High school was a disaster. I barely graduated on time and probably should not have. The realization that I was only hurting my future by not performing made me change failing grades to straight A's by the end of my senior year. As graduation neared, I contemplated my options. College, at the time at least, was not an option, and I was living in an economically depressed area. Therefore, I did what a lot of young people in my situation do.
I joined the military.
Even with my poor high school education, I still tested very well on the ASVAB. The recruiter said I could pick any AIT (Advanced Individual Training) school. I wanted to do Intelligence work, so he assigned me to the 11th Special Forces as an Intelligence Analyst. To be in the unit, I would have to go to Airborne School after AIT.
I reported for Basic Training at Fort Dix, NJ in the summer of 1990. My unit, B-1-26, was not scheduled to start the course for a couple weeks. During that time we sat around most of the day doing nothing. We had it very easy. People mostly did what they wanted and relaxed. Little did we know how quickly things were going to change.
The first day of actual training was hell. Our platoon was, for unknown reasons at first, singled out to be an example for the rest. We were drilled relentlessly all day and into the night. For the next eight weeks we had the highest expectations placed on us compared to the rest of the company.
We were pushed the hardest, but we were also the most decorated and best trained. At first the extra pressure was not welcomed, but our accomplishments soon made us reconsider. Looking back on things today, I realize the entire system was by design. Each company that went through had one platoon singled out. That platoon set the example for the rest.
The Army knows what it is doing. They've been training people for a very long time. What did their system do exactly? It put metal into fire. You either hardened, or you were destroyed. The strong were hardened, and the weak were destroyed. Sure, you're thinking, "That's such a cliche." It's not though, and I will explain.
My platoon began Basic Training with 60 people. After eight weeks, only 39 graduated. Most that failed to complete the school were recycled due to injuries or from being too out of shape. Many lied about being gay to get kicked out since the Army at the time had a strict policy against it. Three were dead by suicide. Dead. Those weak young men were destroyed by the fire.
They were not warriors.
I remember the first suicide the most. None of us believed someone actually killed themselves. Sure, it was hard and I was broken down mentally, but I had never considered killing myself. Why would someone kill themselves over Basic Training in the US Army? At the time I didn't fully understand it, but I knew some young men were there because of a judge.
They had committed a crime, and a judge had given them a choice. Either they joined the military or they went to prison. We had countless gang members in our unit, and we had a lot who literally had no other choice in life. Either they succeeded in the military, or they were ruined. It was sink or swim for them, and many of them sank.
The second suicide cut off all of our PX access. The PX was a small convenience store within walking distance from our unit's barracks. During the day, the person would buy a bottle of aspirin. At night they would take the pills and go sit in a bathroom stall. In the morning they would be found dead. Perhaps that is one reason the Marines have no bathroom stalls.
We were also pulled from regular training for counseling. The entire battalion sat for a day and listened to military psychologists. It didn't help the suicidal however, and it just confused the rest of us. Soon after the third person was found. They were dead from the same weapon. Perhaps they had already bought the pills and just waited a while to use them. Each time we got the report of another, I became more and more angry.
I was not angry because of the Army but because of the weakness.
The training broke me down mentally more than anything else. Yes, it was physically demanding, but mentally I was forever changed by it. I was sharpened and understood challenge to be something accepted and overcome, not avoided and given up. To me weakness is infuriating. I've never liked weak people, and that was true even before being in the military. By weak I mean people who give up too easily when things are difficult.
One day about half way through the training, our platoon was in the usual first morning formation. My squad was lined up as it should have been, and I was eyes front and at attention as I was supposed to be. To my left there was a commotion however, and I soon saw two of my platoon carrying away one of my squad members. He could barely stand. The first emotion I felt was rage, not sympathy.
Later we found out he had eaten a bottle of aspirin, but he had not hidden himself away. He collapsed in formation instead of dying in a bathroom stall. He wasn't the only attempted suicide. One guy wrapped a vacuum cleaner power cord around his neck and threw the vacuum out the window of the four story barracks. I'm not sure what he was expecting to happen, but it didn't kill him.
He really didn't want to die though. He just wanted to quit. One guy shot himself on purpose in the foot during rifle training. He too just wanted to go home, but I often wonder if he regrets his actions. A rifle round through his boot at close range probably turned his foot into hamburger.
Those people were not warriors either.
After graduating from Basic Training at Fort Dix, NJ, I went to Fort Huachuca, AZ for my Intelligence Analyst (96B) Advanced Individual Training. While at Basic Training though, something strange began to happen to me. I was a strong runner in the beginning, but my endurance was going down for unknown reasons. By the end of the course, I was struggling to keep up.
Once my AIT training began, I had even worse symptoms. I could still run, but I was spitting up blood from doing it. My endurance was even worse, and I could no longer keep up with even the slowest members of the unit. Fort Huachuca is at a very high elevation, so I thought it was simply the lack of oxygen in the air. Everyone else was adjusting to the thin air however. I was not.
Weeks went by, and I kept getting more sick. I was third in my class of a hundred students, but I couldn't pass the Physical Fitness test anymore. During our field exercise, I passed out and collapsed. One of my drill sergeants took me back to our barracks, and I laid in bed for three days. I had pneumonia and was put on antibiotics. They should have recycled me since I did not complete the field exercise, but I was allowed to graduate on time due to my high grades.
My muscle endurance was low, I was getting infections very easily, and my hands were shaking. Military doctors took my blood numerous times, and I was seen by many different specialists. They still had no idea what was wrong with me though. If it were not for the infections and spitting up blood, they probably would have thought I was faking my illness.
I left AIT perplexed and confused. The military couldn't figure out what was wrong with me, and I had no idea what was wrong either. Even though I was sick, I still had to report to Airborne school in two weeks. Usually on the day you arrive, you are given a physical fitness test. Because of a scheduling error though, myself and a few others reported to the course a few days late. We missed that first test. If I had taken it, I would have failed.
The course was four weeks. By the end of the second week, I could no longer sleep at night and I was unable to think straight. Both my hands and legs were shaking. I have absolutely no fear of heights either and never have. Whatever was wrong with me was making it impossible for me to continue however. At every morning formation, they would call out for people to quit.
It was easy to quit. You just had to fall out of formation when they called. After two weeks and a couple days, I walked into my AirBorne Sergeant's office and told him I could no longer continue. I showed him my hands, explained that I was sick, and that I had no idea what was wrong with me. I made it clear that it was not from a fear of heights. He sent me to the clinic.
Like all the doctors at my AIT school, they had no idea what was wrong with me. I am not sure if they thought I was faking my illness or not, but they allowed me to quit without the usual morning formation shaming ritual. Not finishing the school though ruined my military career. You can't be in a Special Forces unit without being Airborne qualified. If you leave Airborne School, you can never go back either.
I was disgusted with myself for quitting.
It wasn't all in my head though, and I knew I was really sick. I just didn't know what was wrong. Once I was home, I scheduled an appointment with my small town's local doctor. He wasn't any type of specialist, and his office was in a strip mall. When I went to see him therefore, I didn't have high expectations. Something surprising happened though.
As I was sitting in the examination room waiting, the doctor knocked on the door as usual and walked in to greet me. He didn't even touch me. I had only been sitting there for a few minutes. All he had done was read my list of complaints from the chart he was holding.
Without any hesitation at all and as if he were absolutely certain, he proclaimed, "You have Graves Disease." I scoffed out loud and dismissed what he said. It couldn't be that easy. No blood had been taken. No tests had been done. He just looked at me for a few seconds. How could he know so easily when so many others did not?
The military had taken my blood a hundred times, but they had apparently never done a Thyroid Panel. It is a special test to check the hormone levels the thyroid gland is producing. My small town doctor ordered the test, and the results confirmed his diagnosis. My levels were off the charts. He said he had never read or heard of anyone with the levels I had.
I couldn't sleep because of the adrenaline in my blood, and that also explained the shaking. My body's immune system was also weakened because my own thyroid gland was considered a threat. It was doing damage to my heart as well. The hyperactive gland also ruins your large muscle endurance.
Everything finally made sense, but there was no way to un-quit Airborne School. The military didn't give a damn that I had found out what was wrong with me either. They certainly were not going to admit to having terrible medical professionals. At least I knew why I was sick the whole time, but it didn't make me feel any better about quitting.
My life would have been very different today if the military doctors had figured out what was wrong with me. I would have finished Airborne School, and I would not have had the black mark in my records that followed me around for my entire career.
It just wasn't meant to happen.
I can accept that after all these years, and at least I know I didn't quit without having a good reason. If you have to quit something, at least have a very good reason to do it. Don't quit simply because something is difficult, and make sure you can live with your decision and maintain your honor at the same time. I know that I have maintained mine.
