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Authors: Kevin Sites
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him.
âAfterward I think he was mortified that he was in a position to hurt me,â she says. âBefore he left for Iraq he had a sparkle in his eye, he cared about people. He made a commitment to his country and he took it seriously. But when he came home, he was torn and tattered. I hired psychologists, everything we tried to do for him.
âOn the backside of my house we have a gazebo and thereâs a pond. Itâs where Iâm talking to you right now,â Sandi tells me. âItâs the place where you get right with the world. Itâs surrounded by trees. No one can see you. He loved being here. He loved being here! He lived with us for a while, then bought a house, but after a while said he couldnât live alone anymore. He just couldnât do it.â
With everything he had seen and done in Fallujah in November 2004, Wold told medical professionals, he was having difficulty adjusting to civilian life and was struggling with nightmares, flashbacks and emotional numbing. He was diagnosed with severe post-traumatic stress disorder. He had also reportedly suffered from a blast injury in Iraq, which I could find few details about, but medical records indicate he was experiencing serious cognitive difficulties consistent with traumatic brain injury. * Like so many other service members coming back from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan physically or psychologically damaged, or both, Woldâs life began to revolve around a potent cocktail of painkillers, muscle relaxants and antidepressants he used to cope with his injuries.
According to Woldâs military and medical records, at some point after his return from Iraq he began abusing the powerful painkiller OxyContin and became addicted to it. Wold grew more restless and agitated, Sandi says, until the day he told her he was going to reenlist. He had been home for a year and a couple of months, much of it spent shuttling between doctors, psychologists and psychiatrists. But few were able to bring him comfort or relief. His frustration fed on what seemed perfect logic in his damaged brain: while his time with the Marines was the source of injuries, it was also the place he felt most protected.
âMy brothers will take care of me,â he told Sandi.
âWe tried to talk him out of it for hours. âLook what the Marines have done to you already,â â she says. She was desperate to keep him from returning to the place she felt had hurt him the most. âGet an education, be what you want to be. Look at where youâre at,â she pleaded.
But she says it was already too late. âHe wasnât there anymore. The sparkle in his eyes was completely gone. He was hollow.â
Sandi says things went farther downhill from there. After he reenlisted he was made a sergeant in the First Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, but according to her, he didnât want to return to combat, but rather wanted to work as an armorer doing repair of light weaponry. His unitâs respect for his war service evaporated with their realization that he was addicted to OxyContin.
She claims it culminated one night when he told her that three fellow Marines jumped him while he was in his bunk in the barracks and beat him to the point that he developed a stutter.
âHe was having a nightmare and they got tired of it,â is how Sandi explains it.
Woldâs addiction to OxyContin became so obvious the Marines placed him in the Substance Abuse and Rehabilitation Program (SARP) for intensive inpatient therapy. When he failed to successfully complete the program, he was put in the medical hold unit of the Naval Medical Center pending a medical discharge. In only a few short years he had gone from a fearless warrior baptized in some of the fiercest combat in recent military history to a brain-damaged drug addict about to be tossed from the ranks of those to whom he had once brought so much honor.
On November 9, 2006, Wold and
âAfterward I think he was mortified that he was in a position to hurt me,â she says. âBefore he left for Iraq he had a sparkle in his eye, he cared about people. He made a commitment to his country and he took it seriously. But when he came home, he was torn and tattered. I hired psychologists, everything we tried to do for him.
âOn the backside of my house we have a gazebo and thereâs a pond. Itâs where Iâm talking to you right now,â Sandi tells me. âItâs the place where you get right with the world. Itâs surrounded by trees. No one can see you. He loved being here. He loved being here! He lived with us for a while, then bought a house, but after a while said he couldnât live alone anymore. He just couldnât do it.â
With everything he had seen and done in Fallujah in November 2004, Wold told medical professionals, he was having difficulty adjusting to civilian life and was struggling with nightmares, flashbacks and emotional numbing. He was diagnosed with severe post-traumatic stress disorder. He had also reportedly suffered from a blast injury in Iraq, which I could find few details about, but medical records indicate he was experiencing serious cognitive difficulties consistent with traumatic brain injury. * Like so many other service members coming back from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan physically or psychologically damaged, or both, Woldâs life began to revolve around a potent cocktail of painkillers, muscle relaxants and antidepressants he used to cope with his injuries.
According to Woldâs military and medical records, at some point after his return from Iraq he began abusing the powerful painkiller OxyContin and became addicted to it. Wold grew more restless and agitated, Sandi says, until the day he told her he was going to reenlist. He had been home for a year and a couple of months, much of it spent shuttling between doctors, psychologists and psychiatrists. But few were able to bring him comfort or relief. His frustration fed on what seemed perfect logic in his damaged brain: while his time with the Marines was the source of injuries, it was also the place he felt most protected.
âMy brothers will take care of me,â he told Sandi.
âWe tried to talk him out of it for hours. âLook what the Marines have done to you already,â â she says. She was desperate to keep him from returning to the place she felt had hurt him the most. âGet an education, be what you want to be. Look at where youâre at,â she pleaded.
But she says it was already too late. âHe wasnât there anymore. The sparkle in his eyes was completely gone. He was hollow.â
Sandi says things went farther downhill from there. After he reenlisted he was made a sergeant in the First Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, but according to her, he didnât want to return to combat, but rather wanted to work as an armorer doing repair of light weaponry. His unitâs respect for his war service evaporated with their realization that he was addicted to OxyContin.
She claims it culminated one night when he told her that three fellow Marines jumped him while he was in his bunk in the barracks and beat him to the point that he developed a stutter.
âHe was having a nightmare and they got tired of it,â is how Sandi explains it.
Woldâs addiction to OxyContin became so obvious the Marines placed him in the Substance Abuse and Rehabilitation Program (SARP) for intensive inpatient therapy. When he failed to successfully complete the program, he was put in the medical hold unit of the Naval Medical Center pending a medical discharge. In only a few short years he had gone from a fearless warrior baptized in some of the fiercest combat in recent military history to a brain-damaged drug addict about to be tossed from the ranks of those to whom he had once brought so much honor.
On November 9, 2006, Wold and
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