Tonia Sargent

Bio

About this Writer

Tonia Sargent for the last 20 years has been married to MSSGT Kenneth Sargent, and to the USMC. She has proudly served her husband, two daughters, but also her country,

On August 4, 2004 Tonia Sargent was the proud wife of a Marine who had been serving his country for the last 17 years and now in Iraq. On August 5, 2004 her life changed forever propelling her to become the foremost spokesperson and advocate for wounded warriors and their families. Since her husband, MSSGT Kenneth Sargent’s traumatic brain injury, Tonia Sargent has not only been rebuilding and restructuring her husbands recovery, but has been rebuilding and restructuring the maze of government, military, medical and veterans organizations whose efforts although well intentioned are uncoordinated and insufficient to meet the needs of our returning veterans.

Tonia’s story will move you to tears as well as to action. She is a force to be reckoned with and is paving the way for all our military warriors and families to receive the care, respect and support that we as a nation can and should provide.

The Sargent’s arrived at Camp Pendleton in May 2002, 15 years into Kenny's Marine Corps career. The following January, he shipped out to Kuwait with his unit. Two months later, Kenny moved into Iraq with the 1st Marine Division. Kenny came home in late summer 2003 exhausted. Six months later, he was back in Iraq for a second tour of duty. Tonia had an uneasy feeling from the beginning, but she never complained.

Tonia became a key volunteer at Camp Pendleton, (This is a spouse who comforts and sends information to other Marine families). She added those tasks to her two paid jobs, at a YMCA and as an aerobics instructor, which already totaled 65 hours per week. She and her daughters, Tasha and Alishia, avoided the TV news as much as possible, trying to keep up a normal life.

Kenny was traveling in a convoy near Najaf on Aug. 5, 2004, when his vehicle was ambushed. A ricocheting bullet struck him below the right eye, exited near his left ear, and damaged the front of his brain. He barely survived.

Tonia flew to Washington, D.C., where Kenny had been airlifted to Bethesda Naval Hospital. She left their daughters home alone, asking neighbors to look in on them. She nearly collapsed after seeing Kenny in the intensive-care unit, broken, unconscious, his body invaded with tubes, she could hardly recognize him. She said, “Squeeze my hand if you know who I am.” He squeezed.

She moved into Kenny's hospital room and took charge. She learned all of his medications and when he needed them. She charted every ounce of fluid that went in or out of him and hung the records on the door for his nurses. Tonia rarely left his bedside, showering him, shaving him, taking him to the bathroom.

Bethesda Naval Hospital gave her the support she needed, Kenny drifted out of danger, but he needed rehabilitative help to rebuild his life. After two months, the Sargent’s, flew to Palo Alto, where the Department of Veterans Affairs has one of four regional centers for brain-injured veterans.

After weeks of giving Kenny round-the-clock care in Bethesda, and now at Palo Alto, it was suggested she visit Kenny during limited visiting hours. The staff suggested she go home and treat it like a deployment. The only temporary lodging the hospital could offer was a shared room for which she had to put her name on a standby list each day. Tonia didn't know where she was going to stay each night. Taking care of families was a new issue for the VA. While nursing her brain-injured husband through a long recovery, she ran head-on into a military medical system she found to be overwhelmed by the crush of severely injured troops. This was not acceptable, so Tonia got to work.

No one could tell Tonia where to find out what assistance she and Kenny could get. Now, in Palo Alto, she had no access to phones or e-mail. Like most families supporting loved ones in the hospital, she couldn't afford $100 or more a night for a hotel room. “You don't shed tears, you put on that wife face, and you're strong.” The VA told her that this was not her rehab; this was his rehab, that she was too involved. She went ballistic. She said, 'I'm not a visitor, I'm his wife!’ ” This was the beginning of Tonia’s call to action.

First she got her husband's care in order. She e-mailed regular status reports to all of his doctors, case managers, therapists, and his command. She learned to brief medical experts in their own jargon.

During her spare time, Tonia volunteered at the hospital and with other military support organizations, including the Injured Marine Semper Fi Fund (which she has promoted on Roger Hedgecock's radio show in San Diego), www.soldierfund.org and Operation Homefront. She accomplished many things, such as initiating a Marine/Army Liaison at Palo Alto, built a resource binder for Palo Alto social workers, put together a resource binder for injured and caregivers at Scripps hospital Encinitas, assisted in Marine4life Program and the Severely Injured Program and was in large part responsible for implementing all that was necessary so that her husband Kenny received a promotion to Master Sargent.

She wanted to find out why the Palo Alto VA hospital lacked a Fisher House. The San Diego Naval Hospital in Balboa Park has had one since 1992. So she met with Kerri Childress, a spokeswoman for the VA Palo Alto Health Care System. Childress told her that the Fisher House Foundation had approved construction, but the hospital needed to raise more than $2 million in addition. By law, the hospital could not use tax money for the project. She decided to put her money where her mouth was and found out what she needed to do to get the job done.

In April of 2006, Tonia and Kenny helped dedicate a new Fisher House in Palo Alto, a temporary residence for military personnel, retirees, and their families when they need to be close to a Veterans Affairs or military hospital far from home.

The 21-suite, $5 million home has gone from hope to reality largely through the force of Tonia's Type A personality, Childress said that Tonia is “like the fireplug, she's the one who ignites the interest of other people.” While Tonia has been advocating for her own family, she advocates for a lot of other families as well. She carries the torch and lights the way for all of our injured veterans.

Tonia became the human face of the fundraising drive. Again and again, she told the story of Kenny's injury, the family's dilemma and the teenagers caring for themselves at home so she could stay at her husband's side. She called U.S. senators and asked them for cash. She visited with the Blue Star Moms, a club composed of mothers with sons or daughters serving in combat. Cadence Design Systems Inc., a Silicon Valley firm, agreed to donate more than $1 million from its annual bowling fundraiser. A businessman donated about $175,000, which helped to pay for the military families so that they could stay at hotels until the Fisher House opened.

Tonia was open and shared her pain with the world. When they heard her story, the pockets of the Bay Area opened up and provided what was needed to help her accomplish her mission. A year and a half after Tonia jump-started the fundraising, the Fisher House opened. A fundraising drive typically takes five years, but Tonia’s persistence moved mountains.

Using her networking skills, Tonia doggedly figured out how to get help for her family from the maze of military, medical and Veterans organizations, whose efforts she found well intentioned but uncoordinated. In the process, she has become a one-woman help line for other injured veterans and their families. She has put in hundreds of volunteer hours for military charities, raising millions of dollars while literally writing the book on support services for families of injured military service personnel.

History

Member for

16 years 42 weeks