Charlie here.  Charlie Fontenot.  Thought I'd let y'all know what's been going on with me.

Had yet another surgery last month; still gettin' over that one.  Bone spurs pressing on my stump nerves, had to get 'em shaved.  I was in the hospital for a week and a half; now back home, but won't be able to do much 'til my stumps heal some more.

As y'all know, I lost my legs in Iraq.  Also had a bad head injury (memory is the shitz; can't remember diddly after five minutes after y'all done tell me), and got pieces of shrapnel lodged in my body; this causes me horrible pain.  I'm always going to the VA hospital in Lafayette, to see if they can help me, but all I done get is the runaround.  Very frustrating!!

I am glad to say that the house is now handicapped accessable for me and my chair.  I no longer have to be carried everywhere; it's been a lot easier on poppa's back.  Momma, she is still trying to come to terms with the fact I no longer have legs, that I'm not like I was before I went into the military.  It's been hardest on her and my little sister, Cherie, I think.  (Cherie's seventeen.  I'm twenty five.)

My dawg, "Gizmo", knows who I am, legs or no legs.  He still sleeps with me, and now that I'm crippled, he acts like my protector.  I appreciate that; at least someone cares for me and my welfare!

If there's anything I learned about war, it's don't trust your enemies.  They are there to kill and to destroy.  They are  nothing but a bunch of sick bastards who don't give a flying fug about you, even when y'all try to help them.  They'd soon as kill you than to look at you.  They also use their own to kill; they are bent on killing as many infidels (us) as possible; that's their (sick) goal in life.

When the bomb blew up (the one that took my legs and my memory), the bomber was a 8-year-old boy with down syndrome. Kid was mentally retarded. They strapped the bomb to his back, and they made the kid walk in and blow himself up (and take as many of us along with him).

I was the only one who survived out of a group of ten soldiers.

And as a result, I am messed up bad; I'll be messed up for the rest of my life.

And yet people spit upon me or call me "murderer" when it was the enemy who did this to me.  Why are OUR soldiers being charged with murder when the enemy gets away with everything?  It don't make a damn bit of sense!!

Somethin's wrong here (and in Iraq) ...

I have my days where I blame myself for the mess I'm in.  I see myself as crippled (which I am); don't know if I will ever walk again.  Too much trouble; it's easier to sit in my wheelchair and let people wait on me, take care of me.  I'm also in too much pain to function like I used to do.

Well, I gotta go.  Another fucking appointment at the VA; let's see how mad we can get Charlie Fontenot today.  I'm sick of dealing with those hotshot doctors; they don't know shit!!!!  I will write in here another day; talk to y'all later!

~Charlie.  :(

*To be continued.*