This couldn’t feel more dangerous than it does right now, I thought, squinting into the desert sun.
The road we were driving on was elevated and right alongside of it was an irrigation canal. We were visible for a long way, no trees or buildings obscuring the view. I felt exposed to unseen attacks but this was the road we had to take to reach the next sheik who we hoped would give us information on Al Qaeda whereabouts. I was in the front passenger seat while my driver kept driving.
The next thing I knew was that I was on my back in a ditch just waking up. Somebody was screaming. I tried to go to whoever it was, but my soldiers pushed me back down on a stretcher where I had been unconscious for a few minutes.
“Relax sir,” my soldier said, “you’re the only one.” They were already treating very massive wounds.
I’m the only one WHAT? I wondered.
Then it hit me. I’m the only casualty. My mind was very foggy, my vision blurred. Everything looked bright but sounds seemed far away. I was in shock.
When I lifted my head and looked past my feet, I saw the Humvee I had been riding in still on the road with its door blown open. The guys were working on my leg, my body armor was blown open, and I thought at the time that I could actually see my intestines. As it turns out I couldn’t quite but almost. My battalion executive officer (XO) was holding my hand talking to me it’s what one does with casualties.
“Are my legs okay?” I asked.
“You’re going to be fine,” was the response.
If you’ve ever watched any war movies, you know that “You’re going to be fine,” means “You’re in really serious trouble.” It’s what you tell someone who’s dying because you don’t want them to panic; that just complicates the medical situation. That’s when I knew it was pretty bad.
Lord, help me make the most of every day you grant me on this earth.
“Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” (James 4:14)