…"As the confused crew began its attempt towards organization, they moved me to the laundry room. In the p-way, on my way, a chill ran through me as I stepped around my broken and wounded shipmates. Their moans seemed muffled. Every movement around me played in slow motion. The practiced battle stations in boot camp came to my mind. It was worse. My right hand moved up, like short clips of a movie, to pull my hair out of the blood on my face; my eyes met with each frightened, injured shipmate.

"I screamed, 'Where is Doc? Where is Doc?' A sailor tending to an injured said, 'We don't know. We can't find him.'

"As Phelps laid me down on some clean white laundry, my right arm began throbbing. I massaged it and then it went dead. 'I can't feel my arm!' I screamed. Someone said it might be broken. My Master Chief came in and asked me how I was.

"I cried, 'Oh God, Master Chief, what happened? What happened?'

"Checking my wounds, the MC said, 'We think it was a terrorist bombing on the ship.'

My best friend, Gina Morris, had stepped in behind the Master Chief and I cried, 'Gina!

Oh God, Gina, Gauna's dead.' Before she could respond I began losing consciousness.

Blackness closed in. I heard Gina say, 'She's going into shock. Get some blankets.' I went in and out of consciousness. I came out to Gina smacking my face and yelling,

'Come on, Kesha, come back. Stay awake. Kesha, damn it, stay with us.’

My heart breaks apart hearing what my daughter had gone through. Kesha and I cry together. Kesha puts her hand over her face, wipes the tears away, and takes a deep breath.

"Are you OK?" I ask. She nods, unconvincingly, yes.

"I was so afraid, mama."

My face wrinkles in sorrow. I should have been there, taking care of her. She continues,

"I still hadn't cried. I shook with fear. I just wanted out of there. My blood-soaked uniform clung to my skin. Gina asked, 'What do you need, Kesha?'

"'I need to spit.' Gina looked at me with surprise. My mouth was full of blood. They brought me a bucket and I spit blood and shrapnel. It was black and gritty. Shrapnel had cut clear through to the inside of my mouth.

"Finally, as the bodies began coming in, they led me topside. Outside of the darkness, I emerged into the light. I squinted in the bright hot sun, shaded my eyes, and tried to focus.

With Gina at my elbow we made the final step onto the deck and we froze.

"I scanned the deck. More injured bodies lay in lines covering the deck. All sound faded to only the pounding of my heart. I walked slowly among the black soot, blood, tears, sweat, and the heroes, and I looked up at our flag, silhouetted by the sun. I blinked slowly several times. I looked back to the crew scrambling frantically around the injured, tending to their wounds. Then back up to the America flag. The lump in my throat ached and I begged for understanding. 'Why God? Why?'

"'Where are you taking me?' I asked. Someone said, 'To shore, to the hospital,' and pointed to a small boat in the water below next to the dolphin. (Note: a Dolphin is a floating platform used for replenishment and refueling.) My body tightened in fear. I begged to stay and help, but was ordered to the hospital.

I was afraid to get into the boat. It was exactly like the one that bombed the ship. As I was lowered to the boat I was sure I was going to die. When I stepped into the boat, my cross dangled against my chest. I sat for a moment in the boat, took my cross in my hand, and examined it. I was shocked. My uniform nametag had been ripped off and I had shrapnel cuts over every inch of my body.  My chest, where my cross lay, was covered with bleeding cuts. But Mom, my cross was perfect, not a mark on it. I couldn't even believe it was still on my neck, let alone unscathed."

I smile at her. It was the cross I gave her when she graduated from high school and the one she held onto in boot camp for strength.

"In the boat, I held onto Gina. I turned to GMC Hawkins and blurted, 'We're going to die. They're going to kill us.' 'Stidham! We are going to be OK!' Hawkins assured. As I looked around, at my bleeding shipmates in the boat with me, I wasn't sure at all that things would be fine. I trembled with fear as we moved toward the Yemen shore. Yemen civilian citizens escorted the wounded in their vehicles to the hospital. I kept my eye on the driver and shook with fear. Then I became angry at what they had done to us.

"Emergency personnel at the Yemen hospital ran about outside the ER, checking the victims and rushing them in. When a nurse came toward me, I withdrew in fear. She smiled sympathetically and led me into the hospital.

"Inside they bandaged my face; I felt resentment. I waited with Gina and another friend at my side. When a camera crew came in with what appeared to be Yemen officials, I thought of you, mom. I let them film me hoping you would see I was all right."

I recall identifying the photo and the yearning I felt to be with my daughter. Kesha sits down and I put my hand on hers. She continues.

"After the camera crew left, I started crying. Gina wanted me to stop. 'We have to be strong, Kesha. We can't cry; we are sailors. Don't make me cry.' I held my breath and stopped my tears. When the doctor examined me, I was still afraid and angry. He sent me to x-ray. My arm wasn't broken. My thumb was hyper-extended and had pinched a nerve.

I had two broken ribs and bruises the size of basketballs all over my body."

Kesha pulls her shirt up and shows me again the large bruises that cover her body. I cringe and touch them lightly.

"They brought me back to my room and that's when I really started crying for you. I sobbed uncontrollably. A nurse came to my side and I flinched. 'Why you cry? Why you cry?' the woman said in broken English. I tried to tell her, 'It hurts, I'm afraid, and I want my mother.' The nurse cocked her head, not understanding. A man in the room came to translate. The woman asked her question again and I answered.

"The nurse touched my shoulder. I tensed, and she said, 'Po bebe. Po bebe. It be OK.'

I then softened my anger and cried with her words. I thought to myself, 'She has to be a mother.' She wasn't my enemy.

"A man entered my room with a tray of instruments. Along with Gina, a few other friends were in the room. The man sat at my side and I watched him carefully. He strung a needle with some thick string and came towards me. I drew away, put my hand up and said,

'What are you going to do with that?' He made gestures telling me he was going to stitch my face. I made gestures asking what about numbing medication. He came towards me with the needle shook his head, 'No medicine. Just sew.' I started out of my bed and said,

'The hell you are.' Gina pulled me back down, 'Kesha, you have to. You can do it; squeeze my hand.' The man came closer. My other shipmates came to my side and I grabbed one of their hands. With the first stick of the needle I screamed and my friends held me down. I screamed with every stitch, screams echoing down the hall, and my friends cringed with the job of holding me down."

I weep with pain hearing how my daughter's flesh was sewn without medication, and the pain she had to endure breaks my heart…