Iraq Veteran: A Woman's War Experience

Written by Kate Hoit Sunday, February 14 2010

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Part 1 of a two-part series

The following two-part article originally was published Wednesday, Nov. 11, 2009 in the Albany Student Press and was updated Friday, Nov. 20, 2009. U.S. Army veteran Kate Hoit is a student at State University of New York Albany.

On Dec. 26, I will officially be out of the Army. It has been eight years since I enlisted, and I’m torn: Was it worth it?

The simple answer is yes. The more I dissect the question, the more I have no idea how to answer it. The Army has taught me more about myself than any job, schooling, or relationship that I’ve ever had. So, what’s my problem then?

I knew nothing at the age of 17 besides I wanted to join the Army Reserves. I thought of the Army as a starting point for the rest of my life. I wanted an adventure, and the Army promised that. I wanted a career in the FBI.

My father and both my grandfathers had served, and I wanted to be the first woman in the family to follow in their footsteps. I was a virgin. I’d been drunk twice in my life. I grew up in Bethlehem, a suburb outside of Albany. I was a cheerleader and a shitty math student. I was supposed to go to a four-year college like my friends, work some bullshit job the rest of my life, have a few kids, grow old, and die. Sometimes I wish I chose the suburban version of The American Dream.

In the summer of 2004, I got a phone call while waiting tables at the Fountain Restaurant on New Scotland Avenue. It was a sergeant from my unit in Schenectady telling me I was being deployed.

I hung up the phone and stood there for a minute. I should’ve known this was coming.

I picked up the phone and called my parents.

“Hi Mom,” I said.

“Katie, your sergeant just called here,” my mom said.

“I know, I just talked to him,” I said. “I’m being deployed to Iraq.”

There was an awkward moment of silence. There was nothing she could’ve said that would’ve made me feel better. I was a soldier. This shouldn’t have fazed me — but it did.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said through her tears.

“I wish mom. I gotta get back to work.”

“OK, I love you.”

I hung up the phone and walked outside. My eyes started to fill with tears as I wondered if I was going to be killed over there.

I remembered the couple that had just come into the restaurant. I walked back in and took their order.

The Army Reserve life up to this point was easy for me.

I was used to the one-weekend-a-month drills. I was used to taking a physical fitness test twice a year. I was used to qualifying on my M-16 every six months. I was used to going away two weeks in the summer for training. I was used to the over-educated officers who thought they knew everything. I learned to appreciate the variety of individuals the Army attracts.

I had the whole Army thing figured out. Then I shook hands with war.

It was night when I flew into Camp Anaconda in Balad, Iraq. I was rushed off the C-130. I was too scared to actually be scared. War was supposed to be bombs going off, people screaming, shots being fired. After a few seconds I realized it was just dark and silent.