Hi, all. Yes, it's the same old me. Minus a few moving parts, but
still the same person. I always feel guilty when I write you guys,
because I know how bad you all feel, and how well I feel. I wish I
could just snap my fingers and give everybody in the world the same
outlook on life that I have.
Once
something is over and done with — forget it! It's under the bridge and
over the dam, and spilt milk on the floor, and all that good stuff.
Does it help to be afraid? No! Does it help to think about it? No!
Does it help anything or anybody to worry about it? Definitely not.
Who
do you suppose made me feel better when I called yesterday? My brother
Mike who sounded as though he was glad to hear my voice and know what's
going on — or you, Mom and Dad, who I could just hear crying in the
background.
Do
you know what my only problem in the whole world is right now? It's
knowing what you guys are doing, and what you are thinking and how
you are reacting to the situation.
So
you see, if anyone needs any comforting, or pity or sympathy, its
not me who needs it but you.
Where
is your faith? I have mine, but where is yours? Remember life on earth
is just a drop in the ocean. It's life after death that counts. Please
remember all this when we talk and meet again. O.K., O.K.?
Now
that the sermon is over I'll give you all some facts.
My
left leg is cut off just above the knee and my right leg is cut off
just below the knee. The doctors say that artificial limbs will be
no problem. They say my corneas are burned a little in my eyes, but
it wasn't even bad enough to do anything about it over here, they
said they will take care of it in the States.
The
only reason I couldn't see well the last few days was because they
were giving me eyedrops that dilated my pupils. My vision is almost
perfect now. I can't hear very well, but I'll probably be going to
an ear doctor pretty soon.
My
hands and arms and face all look as though they have been shot by
a cannon-full of mud. These are just small burns, which will probably
be gone without a trace before I get home.
As
far as how all this happened, the story goes as follows. It seems
that on Aug. 12, a cute little 14 year-old boy was playing on the
road that goes from the Red Poll to Siz. At least they say it looked
like he was just monkeying around. Come to find out, the cute little
kid was planting a bomb, which he blew two days later when a truck
of G.I.s was passing over.
The
last count I heard was 29 wounded and 3 dead and 10 under intensive
care. Well, it seems some other G.I.s caught the kid running away
from the scene of the crime and he spilled the beans about how the
nasty VC made him do it and how he would show us where they were staying.
The colonel said it was a job for recon, so away we went, knowing
it could well be a setup.
The
kid led us into an old village where I had found several booby traps
on previous missions. We had two light observation helicopters working
with us to act as a spotting and blocking force.
One
of the copters dropped a smoke grenade on a bunker and when I went
over to check it out he hovered right over my head. He was blowing
smoke and dirt all over the place and I covered my eyes and took a
step to the side. You know what they say about that first step — I heard
someone holler to call a medic.
They
took me to Bronco where I stayed a few minutes and then went to Chu
Lai and then onto Japan.
The
doctors, nurses, facilities and care here are the best in the world
and I'm now doing just fine. How about you?
Love,
Doug
