Bad Day: A True Soldier Memory

Hello fellow steemians. I hope this post finds you well. As for me, my day has taken a turn. I've mentally fallen back due to a bad memory (of which I'm fortunate to only have a few) that took place during the Iraq War. Don't take this as a story for pity, or thank yous, or to push an anti war agenda. It is just a story, albeit true, that is best told now as the memory is freshly returned. If you haven't gathered it yet, my faithful followers, this is not one of my usual tales with the humor sprinkled in. Consider that a warning.

Baghdad, Iraq 2007. B Company was taking a break from their early morning PT routine and decided to play a little football (American kind). This was a great way to unwind for us with the danger of death always lurking around. We weren't really scared to be honest, because we were POGs (Person Otherthan Grunts) and rarely spent time outside of the wire. When we did leave, there was never enemy contact, so this left us...complacent. The sounds of war surrounded us on a daily basis, but it was just part of the daily routine. Unluckily for me during this game I broke my finger. A thrown football nailed my finger tip and cracked it down the side.

Didn't set right.

Well, this prompted a trip to Baghdad International Hospital. I was the only one in Orthopedics, meaning the time spent there should have been short...until the call came in. Being a non-threatening injury I was left alone while the doctors ran out to accept new patients in the ER. Now, the ER was the next room over and across the hall, and where I was seated in an area where I could see into the operation room. As I waited patiently for my doctor to return, the sounds of choppers filled the air. Medecac choppers. An attack happened south of Baghdad. IEDs ripped through several armored HWMVS (humvees; not sure if I remember the acronym right, but that part doesn't really matter) and the injured soldiers were being air lifted for immediate, life saving surgery. Where I was seated I could see all of the soldiers that were getting sent into the ER, bleeding profusely, turning the white floors red. One soldier in particular looked like he had hamburger meat piled on his abdomen. I don't know how many we lost or how much horror I saw, but it was hours before the doctor came back to help me. When he came back I was told that I would need airlifted to Germany to get surgery and I would be leaving the following morning. The horrors were not over for my eyes as I boarded the C-17 with the soldiers from that attack. One was on a stretcher set in front of me in a medically induced coma. He was a double amputee with both legs missing, one above and one below the knee. A catheter was also inserted into his urethra exposing the dark yellow urine that flowed from the tube to a waste container. He was only one of at least a dozen non-ambulatory guys while there where many more mobile like myself. When we arrived the stretchers were off loaded first. I could tell something didn't seem right as they offloaded one fellow. Exiting the plane I heard a medic tell our liaison that he didn't survive the flight. I was not fully complacent again for the rest of that tour.

There you have it, the memory that has brought me down into this funk that will last a few days. If you made it this far, thank you for reading and feeling my sorrow. As I said before, this post is not for the pity, the thank yous, or debate on the legitimacies of the war. Just needed to vent, too work my way through it.

*The top photo is the memorial for 1st Cavalry soldiers lost in Iraq. Names line the front and back (almost) all the way around.

#veterans