Mike Schlitz joined the U.S. Army in March 1996 at just 19 years old. He held various positions, from Rifleman to Platoon Sergeant. After 9/11, he was impatient to go overseas to fight and volunteered to go to war.

In 2006, he was deployed to Southern Baghdad where he was involved in some of the heaviest combat in the war.

On February 27, 2007, while on patrol in southern Baghdad, Mike’s life changed in an instant.

A hidden bomb wrapped around a propane tank detonated beneath Mike’s vehicle. The explosion ripped through the Humvee, sending shrapnel tearing through its occupants. The propane tank blanketed everything with fuel, igniting into an inferno.

His driver, gunner, and medic were killed instantly. Mike was thrown from the vehicle, saving his life, but his body was on fire.

“I am going to die right here in the dirt in Iraq,” he thought to himself.

The fire damaged 85% of his skin, including his face, leaving him unrecognizable. He could barely see, speak, or even breathe. His hands were so severely burned that amputation was the only option.

Despite the horrific pain and trauma, Schlitz somehow survived. But the scars he carried—both visible and invisible—would serve as a constant reminder of all he endured.

For four months, Mike was placed in a medically induced coma. “It was a blessing, honestly.”

Repairing his damaged skin was an ___ process. Doctors had to cultivate healthy skin from the unburned 15% of his body and graft it to the damaged areas. The removed skin would have to heal before it could then be cultivated again to repeat the process over and over.

When the doctors slowly began to bring Mike back to consciousness, he reverted to combat mode. He was convinced he had been captured and was enduring torture.

Eventually, he began to understand his new reality. That’s when his darkest depression began.

“I felt trapped in bed, completely dependent on other people.” He couldn’t look into the future without seeing an eternity of helplessness. He even contemplated suicide.

“There was not one thing on a daily basis that I could do for myself. Eating, getting a drink, wound care. Nothing. I never handled weakness too well. My entire adult life, I was a soldier. I was a leader. That identity was taken away from me.”

After 18-months of grueling physical therapy, Mike finally received his first prosthetic. That night, his mother prepared dinner and cut his food up into smaller bites.

“I got to feed myself for the very first time. That little glimpse of independence changed everything.”

The darkness and depression began to lift.