by PATRICE O'SHAUGHNESSY
Thirteen days before the U.S. invaded Iraq, Marine Lance Cpl. Ian Lennon was burned in a fueling accident in Kuwait. On a recent day, his intensely scarred face and arms drew some double takes from the other patients in the elegant townhouse office of a Park Avenue plastic surgeon.
He didn't seem to notice, idly reading a magazine in between ducking out for smokes. On the upper East side streetcorner, some passersby stare, but their eyes seem drawn more to his laughter and chatter, to the animation that surprisingly comes through the mask of injury.
Nearly 18 months after a flash of fire changed his life, Lennon, 24, is taking the first step in what will be years of surgeries, prosthetics and steroid treatments to reconstruct his face.
Lennon got this far with the help of veterans' advocates, the support of other maimed Iraq War veterans and the expertise of doctors. But he made it, mostly, because of his own remarkable attitude.
His burn doctor calls Lennon determined and positive. His plastic surgeon said Lennon is willing and ready for a long and difficult journey. His mother, Debbie, looking at her son with love and pride, said, "He's just a good kid. . . . I want the best for him."
Lennon said simply, "It could take five years, I'm in no hurry. I'm lucky to still be here."
Nearly a 1,000 young soldiers never made it back from the Middle East. More than 4,000 who did make it back are coping with the aftermath of combat wounds. And Lennon is one of about 7,000 others who suffered injuries or illnesses unrelated to battle but while serving their country. ‘It was my job'
Lennon's right ear is all but gone, his right eye has no upper or lower lid, his left eyelid is damaged, tender-looking red patches cover his nose and cheeks, and he has hardly any hair except for some black stubble on his head.
His right arm is scarred and the fingers are fused. Scars from skin grafting show on his legs, among the leprechaun and heavy-metal tattoos.
Lennon finds camaraderie with other vets who are in their early 20s and facing long recoveries or lifelong disabilities, yet are upbeat about the future. Each knows someone worse off than himself.
Lennon enlisted in the Marine Corps in November 2000. He grew up in Dix Hills, L.I., with an older sister, Jennifer. He was a volunteer firefighter in the town. He currently lives in Lindenhurst.
He graduated from Half Hollow Hills High School in 1998. He was into Ozzy Osbourne, Judas Priest and attending Lollapalooza festivals. He worked for a while and felt he needed a change.
"I joined to see other parts of the world, to get a college degree," Lennon said.
He saw Parris Island, S.C., Camp Lejeune, N.C., Camp Pendleton, Calif., and Tijuana.
He shipped out to Kuwait in January 2003, part of the massive buildup of Marines for Operation Iraqi Freedom. He was with the 1st Transportation Support Battalion, then with Combat Service Support Element 115.
Of going to war against Iraq, he said, "It was my job."
On March 6, 2003, Lance Cpl. Lennon was filling an LVS heavy transport vehicle with gasoline. In the darkness, he was checking the fuel gauge with a lighter when "it sparked," he said.
The explosion spattered him with flaming accelerant. It devastated his head and arms with third-degree burns. He was medevacked out to the military hospital in Landstuhl, Germany, then to Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio, Tex., where the military has a burn unit.
"He was unconscious, in a coma," said his mom, who spent a week at his bedside. She went back and forth to Texas for months.
He came home last summer, and spent two months at St. Charles Hospital & Rehabilitation Center in Port Jefferson, L.I. But he had to return to Brooke each time he needed skin grafts.
"They did a good job, but he wanted his family, he wanted to be home," said his mother.
Meanwhile, local radio station WBAB held a fund-raiser, FDNY firefighters gave him $25,000, and various local groups helped him, drawn to his cheerful disposition amid diversity.
He cracks dumb jokes and teases his mother, who just rolls her eyes. He brags of driving erratically in his green Blazer when she doesn't accompany him.
"This is how he has always been, from Day One of the accident; this is Ian," she said, shaking her head in amazement.
Help at home
Of course, there were difficult times.
"He does what he wants," she said, as he scooted around their apartment looking for a book, ignoring her offer to help. "I learned not to help him, to just step back."
"Ian wouldn't even see us the first time we went to his hospital room," said Al Giordano of VetsFirst, a division of the United Spinal Association. The group works with the Wounded Warrior Project, an organization started by John Melia to assist the Iraq vets.
Wounded Warrior got the Veterans Administration to fly John Roberts to Long Island to give Lennon a pep talk. Roberts, who was severely burned in a helicopter crash off Somalia, counsels the soldiers at Walter Reed Medical Center in Washington.
"He looks normal now," Lennon said of Roberts.
That was the hope he had for himself.
Last December, Giordano contacted Jim Curran, head of Firefighters Burn Center Foundation, and told him Lennon required treatment thousands of miles from home. Curran brought Lennon to Dr. Roger Yurt, director of the burn center at Weill Cornell Medical Center and a renowned expert. Yurt said the burns had healed in most areas, but the biggest problem for Lennon was contractures and distortions of skin.
"He had had skin grafts; it helped him heal but you can never fully replace the skin," said Yurt. "And the body tries to contract wounds to make them smaller."
Yurt then referred Lennon to Dr. Lloyd Gayle, a prominent plastic and reconstructive surgeon who travels to Kenya and the Philippines to treat children with severe burns.
Lennon saw Gayle on May 17, and emerged from the evaluation filled with excitement. He lighted a Camel filter and said, "He didn't give me a timetable. . He said I wouldn't be the same but I would be back there." He hugged his companions.
Giordano arranged for the Veterans Administration to pay for Lennon's future medical costs with Yurt, Gayle and other doctors he will need.
"The VA and the military recognized the need for Weill Cornell's services due to the severe nature of Ian's burns," said Giordano.
New beginning
Ten days ago, Lennon visited Gayle again. "I'm ready to begin," he said as he walked into the office.
Gayle determined that Lennon's right eye would be the first order of business.
Gayle said the vision in the eye is fine but the issue is the eyelids. "We need to release the scar tissue, do a skin graft, put them in a more functional position," Gayle said. He referred Lennon to Dr. Kip Dolphin, an ophthalmologist at Weill Cornell, for surgery, possibly in October.
The nose is next; we will restore a favorable contour. We can do several little things, some major things, work on his eyebrows, get a prosthetic ear. I'll refer him to a hand specialist.
"Much of this is time, allowing the scars to mature," Gayle said.
"The fact that he's made it as far as he has indicates a determination to live," Yurt said. "He's shown he has what it takes to stick with it."
Gayle said the technology does not exist to restore Lennon completely.
"His outlook is realistic; he knows it will be a long battle," Gayle said. "We make sure he recognizes it is not a lost cause, and we will bring him back as close to normal as possible." Back at home, Debbie Lennon sighs at the thought of more operations. She sat with Lennon on the sofa; on the wall behind them were an American flag and a photograph of Lennon, boyish and stern in his Marine Corps dress blues.
"It'll be nice to get all that started again, and get it all done," she said, looking at her son. "For him to get his face done."
As is his habit, when the conversation turns too serious, Lennon changed the tone. He grabbed a foot-tall stuffed chipmunk dressed as a leatherneck, pressed its paw and laughed like a kid as the toy marched to a squeaky version of "The Marine Corps Hymn."
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