensive as the President’s. They led the President into his room.  Michael pushed himself up in bed as the President turned to Claudia and asked, “Could I have a few minutes alone with Captain Amerigo? I need to ask some questions that are classified.”  Claudia was about to object, but Michael smiled, and she left. He watched as the President pulled up a chair and sat down, retrieving a hamburger, fries, and a flask of scotch from his pockets, smiling broadly.

Michael had taken his second swig of Scotch and was feeling less depressed as the President reached into his upper jacket pocket and pulled out an iPhone in a red case.  As Michael took a bite of hamburger, the President stated, “This is a White House cell phone that is in your name.” If you look in the contacts, you will see “Scotch,” and that is my number. Please don’t share it with anyone.  Text me and say you want to talk, and I will text you back with a time I can call, or a time you can call me.” He paused and then said, “Look for a contact called “Admin”; that is Irene, one of my assistants who is dedicated to you.  Do you know your bank account information?”  Michael replied, “I can try to remember.”  The President replied, “If you cannot, ask Irene; your disability payments are being paid into a USAA account.”  He smiled at Michael and said, ‘My time is almost up. I should take the evidence. Do you have a toothbrush?”  Michael replied, “Sure.” The President held out the flask and said, “One more, and then brush your teeth.  I will see you tomorrow.”  Michael took his last drink and looked over, asking, “Why are you doing this for me?”  The President replied, “One day at a time. I have great plans for you. I want you to be part of my administration. I am working on how that will happen. Sit tight and goodnight.” The President and his agents left as Claudia came in, finding Michael furiously brushing his teeth in the bathroom.

Claudia helped him back to bed and announced, “You smell funny.” He leaned back into the pillow, smiling as she asked, “I thought you were depressed?” He decided to use his newfound optimism to his advantage and said, “Yeah, I was, and then you appeared,” smiling at his cleverness as he drifted off to sleep. He was asleep at eleven in the evening when a tall Secret Service agent in a black suit knocked lightly on the door.  Claudia got up and walked to the door as the agent held out an iPhone box and said, “He will need the charger,” thanked her, and left. She watched the elevator doors close and returned to her hero, gently pulled back the cover,  seeing him holding an iPhone. She gently slid the phone out of his grasp, watching for him to open his eyes. He remained asleep as she pulled an end table to his bedside, creating a space for his phone and the charger she had plugged into the wall.  Watching the door, Claudia retrieved an extra bedside clock from a bag she had brought that night. The numbers on the clock glowed a greenish blue in the night, barely lighting her efforts as she unrolled a poster of a soldier in heaven she had purchased the day before. She searched for and found four push pins she had placed in a bag, held the poster up on the wall below the TV at the foot of his bed, and pushed in the push pins.

Michael woke, seeing Claudia napping with her head back on the overstuffed brown leather sofa.  He felt under his covers for his new phone, searching, pausing, and then relaxing as he discovered his new bedside table and clock.  He looked up at the poster below his TV and realized, “Evidently I will live here for a while.” His movements brought Claudia back to life.  She rose and asked, “How do you feel?” as he extended his legs over the edge of the bed, announcing, “I am going to the bathroom, and then I need to get ready for torture.”  He reappeared from the bath in his sweatpants and top, leaning on her as he dropped back down into bed.  He said, ‘You have been busy overnight. Thank you.”  She looked at him and said quietly, “I don’t want you to be depressed.”  Cynthia pushed the doors open, carrying a tray of biscuits and gravy, and asked, “Do you want to eat before I take you downstairs?” She set the tray down, surveying the room, and said, “I like what you have done with the place. Who is your decorator?” smiling at Claudia. 

Cynthia conferred with Claudia as Michael took his last bite.  Claudia walked to his bedside and said, “I will see you tonight.” Michael was watching her go as Cynthia asked, “Are you ready?” He replied, “Yes, today is walking, my least favorite.”  Michael was thinking, “How many more days do I have to ride in a wheelchair?”  The elevator doors opened, and Jake said, “Let’s get started.”  Cynthia leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Try to find out if Jake is single,” adding out loud, “Good luck,” before walking back to the elevator and pushing the button. Michael was on his third trip down the long walkway when he paused and asked, “Will you tell me what it will be like at the ceremony on March third?  Will I be able to walk by then?” Jake replied, “Get back down here and let’s sit down and talk about it.” Michael returned, dropping into his wheelchair as Jake said, “In the past, the president has held award ceremonies on the South Lawn of the White House. It has a raised podium with about five steps.  It is not whether you can walk but whether you can climb.” He watched for Michael’s reaction and continued, “Let’s work on walking with two canes next week.  You are making great progress.”  Michael replied, “Please, promise me that I will be able to climb those steps. I will do whatever is necessary.”  

Cynthia arrived a little before nine and sat down to watch Jake work with Michael.  She saw Michael drop down to his knees, yelling, “Don’t help me,” as he pulled himself back up. She said a little prayer in her thoughts, “Lord, help this young man be stronger. He is one of your warriors.  Rebuild him as only you can do.” Michael plopped into the wheelchair, panting, as Cynthia touched Jake on the shoulder and quietly said, “Thank you,” before pushing Michael through the elevator doors.  She listened for him to say something about Jake. The elevator doors opened, and she pushed him into his room, stopping at the bathroom.  He pushed himself up and said, “He is single,” as he shut the bathroom door, holding onto the knob, trying to catch his breath. Cynthia faithfully stood by the bathroom door, hearing the water come on and listening for Michael to fall.  She stood there for what seemed like an eternity, but then the bathroom door opened, and he stood like a monument, holding onto the door frame. She let him lean on her as she guided him back to bed, announcing, “Cody Siegle will be here with his family in thirty minutes.  Try to rest.”

Chapter Four: The Reunions

Michael watched the clock on his bedside table, expecting a crowd of people to push through the door into the room. He was surprised when Cody came in alone.  Cody closed the door and just stood looking at Michael, thirty, with blonde hair and brown eyes, thin- not the workout thin, but rather the natural genetic thin in blue dress pants and a white shirt.   He put his hand over his face, walked to Michael’s bedside, leaned over and hugged him, and said, “I prayed and prayed you would wake up, and I am so grateful for what you did.” Michael could feel tears dripping on his chest and replied, “I would not be here if it were not for your bravery and courage.  You saved me.  Cody stood up, wiping his face, and replied, ‘We saved each other; it doesn’t get any better than that.”

The door opened, and ten people gathered in his room, all dressed as if they were headed to church.  Cody began introducing his family. “These are my sisters, June and Jackie, and this is my brother, James. This is my mother, Irene, and my father, John. These are my grandparents, Robert, Ouida, James, and Elizabeth.  Cody’s brother James, with darker blonde hair and a bulkier build, stepped to the front of the crowd. He was the appointed spokesperson and began very seriously, looking at his parents before speaking,  “We want to thank you for saving Cody’s life.” He paused, not knowing what else to say. The family listened reverently for Michael’s response. Michael replied, “I want to thank you for not feeding him any more than you did. He wasn’t as heavy as some of the others.”  Everyone laughed and began sitting down. Michael asked Cody, “Do you have news on any of the others?”  Cody replied, “Well, you are going to get to see them all again.  We are each coming to see you over the next four weeks, and then we will all be there on the third.”  Michael asked, ‘How is your wound?”  Cody turned, held up his shirt to show the scar on his back, and said, “It hurts some days more than others; how about you?”  Michael replied, “I look like a bulldozer ran me over.”  The family laughed as Cody continued, “Johnson is like you, going through physical therapy each day, but he is at home.”

Michael said, “There are photos from the evac showing the helicopter coming in. Have you seen those?”  Cody shook his head, replying, “No.” Michael took the TV remote and turned on the TV, choosing the USB drive. The image of the chopper appeared on the screen, blue smoke billowing out of the engine as it careened through the sky, Michael dangling by one arm. In the image, you can clearly see Cody grimacing, blood all over his face.  Michael said, “There you are, saving my life,” adding, “Is that Bartholomew sitting on you?” Cody was mesmerized by the photo and couldn’t see members of his family crying.  He replied, “Yes, we were covered in blood, and I was sliding toward the door when I felt something heavy sit on my legs.  It was Nathan, heavily wounded but gallantly trying to help me. I kept praying, ‘Lord, don’t let me slip and grabbed your wrist with both hands.”  The video continued, showing the black smoke as Cody dropped Michael on the ground before the chopper sat down hard, tipping up with the blades chopping the ground inches from Michael’s body, slowing as the chopper sat back down flat.  A collective silence filled the room. Michael turned off the TV and said, “I want a picture of the two of us locking arms. James took out his phone as Michael reached up, locking his arm with Cody’s as Cody stood by his bed.

Cody was emotional and wiped tears, standing facing Michael, not wanting his family to see him.  Michael realized he needed to intervene and said, “You are getting the Bronze Star on the third.”  Cody sighed and replied, “Yes, and I will be last; they do them in alphabetical order: Bartholomew Jackson, Johnson, Nottingham, and Siegle.” Michael slipped out of bed in his blue pajamas, stood up, hugged Cody, and said, “There is a reason you will be last.”  He added, “ You will be last because I have recommended that you also receive a Silver Star for heroism.”  He paused, and then continued, “And you are being promoted retroactively to Corporal in response to your leadership in directing the squad when I was incapacitated.”  He watched Cody and added, “Were you really going to jump out if they did not go back for me?”  Cody laughed, wiping his face with his hand, and said, “You damned right.  I wasn’t going to let you save the entire squad and then leave you to die alone,” adding, “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.” James touched Cody on the shoulder and said, “Why don’t we all sit down?” 

\Michael fell back in bed as Jackie, Cody’s sister, asked, “What are your days like and what is your prognosis?”  Michael smiled and replied, “Torture every morning at seven, followed by a shower and meager meals.”  Everyone laughed as he continued, “I am trying to get stronger for the ceremony in three weeks,” adding, “I am constantly tested. I have a psychiatrist coming this afternoon to help me with my bad dreams.”  He looked at Cody and asked, “How are the dreams?”  His mother, Irene, a tall, stern-looking grayish-blonde woman in a blue dress,  replied, “He says he is afraid to go to sleep.” Cody nodded, and Michael replied, “When I figure it out, I will let you know.” James asked, “Cody told us about your family. We are so sorry. What are your plans when you leave the hospital?”  Michael thought about the question and replied, “I have injuries that have yet to be mitigated.  I am waiting to see the outcome before I make any plans,” he added. “Right now I am working on walking and climbing for the event coming up on the third of March.”  Cody smiled. Michael noticed he was smiling as Cody said, “Not to worry about the third. We’ve got you covered.”  Michael was thinking about Cody’s statement as  Cody’s grandmother, Ouida, a dainty woman with gray hair, replied, “Young man. You are never alone.  We will all be there with you on the third, and we will always be there for you. We expect to see you in Florida this summer.” Everyone laughed. Cynthia came back into the room, announcing, “I will take a picture with all of you. Gather around his bed.  Michael, get your butt out of bed and stand at the back of the picture.”  The goodbyes were long, thoughtful, and emotional.  As Cody’s family left, Cynthia asked Michael, “How are you feeling, with all these memories?” Michael replied, “Hungry.”

Michael was eating and thinking, “Lavonne sure asks a lot of questions,” replying to the third question about the President and the Secret Service.  He pushed the tray of food away, saying, “That is all I want. Thank you,” as she gathered the tray and cups and headed out of the room. The door did not close all the way. Michael recognized the heel holding the door open and the slender leg that was attached to it. Dr. Lovit appeared, wearing a scarlet red jacket over a black skirt with black four-inch heels, holding her organizer as Tamarra looked at Cynthia and then went out. Dr. Lovit sat down and asked Michael, “How are you today?”  He replied, “Better now.”  She smiled and opened her binder, turned to him, and asked, “What are the most troubling things about your dreams?” He thought for a moment and then replied, “Blood, guts, fear, terror, and a sense of loss.” She asked, “Will you share something specific?” He replied, “It is as if you are being stabbed to death, but the knife is not a real knife; it is plastic, but you are still bleeding. It is horrible and disjointed. I see bleeding and hear screaming, and I look down, and we are not where we are supposed to be.  Sometimes I realize I am dreaming and shake my head, trying to wake up.” Dr. Lovit is taking notes, purposefully writing in her binder. She looks up and asks, “What about when you are awake and alone, what do you think about?” How

He put his head down and said quietly, “I have this incredible sense of being all alone in the world. I am depressed because I don’t know what is going to become of me.”  Dr. Lovit put her binder down and replied, “You are famous worldwide. I know you don’t feel famous because you are here rebuilding your muscle and core strength.”  She paused, thinking, and then added, “I am a well-known psychiatrist.  My work is often boring, listening to people whine about their lives.  I was allowed to speak at a convention, and the response I received was overwhelming.”  Michael smiled and replied, “I bet it was.”  She admonished him, “Not just because of my looks.”  She added, “It was the message I delivered.  I talked about choosing to be a survivor versus being a victim.”  She looked at him and stated, “You have a future as a motivational speaker.  Millions of people want to hear your story, and your experience in bravery should be shared with every school in the nation.  That is your future, and we are going to work together to achieve it.”

Michael replied, “Thank you. It certainly seems far away right now.” Dr. Lovit replied, “Let’s deal with right now.  I can put you on medication to make the dreams less dramatic, or at least you won’t care. She looked around the room, noticed that Cynthia was gone, and asked, “Are you a Christian?”  He replied, “Yes.”  She said, “Rather than put you on psychotropic drugs, I am going to suggest that you pray before you go to sleep every night. Ask the Lord for nicer dreams.”  What do you think about that?”  He replied, “I like it, and I will try it.”  She stood up and announced, “That is my prescription:  prayer.”  She picked up her organizer and said, “We will meet again in two days. Please reach out to me if you need me.”  Michael reached out his hand and said, “If I need you?”  She replied, “You are certainly intractable.  You know what I mean.  Good day,” as she left, turning and smiling broadly as she went out the door.

Michael sat at a small table with a chair to have dinner. “Progress,” he thought.  He ate alone, not very interested in eating.  He pushed the turkey, maybe it was chicken, away and lay back down, closing his eyes.  He still had his eyes closed as Claudia arrived at nine. She could sense he was upset and asked, “What is wrong?”  He replied, “I don’t want to talk about it,” rolling over and shutting her out. His phone rang at nine-thirty.  Michael answered incredulously, “Hello.”  It was The President. Dan asked, “How are you?”  He replied, “I am concerned about what will become of me.”  The President replied, “Your recovery is boring.  How did it go with Siegle?”  Michael thought and said, “I told him I had recommended that he receive a Silver Star and be promoted to Corporal retroactively.”  The President replied, “Done.” Michael was quiet, and then responded, “I don’t mean to be ungrateful; I am just frustrated with my progress. I want to be out of here, but I have nowhere to go.”  Dan replied, “I am working on that,” adding, “And I deliver.”  Michael laughed and said, “Thank you.” Dan started to say, “Well,” then paused. “I want to take you out to a bar, but they won’t let either of us out.” He added, “But that is going to change. Hang in there. Your entire life will change in the next thirty to sixty days, and I can guarantee it is worth waiting for.” Michael replied, “Thank you. That is just what I needed tonight,” adding, “How is your family?” Dan replied, “I have been waiting to say this, so now is the time: our family is fine.  Every family in America wants you to be part of their family.  I am beating them to it.  From this day on, you are part of my family.”  Michael did not know what to say. Dan waited, and then added, “Betsy, Kathleen and her husband Joe, and their two children, Bethany and Justin, and Maureen and her husband Earle and their two children, Mason and Cody, are all your family now.  Mother’s Day is coming up, and they will all be here at the White House in May. I can tell you that they are very excited to meet you.  Should I tell them you are coming?”  Michael smiled and replied, “Yes, thank you.”  The President said, “Well, that’s our plan now, so I will say ‘goodnight,’ and talk to you tomorrow.” Michael added, “Goodnight,” as he hung up.

Claudia was outside the door, waiting for his call to finish. She pushed the door open, smiling at him, and asked, “Are you feeling better?”  Not waiting for a response, she asked, “Is that your first phone call on your new phone?”  Michael replied, “I am so sorry. I have never been the ‘victim,’ and rarely felt sorry for myself, but I was this evening.  To answer your question, ‘Yes,’ I am feeling better, and ‘Yes,’ that was my first call.” She walked to his bedside and said, “Some of my friends are meeting at a bar on Saturday night.  I am requesting that I take you out of the hospital for an hour or two.  Would you come with me?”  Michael replied, “Are you asking me out on a date?”  She crossed her arms, frowning, and replied, “I knew you would say that. No, it is not a date; it is just friends getting together.”  He replied, “I would love to get out and love to go out with you.  Thank you.” She smiled and said, “Get some rest; you have physio tomorrow early.”

Michael tossed and turned, thinking about the events in his life. He slipped out of bed and knelt, praying, “Lord, you have brought me this far. Thank you for protecting me.  Please allow me to have happy dreams tonight,” and crawled back into bed.  He dreamed of rowing a boat, waking to the sound of something being dragged in his room. “Who was in the boat with him?” he thought, waking fully.  Claudia was struggling with a heavy cabinet. She looked up and said, “I am so sorry, I woke you.”  He got up and helped her with the cabinet.  She was out of breath and leaning on the cabinet as she announced, “This was a supply cabinet, but today it is a dresser.”  Michael sat in a chair as she rummaged in a bag, pulling out something white.  She tore open the packaging, holding up white boxers, saying, “They are modal cotton.  I thought you would be more comfortable in underwear.” He stood and started to pull down his pajama bottoms as she exclaimed, “In the bathroom.”  He came out of the bathroom, smiling, as she said, pragmatically, “How much time do we have?” He thought, “I wonder if that question is prophetic?” before answering, “Thirty minutes.”  She asked, “Do you know what shoe size you wear?”  He replied, “Twelve.” She opened another larger bag and held up his camo bottoms, T-shirt, boxers, and jacket, saying, “The General delivered these things to the hospital, but when I opened the bag I about threw up.  They put your bloody boots and clothes in with your other gear.  I took the bloody clothes and the boots and had them vacuum-sealed.  I could not throw them away.  I washed everything else, and I am going to lay it out for you.

Michael watched as his life as a soldier was laid bare in front of him.  There was his knife, his bloody wallet, his broken watch, and his spare set of gear.  He grabbed the boots and pulled them on, reaching down inside to retrieve his lucky rabbit’s foot, dyed red with blood.   She watched him in wonder, a soldier reunited with his personal effects, wondering what he was thinking.  He turned and hugged her, saying, “Thank you. You are helping me piece together my life.” She replied quietly, “Let’s put everything in the drawers and get you ready for physio.”  Michael lay in bed, allowing her to change his bag, watching the drawers and thinking.  He turned to her and said, “Isn’t that something you can teach me to do?” pointing to the bag. She smiled and said, “Yes, but then I couldn’t help you.”  He paused and replied, “Yeah,” and got up and sat in the wheelchair.

Cynthia pushed through the doors, looked at the supply cabinet, and announced, “Day team.” Michael turned to Claudia and said, “Thank you. I will see you tonight.” Cynthia was curious and quiet.  Michael waited for the elevator doors to close and said, “She was going over the gear that was forwarded to me.” Cynthia asked, “What do you have planned today?”  He laughed and said, “Camaraderie,” as the doors opened and everyone yelled, “Amerigo.”  It was a raucous, rambling reunion of wounded soldiers, each trying to outperform the other, cussing and yelling.  Michael was happy to be back. Jake met him as he pushed himself in the wheelchair, announcing, “We have a new chair for you, “ and pulled a TyLite gold and black, low-back wheelchair up to him.  Michael hoisted himself into the new chair, feeling around and getting comfortable. Jake announced in a loud voice, “Don’t get too comfortable; we have a lot of work to do. Get on the upright bench and give me ten with ten pounds more than last time.” Cynthia came back about ten minutes before nine to watch Jake work, and was still there at nine thirty.  Michael did not want to give up until he had to.  Jake found Michael bench pressing and yelled, his voice booming, “Amerigo, get out of here.”

Cynthia saw Michael in his new wheelchair and reluctantly left Jake to his musings as she pushed the elevator button, allowing Michael to push himself in his new chair. She asked, “How was it today, and how do you like your new ride?”  He replied enthusiastically, ‘’Great, I love spending time with everyone, and this chair is a temporary blessing.” He was anxious to get back to his room. He was going to have breakfast and look at his gear, thinking, “I wonder if I have any money in my wallet?”  The nurses all watched as he pushed himself out of the elevator in a new sports chair.  He smiled and pushed into his room, pushed to the bathroom, and stood up to take a shower. Michael looked down at something that was bothering him. His examination was interrupted by a soft knocking on the bathroom door: “Your breakfast is here.” He put on the clean pajamas Cynthia had left in the bath, walked out, and sat down at the table.  He had just swallowed when his phone rang on his bedside table.  He grabbed the phone and answered, “Hello,” hearing the President ask, “How was physio this morning?”  Michael replied, “Great, and getting your call makes it all the better.”  Dan replied, “I am just so frustrated, and I thought I would call you and calm down.”  Michael replied, “What causes you to be frustrated?”  Dan replied, “I can’t get this bill passed, and I believe it is crucial to the long-term benefit of our nation.  We don’t have enough votes.”  Michael replied, ‘” How many votes are you short?”  The President replied, “Three.”  Michael replied, “I would get each of those three in a room, one on one, and tell them how important it is to you and ask them what it would take to earn their vote.” He paused, waiting for Dan to say something, and then continued, “Once I had the three things they would need to change their minds, I would assemble them all and say, ‘ This is what we are going to do.’  Make them commit in the presence of their friends.” There was a long pause, and Dan asked, “When are you getting out?” Michael replied, “Not soon enough.” Dan replied, “Thank you.  I am going to try your idea, and I will let you know.  What else do you have today?” He replied solemnly, “My doctor.”  Dan said, “Good luck.”

He had finished his food alone and was kneeling by the bed when Cynthia came in, backing back out the door. She appeared a few minutes later, followed by Lavonne, who smiled and waved as she retrieved the tray of mostly uneaten food. Michael was resting in bed when Doctor Rogers opened the door, smiling and asking, “How are you feeling, Captain Amerigo?”   Michael looked up and said resignedly, “Fine.” Steve replied, “I want to look at your injection sites,” as Michael rolled over, pulling his pajamas down.  Cynthia watched him with his butt in the air and thought, “Maybe I should check his injection sites.” Steve straightened up and said, ‘They look fine,” and asked, “Are you nauseous?”  Michael replied, “No, and I am not hungry.” Doctor Rogers turned to Cynthia and asked, “When was the last time he was weighed?”  She replied, “Yesterday.”  He continued, “I want his weight every day for the next two weeks.”  Cynthia made the notes on his chart and asked, “Anything else?” Steve replied, “See if he will drink protein drinks with every meal.”  The doctor turned back to Michael, put his hand on his shoulder, and said, “You are doing great; let’s work on your appetite,” as he left the room.

Michael thought about the day's events and closed his eyes briefly, waking at seven, hungry at last. Cynthia watched him wake and asked, are you ready for dinner?”  He had finished his protein drink, abandoning the vegetable purée and the make-believe meatloaf, and was back in bed, depressed again. He closed his eyes for a moment and woke to find Claudia pulling packages out of a blue and gold oversize tote bag.  She paused, looked up, and said, “Hi, I brought you some clothes and a pair of shoes to wear.  I am waiting for them to approve your trip outside the hospital. I coded it as remote physical therapy.  Your doctor needs to sign off.”  He got up, and they examined the clothes together, laughing and joking. He was feeling better, and she was the reason.  Michael watched her as she held each clothing item, watching her eyes dance as she described them, revealing the emotional intensity of her actions. Michael watched as she tried to be his nurse, holding her emotional cards tightly.  It was as if she was imagining what it would be like with a boyfriend.  The two of them laughed unattended for over an hour, her poker face failing over and over again. They finally collapsed, she into the chair and he into his bed at ten thirty, exhausted. She tried to find the right words but folded and said, “Goodnight.”