Life
on the other side of the litter
 |
| Capt.
Brian Ackerman prepares a Turkish contractor for
an aeromedical evacuation flight to Kuwait. (U.S.
Air Force photo) |
By
2nd Lt. John Severns
332nd Air Expeditionary
Wing Public Affairs
BALAD
AIR BASE, Iraq -- During the 1991 Gulf War, Marine
Sgt. Brian Ackerman was a member of Task Force Grizzly, the
American force that swept through the desert into Kuwait to
liberate it from Iraqi forces.
After Ackerman’s
unit made it into Kuwait City and began busting down doors
looking for resistance, an Iraqi soldier popped around a corner
and sprayed several shots from an AK-47 in his direction.
What
followed, Ackerman said, was a “failure to duck.”
Today, Air Force
Capt. Ackerman is a nurse with the 379th Expeditionary Aeromedical
Evacuation Squadron here. His job is to coordinate the movement
of critically wounded patients between the Air Force theater
hospital and the contingency aeromedical staging facility.
The facility is the last place in Iraq patients here see before
getting onto planes bound for Ramstein Air Base, en route
to nearby Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, Germany.
The past 14 years
have carried him from one war to the next, and from one side
of the litter to the other.
Ackerman’s “failure
to duck” was his last concrete memory of the Gulf War. One
of the AK-47 rounds tore into his left shoulder, causing a
substantial wound and turning Ackerman into a seriously wounded
patient needing urgent medical care.
“I don’t remember
much of what happened after the hit,” he said. “The next thing
I knew I was in Bethesda (National Naval Medical Center, Md.),
lying on a clean bed.”
Ackerman’s shoulder
wound required surgery and months of rehabilitation. That,
he said, was the hardest part.
“Physical therapists
do a wonderful job, they’re miracle workers,” he said. “But
you have to want to get better. They push you, and it hurts,
but you have to do the work yourself.”
He said his shoulder
was so tight when he started that he sounded like the tin
man. Lying on a mat on the floor, he was not able to lift
a quarter-pound weight with his wounded arm.
Six months later,
his rehabilitation complete, Ackerman was medically discharged
from the Marine Corps.
“For a Marine, once
you get out, there are two jobs you’re immediately qualified
for: security guard and policeman,” Captain Ackerman said.
“Neither of those really appealed to me.”
Instead, on the advice
of a friend, he became a paramedic. It was a way, the Philadelphia
native said, to make a living and still get the adrenaline
rush associated with driving fast and saving people’s lives.
“I remember working
with nurses and thinking, ‘I could do that.’ I never realized
just how much hard work they put in,” he said.
For the next several
years he went to nursing school and worked full time, graduating
in 1998. It was an article in a magazine, though, that brought
him back to the military.
“I read an article
… about nurses in the Air Force -- it was actually about the
unit that I ended up joining,” he said.
The Delaware Air
National Guard’s 142nd Aeromedical Evacuation Squadron had
found its newest nurse, and the new Airman was in a military
hospital again, this time on other side of the litter.
Like others in the
military, Ackerman’s unit has deployed repeatedly supporting
the war on terrorism. As part of an aeromedical evacuation
unit, he found himself helping patients in the same situation
he was in 14 years ago.
“I can’t say I know
exactly where they’re coming from,” he said. “A lot of these
guys are dealing with injuries a lot more traumatic than mine
were -- lost eyes, lost limbs, that sort of thing.
“What I think I can
offer is some empathy and understanding,” he said. “I understand
what it’s like to look up from a litter at a stranger and
want to get back to your men, but not be able to.”
Ackerman’s current
mission does not have him working as closely with patients
as some of his previous deployments. As an intermediary with
the theater hospital, he might only see patients for a few
minutes on their way to a plane taking them to Europe.
“It’s not every day
you get to make an impact on people’s lives,” he said. “But
even if I only see them for 30 seconds or a few minutes, it’s
enough time to tell them, ‘I’m here to take you home.’”
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