More than two years after President Bush declared victory, the outcome of the war in Iraq seems less certain than ever, and the controversies surrounding it seem greater than ever. John Opalski is one of the soldiers who has been at the front lines in Iraq. Raised in Plainsboro and a graduate of West Windsor-Plainsboro High School, Class of 1997, Opalski left Plainsboro to see the world — his vantage point turned out to be battle-torn Falluja.
Now out of the Navy, where he served as a medical corpsman, Opalski works as a central sterile technician at New York Presbyterian Hospital. His job may be far removed from the war zone, but the war is not far from Opalski’s thoughts.
“I’m always reading about it,” he says. “I can’t seem to get away from it. I have a strange feeling that I’m missing out on it. Plus, a lot of guys that I knew are still over there.”
Letters sent back from the front to Plainsboro (and shared with the News by John’s father, Doug) give some insight into the stress felt by the soldiers in Iraq (see below). “I’m still processing the stress and the trauma I encountered in Iraq. I made a lot of friends over there and a few of them didn’t make it back. There are lot of ghosts I carry around to this day. I visit Internet chat rooms where they talk about post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and we get a lot of support from each other. In addition, there are always other veterans who can talk about and relate to it.”
While the military provides services to help veterans deal with PTSD, they don’t pursue the veterans — the soldiers have to hunt them out. “I don’t usually tell people about PTSD. My brothers try to help me out. Mark, in particular, was in the Marines. He knows what it’s like just trying to adjust back into civilian life. But this is much different.”
Opalski grew up as the youngest of three brothers; Michael is the oldest and Mark is the middle child. His father, Doug, is a retired state worker who now makes a living as an accomplished watercolor artist in Plainsboro. Victor Opalski, Doug’s father and John’s grandfather, the former proprietor of Chambersburg Dairy, was born and raised in Trenton. At 86, he now lives in West Windsor.
After high school John Opalski attended Davidson Elkins College in West Virginia for a year. He enlisted and spent the next five years in the navy, first in a hospital in Japan, and then as things heated up — in the desert. “Between August of 2002 until February, when we were finally shipped overseas, I underwent a lot of training. We worked seven days a week, 12 hours on and then 12 hours off, getting everything ready. That’s when my wife, Erica Logan, and I decided to get married. I didn’t know if I would ever come back so we decided we might as well be happy before I left.”
When asked why he joined the military instead of say, oh, volunteer for the local firehouse, Opalski replies, “I ask myself that every day. But, I knew that I needed direction — I needed structure in my life. I needed to take a stand somewhere and have something, anything, that I had to do. I will say this, no matter what my views of this war are, I don’t have any regrets about joining the military. It was a plus for me. Without it, I wouldn’t have achieved anything since high school, and I’ve seen other guys just like me who haven’t, in fact, achieved anything. I wouldn’t have had any direction without the military. I put my trust in God and that’s where he put me.”
How does one make it under such trying circumstances? Well, whether one’s at camp or at war, care packages from home really help.
“My father’s paintings were why I got through,” says Opalski. “When I left he was just picking his art up again. He had stopped working for the state and wanted to start painting again. When I got the first photocopies of what he was painting, I remember thinking ‘Thank God.’ I hung them up everywhere and stared at them until I fell asleep. Even the other guys would come around and stare at them. The images were serene. He was able to send me the images in color, and, believe me, in the desert where everything is one color, well. . . In a way, his art worked for both of us.”
One of the benefits, Opalski has noticed, of having been in a war zone, is a heightened ability to handle just about anything at work. “My co-workers call me lackadaisical. What I really notice when I go to work, is that it’s the drama, not the trauma that wears you down. As far as trauma, I’ve seen worse. I think it’s the adrenaline that the high stress/ trauma factor produces that makes me miss Iraq. Honestly, I miss being in the military.”
He may miss it, but he doesn’t want to go back. And yet, he can’t seem to leave it behind, either. “I’m trying to fit the pieces together. Life seems more beautiful and fresh to me now. I don’t want to waste energy by arguing over something stupid.” — Fran Ianacone
Following are excerpts from mail sent home by John Opalski, a Navy Corpsman attached to the Marines in Iraq during a duty tour from February through September, 2003.
February 8, 2003
“Kuwait sucks! I heard Iraq sucks even more. I haven’t battled any camel spiders yet but there are wild dogs that eat our garbage at night. They are rabid so we have wild dog hunting parties. There are a few terrorists roaming around the desert popping rounds at us. So we can’t leave camp.
February 9, 2003
“I’m in a tent with 50 other guys . . . The first couple of days were extremely overwhelming. I felt like crying constantly but I didn’t so I wouldn’t seem like I was weak. But then I realized that everybody was just as much a zombie as I was. What a feeling of relief that was to realize that I was not alone…
February 10, 2003
“Kuwait is pretty desolate and sandy, however the sunrise and sunset make this country. Every night the sky is clear as diamonds and the moon lights up the night…”
February 16, 2003
“I just received your letters today and some yesterday . . .! also received an award. All this couldn’t have come at a better time. The past 12 days have been miserable. Adjusting was impossible and my gas mask was broken. They kept having these alarms going off. So I would panic every time. So I went to mass today to relax and pray for everybody and for a gas mask. The priest made us feel very much at ease. He’s very on point. He reminded us that Jesus went out to the desert for 40 days and nights.
February 16, 2003 continued
“Sure enough some commander brought me an improved one (gas mask) I have never felt so much relief. Plus the priest blessed my wedding ring. Erika and I bought rings the day I left…
“The scud alarms were going off all day. We were thrown out of bunkers by officers and found trenches. Some in-coming (scuds) hit nearby and the ground shook. I never felt as scared as I did then. Everybody was praying…
“The pictures from home really helped, so would some more snacks and my insulated vest. It really gets cold in the desert at night.”
March 8, 2003
“This is really the biggest stepping stone in my life. I’m actually glad in a strange kinda way I’m going through this…
“A caravan of Arabs showed up at our camp on camels with all sorts of stuff to sell I rode a camel around camp… This is a very strange place.
Please send baby wipes. We need them to wash and keep our night vision goggles clean. Sand is everywhere. It gets into everything. An officer left the OR (operating room) to go to the latrine just across the road. But the sand storm was so bad she got lost and was found 3 hours later in the desert by one of our patrols.”
March 20, 2003
“Today was the start of an ugly world. All day long we were in and out of scud bunkers and NBC (nuclear, biological, chemical) gear. An extreme dose of reality! It’s really impressive to see our petty (officer) and our repetitive training in motion. I feel I hit a whole new level of professionalism…
“Two scuds hit camp today… (Letter interrupted here by another scud warning siren.)
“I don’t think I will be able to sleep for awhile. I’ve been up for 40 hours so far. All we hear is our artillery hitting Baghdad. Saddam has blown up the oil fields and you can hardly see the full moon. The smell is thick with fear and death. I can almost sense the scud sirens. There are parts of my brain that I am tapping into for the first time. It was confusion from fear. Now it’s an on and off switch.
June 11, 2003 (e-mail)
“A little update on our situation… About half our patients are Iraqi soldiers and civilians. The worst cases are children. We are not staffed or equipped to treat children or serious brain injuries. About a hundred casualties were medivac-ed (brought in by helicopter, mostly) one day. Traffic accidents show up due to the road conditions, wild drivers, and dangers everywhere. An 8 year old girl carried in her 4 year old brother who was run over by a truck. Everyone tried their best but we lost him. It’s awful not to be able to help innocent kids…
“Every day is becoming more difficult than the last. Today was pretty bad for everyone since the heat got up to 138 degrees by 10 a.m. It’s driving us crazy! There are no showers or decent bathroom facilities (in their hospital set up at an abandoned university). The rations are either brown or green for every meal. We buy chicken off Iraqi contractors who work here trying to get the plumbing and electricity to work. We all have the runs, but it beats the same military food. I have night duty and can’t sleep in the heat. So I get about 1 or 2 hours of sleep a day…
June 11, 2003 (e-mail)
“Big wig generals keep showing up to tell us that we are not moving anytime soon and it’s pissing us off. I am losing patients and weight all too quickly… Tell mom that I have her locked on with thoughts and prayers. Know that you are too. I love you guys very much.
June 13, 2003 (e-mail)
We have been overworked and overlooked. Patients are being put in danger because we’re over the edge and not being relieved. Retention will plummet dramatically after this is over, starting with me. I can’t thank you enough for writing your letters to help us. I spoke to my chief and rest of the staff and they agree the letters should go to the Marine Corps Commandant, then President himself. If nothing works, we agree you should send it to the media and Congress.”
A postscript from John’s father, Doug Opalski: “John and the rest of Charlie Surgical Company came home September, 2003. They are credited with having treated and saved the lives of over 500 people during their 2003 duty tour. Nevertheless, some battle wounds are emotional and don’t show. If only Charlie Surgical Company had been provided the same level of service, compassion and support that they routinely extended to our wounded marines and Iraqis alike. I wonder how many more lives could have been saved if they were equipped, staffed and relieved properly.”
