Five years of war in perspective
By James Fuller
Joel Gomez's post traumatic stress disorder is on a different level than the more fortunate of his fellow Iraq war veterans.
It's not uncommon for his niece, Sonia Sanchez, to warn him ahead of time if she's about to open a can of pop. That noise, and many others -- including his respirator and the Van Morrison ring tone on his cell phone -- often trigger the dive-for-cover instinct Gomez learned as a soldier.
Only Gomez can't dive for cover. Tomorrow, he'll mark four years as a quadriplegic. On Wednesday, he'll join fellow veterans in commemorating the five-year anniversary of the war that ruined his body.
In reflecting on both anniversaries, it's the latter that seems to cause Gomez the most grief.
His personal life is one of a minor celebrity and local war hero. Gomez's service in Iraq is so revered in Wheaton that the community rallied to raise money to build him a new house loaded with technological amenities to make his life easier.
Yet in the last four years, health is a primary concern for those who love Gomez. He's had bed sores, a hole in his esophagus, pneumonia, a collapsed lung and a blocked artery in his heart. He's set to get skin grafts on his hips later this year.
At one time, his parents thought he'd die.
Now he spends most of his days in bed with his feet and shins wrapped in wool booties and a sheet over his torso.
It sounds bad, but Gomez's humor and spirit is as strong as his body is broken. It's not uncommon for him to top off his dress with a T-shirt that reads, "Trust me, I'm perfect."
Gomez's parents, his sister and his niece and nephew all share the home with him. He never is truly alone.
Except for maybe in his thoughts.
When he closes his eyes, Gomez has two symbolic images of the Iraq war that flash before him.
The first is of a lone soldier who's suffered a traumatic brain injury, or a serviceman, like him, whose limbs are without function or missing.
The other is of a car bombing. Children and civilians are dead and confused loved ones are all asking the same question: "Why?"
That is Gomez's view of the war -- pain on both sides. No winners.
Gomez said he could see as a soldier there was no way Iraq would ever achieve an American democratization.
"I knew it would never be done because the differences and ideals are so varied that it would be impossible," he said. "We are not run by religion in every aspect of life, but they are."
Indeed, Gomez is a veteran who believes the U.S. went into Iraq "based on a bunch of lies and fabrications."
If you can't tell by the calendar that mocks President George W. Bush's talent for making up words, Gomez will be happy to tell you himself that he regards him as a "horrible president."
Maybe, then, it's not a surprise that Gomez breaks from Wheaton's usual Republican leanings to favor Hillary Clinton for president. He even donated a little more than $400 to her campaign.
Politics get Gomez fired up. But it's his dreams for the future that fuel him.
He's trying to find a college with distance learning to study world religions. He wants to write a book about his life. And he wants to shed light on problems in the VA medical system.
Gomez describes his time in various VA hospitals as "almost disturbing."
"They're great people, but their training and knowledge of patient experiences is, I hate to say it, subpar."
Despite it all, Gomez will not wake up angry tomorrow. He won't be in a cold sweat, reliving the plunge of his Bradley Fighting Vehicle off a cliff into the Tigris River.
Gomez has no memory of the accident. "Part of me wishes I did remember, and part of me is really afraid to remember."
This week, and both anniversaries, will pass pretty much like any other. In defiance of the odds, Gomez will be both alive and happy.
"I think God has given up on trying to take me. So far it's Gomez 8, God 0."
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