'Just World News' with Helena Cobban

Christmas in the ER, Baghdad

Our delightful and multi-talented friend C, who is also the son of long-time family friends, is an ER doc with the US military who recently deployed to Iraq. What follows is most of his account of Christmas in the ER in the Baghdad Green Zone. My deep thanks to you, C., for letting me share this beautiful and heart-rending piece of writing. I pray to God you stay safe. ~HC

Christmas was not peaceful here in Baghdad... By 10 am the slightly desparate sound of Medivac requests crackled from the radio, followed by the drum of rotors passing over the hospital and landing at our helipad. The wounded came in three and four at a time. Just as one group were sent up to surgery another would land on our doorstep. One felt drained physically by the end of the day, sapped from the emotional toll of so much pain on Christmas, rather than the actual exertion of repeated resuscitations. The work is exhilarating and terrible at the same time and I do not know how to respond to the excitement and dread we all feel upon hearing the radio call: "three litter urgent, 4 minutes out." It takes several hours for the true impact of the experience to sink in. The wounded begin to blur in my memory, and even the next morning I cannot easily remember exactly who had what injury and when I saw them. We are at war, make no mistake about that.

Everyday young men (and women) place body armor on and patrol the streets and suburbs of this sprawling city. Helmets are strapped on, ballistic glasses and earplugs in place. They look very much like modern day samurai preparing for battle. They drive, or walk knowing that someone in their unit will stumble across an explosive at some point during the day. Hopefully they will recognize and defuse it. Perhaps it will go off and no one but the hapless triggerman will be injured. Or, maybe, a friend with whom they just shared a joke or memory or cigarette will have his body torn by shrapnel, legs amputated, or life quickly ended in a flash. Imagine that a part of your daily routine and you begin to understand exactly what sort of strain these soldiers are under. Yet they are remarkably free of the tortured doubt and dread that you would believe all to harbor. Each brings to the anticipation of violence a fatalistic humor that defuses the greatest threat in this conflic t: fear. There will be some difficult homecomings, I imagine. The ramifications of what they have seen and done will not end for many years.

One soldier in particular sticks in my mind. He came into our trauma room, his body torn, but his will to live powerfully strong. His lips were deathly pale as he struggled to speak to me. I could never make out the words. I placed a tube in his throat to help him breath as we placed him in a chemically induced sleep. We put lines deep into his body and wrapped him tightly in a sheet. With blood, saline and oxygen, his skin turned soft pink and his face look calm. His blood pressure and pulse improved and we quickly pushed him up to the operating room. I was proud of my team and how quickly they were able to stabilize this young soldier. I spoke to his commander who looked so young himself. "If you get them in here alive, I promise we can save them," I told his unit.

He died on the operating table before the end of the hour. Too much damage. Nothing could have been done. Christmas day in Iraq. It is New Years. The Iraqi celebrate by firing Kalishnikov's into the sky. Occasionally the deeper thump of a 50 cal or some equivalent can be heard. Traces streak up as the city celbrates a new year. Miraculously, no one is yet injured. I think one bad holiday is enough. Tonight we will just celebrate quietly and think of everyone at home. Have a safe and peaceful New Year.