FORT BRAGG - Staff Sgt. Jeremy Rausch used to stay up for hours to patrol the explosives-littered streets of Adhamiya, a dangerous suburb outside Baghdad, Iraq.

Now he bounces from appointment to appointment and waits hours to pick up prescriptions for the trauma inside his brain, a different sort of hurry up and wait that characterizes Rausch's daily life at Fort Bragg.

The Apex native used to be able to bench press 300 pounds. Now he can barely keep his balance standing still.

Rausch, 33, is still on active duty in the U.S. Army. But he's on medical disability, suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and traumatic brain injury - illnesses diagnosed years after a brutal extended stint in Iraq that desecrated much of Rausch's unit.

In a 15-month tour, 31 men from the 1st Battalion, 26th Infantry Regiment were killed and 122 were wounded, making it among the hardest-hit battalions since the Vietnam War. Rausch's company suffered the most. Fourteen men were killed. Charlie 1-26's triumphs and tragedies are the subject of a recently released book, "They Fought For Each Other," by Kelly Kennedy.

Since their return, Rausch has been honored with two bronze stars, a Purple Heart and other awards. He's also up for several more medals, honoring multiple heroic acts that saved the lives of several of the men in his unit.

He wants to go back. But he is in a holding pattern. He's unwilling to leave the military lifestyle that gave his life purpose. But his orders keep him on the sidelines.

Between appointments with physical and occupational therapists, neurologists and counselors, Rausch helps train the next generation of soldiers preparing for deployment. While the other infantrymen practice jumping from a plane, he must stay grounded. Further injury to his brain could kill him.

A group of military medical experts in Washington will soon decide whether Rausch can stay in active duty or leave, eight years shy of the 20 he was hoping to put in before receiving retirement benefits.

Sometimes the father of three gets angry at his predicament, lashing out at his family and even strangers who don't - can't - understand what he's been through, or what he's seen.

But Rausch still romanticizes his past somewhat. He says being deployed - the very cause of his PTSD - is its own sort of stress relief.

"If I could be deployed again tomorrow, I would do it," he says.

Holding pattern

On a recent Thursday, Rausch was getting ready for a busy day of doctor's appointments and work at Fort Bragg.

He scrambled to grab all of his things - a bottle of water, an appointment book, his cap, cigarettes, car keys, and heads for the door of his off-base military house in Cameron.

Wait. He's forgetting something.

He walks back over to kiss his wife, Mendy.

"Love you," she says.

"Love you," he says.

Driving his green 1998 Hyundai Accent with no air-conditioning (he gave his Mercury Cougar to his dad), he stops to consider the day ahead: an appointment with his counselor, physical therapy, picking up a prescription, reporting for duty for a few hours.

He remembers one of his lowest points: a family trip to Disney World soon after he came back from that harrowing tour.

The ringing in his ears, the sensitivity to light and the headaches were at their worst when he snapped at strangers because his daughters were told they couldn't see Belle at Magic Kingdom. He yelled, shouting about his past as a war veteran. His daughters did get to meet Belle that day.

The family was concerned.

"We knew something was wrong, but at the time, he couldn't talk about it," says Jackie Rausch, his mother.

But Jeremy Rausch didn't accept the severity of his injuries until last summer, almost two years after he came back from Iraq. He just knew that his short-term memory stunk, his speech was slowed and sometimes he'd snap and get really depressed.

He certainly wasn't ready to confront having a mental illness, telling the New York Times in January 2009 that he thought PTSD was easy to fake.

The surge in PTSD claims has been the subject of recent media reports and an investigation by the Department of Veterans' Affairs. According to the VA, nearly 390,000 veterans were receiving benefits for PTSD as of fiscal year 2009, the fourth-most prevalent service-related disability.

Rausch still thinks many of his fellow soldiers exaggerate their symptoms to qualify for full disability benefits. But he knows it can be difficult to tell. He wishes the mental trauma from war could be considered more as a combat-related injury and less as a mental illness.

Back in the car, he calls the counselor's office to say he's running a little late this morning. He finds out that his counselor has been out all week. No appointment today, not that he really likes talking about his feelings that much anyway.

"Everything in general is frustrating," he says, hanging up the phone.

His daughters - Taylor, 11; Sky, 8; and Jade, 5 - make him happy.

Mendy Rausch, who takes online classes for a criminal justice degree, takes on more than her share of responsibilities at home. It makes him feel bad, but she isn't resentful.

"The love hasn't changed," she says. "We have changed."

Living to serve

Jeremy Rausch was raised in a Navy household in Newport News, Va. The family ended up settling in Apex. He attended Apex Elementary, Apex Middle School and Apex High School. His grades were just OK. His sports stats were better. He set hurdles records and was a blazing wide receiver on Apex's football team.

He was fascinated by war, collecting news clippings during the First Gulf War and writing letters to soldiers.

When he turned 17, he handed his mother a release to enlist in the infantry. She refused to sign it. "It is a mother's worst nightmare," Jackie Rausch says.

He joined a military intelligence unit. When he was old enough, he switched to infantry.

After an initial four year term, Rausch got out in 1999 and joined the reserves.

He took jobs as a cook, a bouncer, an electrician. It wasn't the same.

"There was nothing that really made me happy," he says. After Sept. 11, Rausch was itching to re-enlist.

"I felt I needed to do something," he said. "I could not just sit and watch the news."

He rejoined in 2003 and left for his first tour in Balad and Samarra, Iraq, on Valentine's Day 2004.

The second tour, in Adhamiya, started in August 2006. Iraqi insurgents were growing in numbers, and the city grew more dangerous each day.

"This one really broke us down," Rausch says.

The second tour

The last time Rausch saw Sgt. Juan Campos alive, Campos' clothes were burnt, his skin was melting and his body armor had disappeared.

It was the result of an improvised explosive device, or IED. Campos, Rausch's best friend, was riding shotgun in a Humvee as truck commander. On May 14, 2007, the vehicle had rolled over the explosive.

Rausch stared at the stretcher holding his friend.

Their families were close. When their wives were living at a base in Germany, they were inseparable. The two soldiers played on the company softball and football teams together and hit the gym, competing with each other over who had bigger muscles. They were brothers.

Now, Rausch could barely make out his face. He tried to stare into his eyes to tell him that he was going to be okay. But there was little life behind Campos' dark pupils.

Campos died two weeks later at a Texas military hospital at the age of 27.

Rausch got to attend his funeral. And then he had to go right back, spending another five months in Iraq before Charlie 1-26's tour ended.

"The last five months were the hardest. We kept getting blowed up and losing men," says Rausch, who wears dog tags with Campos' name around his neck every day.

He adds: "We had a mission, and we went out and did it. We did everything we were supposed to do. But you can't stop IEDs."

During the tour, Rausch would experience multiple close calls with IEDs and grenades, like the time a bomb went off in a trash can 20 meters away.

The endless hits were tormenting his brain but he didn't realize it at the time.

He would tell his mother about it.

"He would call and tell me so nonchalantly about it," Jackie Rausch says. " 'Hey mom, I got blown up today.' "

'I'm a survivor'

Rausch visits his mom in Apex almost every weekend, helping to fix up the house. He receives support from Operation First Response, a nonprofit that aids wounded warriors.

The group has helped Rausch pay for family vacations, bills and trips to see his friends from Charlie 1-26, comrades he keeps in touch with regularly.

Last weekend, he attended the group's Walk for the Wounded in Pennsylvania with some guys from the unit.

It all helps him to stay busy as Rausch tries to prepare for an uncertain future. Friends, family and doctors say that Rausch's ability to overcome obstacles in his life will help him continue to propel forward.

"He has this huge purpose. Nobody else has this," said Wendi Sheets, Rausch's physical therapist.

On May 14, Rausch had a medical evaluation with officials at Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington over video conference call.

They will determine whether or not he can continue to serve or should leave and receive disability benefits.

The decision could take up to a year. Rausch is used to waiting.

It's more time for him to think about the past.

He talks calmly about seeing his friends die, sharing simple facts.

As a staff sergeant with the platoon, he talks about protecting the lives of his soldiers without arrogance or hyperbole.

"You really are a legitimate war hero," his mother says.

"I'm not," he responds. "I'm a survivor."