Baghdad may be more than 6,200 miles away, but for Jeff Cole memories of the horrific, life-altering events that erupted in the Iraqi city July 14, 2004 still linger at his doorstep.

Manning a 50-caliber machine gun to ward off enemy ambushes, the 20-year-old sergeant was perched atop a humvee zipping along at 40 to 50 miles per hour on a reconnaissance mission. With a thundering blast, the vehicle suddenly swerved hurling Jeff onto the cement highway. An enemy roadside bomb had exploded, critically wounding four soldiers including Jeff.

Miraculously dodging insurgents’ fire, a medi-vac helicopter rescued Jeff who was put in a medically-induced coma and flown to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany. Meanwhile, the military sped his parents, Donovan and Juliann Cole, from their Penn Township home to Germany, with the message that Jeff had a broken leg.

“The blast happened so fast, it’s blurry,” says Jeff. “The next thing I remember is a nurse telling me, ‘Say hello to your mother and dad.’ But I was fading in and out and couldn’t speak.”

Shocked at the sight of Jeff’s near comatose condition, Juliann tried to hide her sobs by huddling in a corner of the hospital room. The distraught parents, who later learned the military only rushes families to soldiers with life threatening injuries and often say broken limbs to alleviate stress during the flight, pleaded with doctors not to amputate his severely damaged leg.

Jeff’s injuries were massive -- shattered pelvis and femur, broken ribs, torn intestines and bladder, head trauma, plus 75% of the skin and a quarter of the muscle in his left leg were destroyed.

In the next weeks, while grasping with the harsh reality of his wounds, Jeff’s spirits spiraled down to their lowest point. “(At that time) I wished I would have died because I felt my future was over. I was permanently disabled with lifelong injuries. I had haunting images of someday having a son and not being able to play ball with him.”

Today, five years later, the strapping 25-year-old walks with a cane and has a slight limp. A brace supports his left leg since nerve damage has erased all feelings. He’s already endured almost three dozen surgeries, including one in May to reconstruct his foot and ankle and remove internal scar tissue. And he’ll probably need more surgeries, such as a knee replacement in the future. His weakened immune system will make him prone to infections of the femur for the rest of his life.

Considered 80% disabled under military guidelines, the tough-minded vet isn’t letting his maladies sway him from his current missions -- studying for a career in mechanical engineering and planning his future with Ashley Alm, the beautiful young nurse who cared for him last year at UPMC Shadyside Hospital.

“I have my days,” admits Jeff, who was honorably discharged in 2005. “But I’m determined to be self-sufficient. Some things spark memories and I feel angry and sad. But, I’m thankful for my family’s and friends’ support. Rehab wouldn’t have gone so well without them.”

That rehab got underway when Jeff, accompanied by his parents, checked into D.C.’s Walter Reed Hospital where he was an inpatient for six months before moving to Malone House, the hospital’s outpatient hotel, for another seven months.

“The first couple of weeks I was disoriented. Then, the guy in the next bed started screaming with nightmares and reliving the injuries that left him brain damaged. That’s when what happened hit me. I felt mortified.”

Bone reconstruction, muscle cleaning, stomach repairs, plus a dozen other surgeries, kept Jeff bedridden and made the athletic 2002 Penn Trafford High School graduate, used to racing BMX bikes and playing baseball, “feel less of a man.”

“I was raging with emotions -- crying, passing out and going through the grieving process when a hospital psychologist gave me the best advice. He said I was at a crossroads. I could take the low road and wallow in self-pity and sorrow, or I could be positive and go on with life. Thank God, I took the high road. After that, as I grew stronger physically each day, my emotions eased.”

To help Jeff adjust to Walter Reed, his mother, Juliann took off from her job at H. J. Heinz. “Unfortunately for vets, it’s not just dealing with medical problems; it’s navigating the tons of paperwork needed to receive pay, leave and various other issues,” says Juliann.

She took charge of Jeff’s affairs by relentlessly emailing social workers, doctors, and various administrative offices as questions about his care or benefits arose. Before long, Juliann was being called the e-mail mom.

Buoyed by her son’s progress, she learned how to dress Jeff’s wounds, insert and clean IV lines and handle his various other medical needs so that she could bring him home and be his caregiver. Although the Malone House was overcrowded, Jeff’s release was tangled in red tape.

“I couldn’t understand why they wanted him to sit alone at Malone when he could get good care at home. I know I got on everyone’s nerves by calling and emailing congressmen, Pentagon and hospital officials.”

Her perseverance paid off. By summer, Jeff arrived home in a wheelchair and to a hospital bed lovingly surrounded by his parents, brother and two sisters. His comprehensive services provided by the VA Pittsburgh Healthcare System and other agencies got underway immediately and continue to give him strength and confidence.

Juliann’s online advocacy is still reaping rewards. Her connection with Salute American Heroes, an organization aiding wounded soldiers, resulted in Jeff getting financial help for his truck payment, cell phone and other bills.

Overjoyed with their son’s remarkable recovery, the Coles like to focus on the positive outcome from their life-changing experience. As Donovan puts it, “We are so proud of Jeff and learned what a strong person he is. Hospital staff continually praised him for never complaining.”

It’s a depiction echoed by his girlfriend Ashley. “Something clicked when we met. He was good looking and easy to talk to. He was the strongest man I knew, but I realized I couldn’t cross the line and date a patient.”

When Jeff asked for her phone number after he was discharged, Ashley “was excited.” Now she’s at his side and helping him get through medical battles that might lie in the future.

Jeff looks ahead “thanking God everyday for his wonderful family and girlfriend.” But he can’t help but look back with regret at the buddies he left behind in Iraq.

“Describing our togetherness is hard. We had no electricity or phones — it was just us protecting each other. I’ll remember that closeness all my life.”

Services Put Jeff on the Road to Recovery

Reaching out to the VA Pittsburgh Healthcare System and Operation Enduring Freedom/Operation Iraqi Freedom, a federal program that treats military-related illnesses and injuries free for five years after discharge, Jeff has taken advantage of a range of services.

• His ongoing medical services have included a dozen surgeries; dental work to replace lost teeth and repair other problems; and physical therapy to alleviate his leg impairments.
• Like any combat vet, Jeff struggles with the challenge of healing his emotional wounds. He credits his monthly support group meetings with enabling him “to think about vets injured more seriously and thank God for being able to walk and think.”
• With his dream of a military career shattered, Jeff turned to the VA’s vocational rehabilitation services to help him enroll in the Westmoreland County Community College and head toward a college degree.

“I can’t put into words what they’ve done for me. They’re incredibly caring, understanding and make me feel good, proud, happy and appreciated.” That’s how Jeff describes the Wounded Warrior Project, a non-profit organization that offers a broad scope of services.

Now he’s hoping to give back by becoming a Wounded Warriors’ mentor, counseling injured vets “to look on the bright side and be thankful for being alive.”