From Washington Post
After he was injured in Iraq, Richard Twohig found himself fighting an unexpected foe: the U.S. Army.

By Paula Span

THE SHADES IN RICHARD TWOHIG’S GARDEN APARTMENT ARE DRAWN TIGHT AGAINST THE SUMMER SUN. This is partly because it’s 94 degrees in Knoxville, Tenn., this afternoon, but also because light can trigger one of his bad headaches, the kind that make his knees buckle. His kids have grown accustomed to dimmed surroundings.

They’ve been cavorting on the living room carpet, Lizzie with her fuzzy pink dog named Princess, her little brother, Damon, with his prized jeep. Their chirpy ebullience isn’t unusual for a 6-year-old and a 3-year-old who haven’t had much chance to romp outside today but noise can bring on Twohig’s migraines, as well. “Why don’t you go up and play a while?” he suggests mildly, and they troop upstairs to their shared bedroom.

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