USA. Janesville, Wisconsin. 2007. Raymond Hubbard drinks with his friend Alvin. I joined them, and we got drunk as hell that
night, ending up in Alvin’s basement after fleeing a bar. Alvin’s brother had threatened to beat
the shit out of a customer.
“When I woke up it was gradual. I couldn’t speak. I could only grunt. I couldn’t move the right
side of my body. I didn’t know what happened to me. I thought I was in Wisconsin. I had to be
told that I was in an attack a couple of times for it to sink in. I couldn’t remember what kind of
attack. Someone told me I was on a secret mission, but the wheels started turning and I thought,
‘What kind of secret mission could I have been on? I was just a Specialist in the National Guard!’
It took a month and then it all flooded back. A wave of emotion that came over me.
“I think I’d been conscious for a week when my wife told me I had lost my leg. I looked at the
shapes beneath the blanket and I saw there wasn’t a shape below my knee on the left leg. At
the moment I didn’t pity myself. I thought, ok, what do I have to do? I thought it wasn’t going
to be that bad at all.
“It was one day at a time. My mind had been so badly damaged that my short-term memory was
gone and a lot of my long-term memory was affected. It was worse for my family than for me.
I couldn’t put names to faces for a while. When I left for Iraq I was 210 pounds. At my lowest
weight I was 135 pounds.
“I wanted to get out of there because I had two sons that needed me back at home. My boys are
terrific. The first report card after I got hit they got all As. They didn’t want Dad to worry about
their schoolwork.
“My real father. Him and my mother divorced when I was less than one. His life was drinking.
He lived in a small trailer. He didn’t have to pay any money. He got his government disability
payments. He was just pissed off at the world. He signed up to go to Vietnam because his
best friend—his cousin—was killed over