After fanfare fades, ex-Marine struggles

TYNGSBOROUGH -- Some nights, he dreams about gliding on ice, or relives unspeakable images from Fallujah. Some nights, he doesn't sleep at all.

Former Marine Corporal Matthew Boisvert is a civilian now, living with a paralyzed arm and without half a leg, waiting for his military benefits to kick in so he can make his car payments. He returned to Tyngsborough in late summer from Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington, D.C., after painful rehabilitation and multiple operations to treat the injuries he suffered in Iraq in August 2004.

It was only after he returned to his family's home that the impact of his injuries began to sink in.

''Back in D.C., I was with people who were like me or worse," he said, ''so it wasn't hard to do my daily [routine]. Nobody else was doing things I couldn't do. Then I came home, and most of the people around here do things I can't do, so it's a lot tougher."

The list is long: He can't play ice hockey the way he did when he was Tyngsborough High School's center and team captain for two years. He can't drive a stick shift, or run, or work out at the gym. Climbing stairs with a prosthesis takes a long time, because doctors couldn't save his knee joint. He plays Texas Hold 'Em with one hand, but can't deal the cards. He likes billiards, but it's not easy to aim the cue stick.

When Boisvert visited his hometown last November, he received a hero's welcome and a State Police escort after his arrival at Manchester Airport. But as Veterans Day approaches a year later, the fanfare is gone as he quietly endures a severe disability in an able-bodied world.

''If a person derives a lot of their self-esteem from physical ability, then the loss of any body part is really devastating," said Ethan S. Rofman, a psychiatrist who oversees New England's eight mental health programs for the Veterans Health Administration. ''So the whole need to redo one's whole body image is an important and very difficult task to accomplish in adjusting to amputation."

Rofman said anxiety is common as the person faces concerns about the future and how he will master the disability. Perceived vulnerabilities, such as the fear of falling, will cause avoidance of certain activities. Not only does stress and depression come into play, said Rofman, but also anger as the person realizes others around him have not lived through what he is experiencing.

The family also struggles with guilt and awkwardness as members adjust to their loved one's new life. Parents go through tremendous grief, said Rofman.

''It's a devastating loss for a parent to see a child with an amputation," he said.

For Boisvert's 39-year-old mother, Brenda Newell, the loss of his leg was difficult to accept in the beginning. But the problems with Boisvert's arm are making his adjustment far more challenging.

''Doing everything with one arm, it's so difficult," Newell said. ''I just keep telling him that maybe there's a doctor out there to fix his arm."

Last winter, to help Boisvert regain mobility in his right hand, military doctors rerouted a tendon in his wrist and attached it to his fingers. It gave him limited movement, but also brought intense pain. He wants to try surgery again and is searching for a surgeon who will give it another shot.

''If they told me they'd give me a billion dollars or my leg back and the use of my hand, I'd take the leg and the hand in a heartbeat," he said. ''I wouldn't even think about the money. Not even for a second."

It won't be a billion dollars, but the government will pay him for the loss of his limbs --$50,000 for each -- as well as the maximum monthly disability payment, currently $2,800, for the rest of his life. He said that no one in the federal government can tell him when the money will arrive.

Boisvert had joined the Marines four days after Sept. 11, 2001, and four months after high school graduation. The 6-foot-1-inch, 180-pound Boisvert had been accepted to the University of Massachusetts at Lowell and hoped to play hockey there. But a hoped-for scholarship did not materialize, and there was no money to pay for the tuition. His mother was raising three children on her own.

In October 2001, he left military camp in South Carolina to serve his first rotation in Iraq.

He was on his second rotation on Aug. 17, 2004, patrolling Iraqi roadways in a military Humvee just outside the city of Fallujah, when a remotely detonated bomb exploded. Shrapnel sheared through the floorboard and the steering wheel, slicing an artery in his right leg and hollowing the bicep in his right arm. Of the four other Marines in the vehicle with him, only one was slightly injured.

The infection that resulted from poor circulation forced doctors to amputate Boisvert's leg. He received his discharge papers this past Oct. 18.

His mother has remarried and has an 11-month-old son, Ty Newell, in addition to Matthew's two sisters, Kayla Boisvert, 18, and Jasmine Boisvert, 16. Boisvert credits his blended family, which includes his stepfather, Patrick Newell, with ''doing everything for me that I've needed and more."

But a fog surrounds his future.

''Before I got injured, I was so active," he said. ''I played hockey and I joined the Marine Corps. I planned on staying in for 20 years. So now it's a big shock, 'cause what am I going to do now? I don't really know what I want to do."

Military benefits are paying his tuition at Middlesex Community College. But he said his heart is not in it.

''Going to school is just boring, and I really don't have any drive because I don't know what I want to do," he said.

Ask him where he sees himself in five years and he can't say.

''Everything I used to want to do I can't," he said. ''I guess I've got to start over again from scratch."

The first step might be to get a good's night sleep, but his mind won't let him. He's usually up until dawn, he said.

''I can't remember the last time I had a good dream," said Boisvert, acknowledging that he has dreamt about skating, though not lately. ''I have sleeping problems. All the doctors say it's going to happen with all the stuff I've been through."

Even at home, he has seen tragedy.

Four young men went to war from Boisvert's 2001 graduating high school class. Marine Corporal Neil Regonini returned home from his tour of duty late last year. In March, he died when he lost control of his car along the F.E. Everett Turnpike.

''It's sad, depressing, tragic," said Boisvert of his friend's death after two tours of duty in Iraq. ''He made it through all of that and something like this happens."

Derek Reiss just completed his four-year military duty and now is home in Tyngsborough. Marine Private First Class Chad Nickerson is at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina and waiting for his unit to be returned to Iraq.

''All my friends are there for the third time," he said, referring to his Marine unit's third, seven-month rotation in four years. ''If I never got injured, I'd be there right now."

Instead, he gathers nightly with a group of Tyngsborough friends to play poker, billiards, or watch videos. But when the other young men go off to play ice hockey at a nearby rink, he makes excuses and departs. He doesn't go to parties anymore, and he and his girlfriend of many years have broken up.

He wants the United States to pull out of Iraq because he doesn't think the Iraqis appreciate the sacrifice.

''I just think we should pull out and let them live the way they want to live," he said. ''Fallujah is probably the craziest city in the world . . . . You can't even be in Fallujah for five or 10 minutes without being shot at."

Still, Boisvert said he misses the military. He misses his fellow Marines. He misses the nobility of his mission, and grieves because he will never again patrol, raid, and fight for his country. All the military can offer him now is a desk job.

''That's one of the main reasons why people in the military are so close," he said, ''because they go through all that stuff together, and I wouldn't be able to do that, so it wouldn't be the same."

Boisvert is certain that his sacrifice was worth it.

''If I wasn't over there doing what I was doing and fighting for this country then it wouldn't be safe for my friends and my family," he said. ''. . . Just to know that you're making that much of a difference is an awesome feeling."

He pondered whether he would do it again.

''That's a hard question," he said. ''Yeah, I would. If it wasn't me, it would have been somebody else, and I wouldn't wish this upon anybody."

Joyce Pellino Crane can be reached at crane@globe.com.