Laying in a ditch in Iraq, choking under mortar fire, thinking it was the tears of God. I was convinced I was going to die. At that moment, I thought of my Mother’s warning: “You’ll die in a ditch if you don’t change.” Then Blaster appeared, pulled me onto his back, and said ” Let’s go Doc… we’re going home.” To be clear I am not a Doctor. It is what troops call Medics.

My early life in Livingston was a mix of Huck Finn adventures and silent suffering. At 12, I realized not all Fathers were abusive alcoholics. School was hard-undiagnosed learning disabilities and a growing rage shaped me. When my Father left, he soon died after. It was a weight lifted off my shoulders but the damage was done. I turned bitter, angry, bullying and destructive, hurting people who cared the most.

After graduation I worked in construction. Drinking heavily and getting into bar brawls. Self destruction and burning bridges. Ater one particularly bad bar fight I had to leave NJ. I hitchhiked to Texas and worked on an Oil Rig with other men on the lam.

Coming back to NJ I met a woman who believed in me. We worked hard, built a home and a family. In 1988 I lost my job during a recession. My Mother-in-law suggested volunteering as an Emergency Medical Technician (EMT). With nothing to lose, I did it. Everything changed. I hustled work during the day and went to college at night. Scratching from volunteer EMT to paid Paramedic, to Registered Nurse. Men comprise only about 7 to 10% of Nurses. I’ve seen the look…they have asked for a real Nurse. In the ER and the streets, I helped deliver babies, been assaulted, held hearts in my hands, pulled people out of things you couldn’t imagine, pronounced some dead. Blamed and praised – there’s no in between.

Yet, I found respect and purpose in helping others and I am good at it. In time, I obtained additional certification as an Emergency Nurse (CEN) and Flight Registered Nurse (CFRN).

I worked as a Trauma/Cardiac Nurse at Morristown, cared for friends, old teachers – even a girl I once kissed in sixth grade, now dying in my arms. All I could do was hold her. I was there and I was honored.

To cope with Emergency medicine, I took up long distance running (think one hundred miles or more), biking, climbing and surfing. Our family grew with our daughter Gina and son Tucker. My wife became a respected MRI technologist. We traveled the US and abroad. There was a little hiccup when I fell surfing and was scheduled for surgery for a broken neck on 9/11/2001. All my friends went to NYC as I lay on an OR table. It was devastating not being there. I made it back after months of rehab and great care from friends and family.

At 50, wanting to give back, I finagled my way into working as a civilian Nurse attached to an Army unit in Iraq. The services would not take me – too old. Several tours later I ended up working as a mercenary. I wasn’t praying for my life in that ditch – I prayed my family knew I loved them with a full heart, that maybe I paid that debt I thought I owed. I was at peace.

The last time I saw Blaster he hugged me. Hugged me, patted me three times on the back, the way men do. I haven’t seen him since. There are men and women we owe a great debt to.

No one tells you how hard it is. Coming home.

I got a job as a Medevac Flight Nurse. It was satisfying and delivered the adrenaline rush I crave. Grandkids now, getting ready to pass the torch. I started at the peak of HIV, survived H1N1, Ebola and now Covid.

My wife, Doll, and I, both in Healthcare, endured terrifying days and nights. In one shift I pronounced three people dead. We isolated ourselves from our families. We stripped down outside before going in to shower. Often throwing our clothes away. We reused masks for weeks, watched colleagues die, wondering who was next. People accusing us of being part of a hoax. First war, now the Apocalypse. We say “Never forget” but we do.

2025, I fly once a week and teach the skills I have keeping people alive. Our kids are on their own and doing well. Doll and I are looking to retire shortly. I still wrestle with imposter’s syndrome and survivor’s guilt, always wondering if I did enough to earn forgiveness.

When doubt enters, I think of the lifetime of experiences: Being blessed by Nuns In Nicaragua, honored by Nepalese with a singing bowl ceremony, sung to by 200 Ugandans giving thanks, surfing into sunsets, witnessing my children’s birth, and now three grandchildren, holding Doll’s hand. Husband, Father, Nurse, Survivor.

Giving the salutatorian speech at my Nurse graduation class I spoke of Nurses bearing witness to humanity. To be there. The tragedy, the beautiful. Life. In 10th grade my Latin teacher broke down the word “Vocation”, a calling.

What’s next? Isaiah 6:8, The Lord said “Whom shall I send?” I replied, “Here am I. Send me!”

Feel free to connect with me via email at mtnrogues@gmail.com