Iraq Blog VI
Nothing Spared to Save Our Soldiers
Baghdad is still a tough place. Though there were apparently a couple of IED episodes in Baghdad while I was there, I was not aware of when they happened. However, a visit to the Combat Support Hospital (CSH) inside the Green Zone had a powerful impact on my understanding of the reality of war.
I met the doctors and nurses on duty that day. They walked me through their sobering business as if I was a patient arriving by helicopter, as most of their patients do.
I noticed a flag had been hung on the ceiling of the doorway through which wounded soldiers would be wheeled. I was told, “We want the American flag to be the first thing they see here. We want them to know they have come to a place where no effort will be spared to give them what they need. We want them to know once they get here, there is a 98-percent chance they will survive.”
In general, the staff observed that, thankfully, trauma treatment for combat-related injuries had slowed dramatically. We walked into the trauma center. During my visit, it lay quiet, but, on some days, as many as 40 soldiers will lay on those tables, victims of explosions, bullets or other combat injuries. The chief nurse who briefed me said, “Sometimes all three of these tables will be full, the floor will be covered with blood, and there will be a line of gurneys waiting, but the most remarkable thing to observe is the calm professional way in which this team provides care. Nothing is spared.”
After a wounded soldier has been stabilized, and the extent of injuries determined, most must go to the operating area. We walked the pathway along which so many had been rolled. I found myself imagining what would go through their minds as they deal with the pain and uncertainty of their circumstances.
Secretary Leavitt and Chief of Staff, Rich McKeown on a tour of the CSH.
We entered the operating area. At the moment we were there, only two of the several operating theaters were in use.
I looked through the window of the dual swinging doors, and could see the body of what was obviously an Iraqi man, lying naked on the operating table, with a team of four working over him. He had lost a hand, had a serious wound to his head, and the team had his chest open working to remove a piece of metal.
The chief nurse explained to me he was Iraqi, and appeared to have been setting an explosive device of some type when it had blown up prematurely. He had received the blow he had intended for one of our soldiers.
What interested me is that the United States provides him the same care we would one of our soldiers. Something tells me that isn’t true of the insurgents and the terrorists.
In the second operating theater was another Iraqi, wounded in combat. It was another scene where the nature of his injuries made the seriousness of war graphically apparent. I won’t go into detail, except to say they were extreme. The surgeon, a youngish looking guy who was on his second tour, conceded to me that the first time around it was somewhat shocking, but this time, he knew what to expect. The emergency surgeries are, he said, “a professional challenge like none other I have ever faced.”
It is not unusual to have a wounded American soldier arrive at the CSH, get stabilized and be on an airplane to Germany on the same day.
On my way out the door, I saw a little Iraqi boy who was being treated for a poisonous snake bite. His father was at his side. A significant part of our military medical resources in Iraq go to provide treatment to local citizens. One thing I know is that their view of America and Americans will never be the same.
As Prime Minister Maliki told me, “Health care is one of the best messengers of peace between nations.”