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The 1st of August 2005
December 6, 2011
“Welcome to COP Rawah! Yeah, it sucks here, but you’ll get over that in a few days or so…showers and toilets are overrated.”
Soldiers attempting to act overly motivated like to use the term, “crutch” when describing such amenities as showers, hot and cold water, toilets…or even porta johns for that matter, and good food. No one at COP Rawah ever mentioned the term “crutch.” There was no false motivation here…this place sucked and everyone knew it. There was one major difference here, in the middle of this forsaken place, it’s called purpose. We had a real mission here…a purpose to get up to everyday. So we shaved in our canteen cups and walked down to the trench dug latrines, we ate the same canned boiled meal every night and we lived in amazingly hot heat everyday. We slept out under God’s sky and woke every morning with a thick layer of dust over us. But there was no complaining; no whining…there’s no room for that…no time. We left everyday to go on patrols and just enjoyed each other’s company. We were brothers, molded and forged by fire and many tragic events this past year. Something like this…this place, this heat, all these inconveniences…would not deter our course. Only two more months before we would be completely at home…all of us.
August 1st. I woke up and after the usual morning routine, one that even the most austere of Soldiers needs, I proceeded to the Squadron Operations and Plans tent. As I just finished reading my e-mail on my boss’s computer…I had realized that I had made a really dumb mistake. Last night was Sunday night, July 31st and I had written my dad a birthday e-mail for his 55th birthday. His birthday is August 31st…not July. I sat there and just laughed at myself, what a dumb mistake. Just then the Squadron Commander asked me if I was ready to go. Go? Sure! Always ready. I had forgotten about a patrol we were leaving on that would take us far out to the Syrian border this day…August 1st. So I grabbed my gear and headed to my Stryker, HQ 67. Just then, I realized that my gunner, SGT Kramer, was going to be promoted before we left this morning. He would become Staff Sergeant (SSG) Kramer. The ceremony was quick; we were already late for our desired time of departure. Everyone loaded up…SGT Scott, my driver…SSG Du, vehicle section sergeant…newly promoted SSG Kramer…Specialist LaRose, my dismount wingman…our Squadron Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) NCO (forgive me, but I cannot remember his name, he was new to our unit)…and myself. Six of us in all, in HQ 67. Ready for the long drive out west to patrol the vast network of infiltration routes from Syria into Iraq.
The patrol out there was long, boring, and extremely dusty. Nothing, but the occasional camel or camel herder to be seen. All of the morning was a blur. By noon we stopped for a tactical pause for lunch, joined up with two platoons from separate troops to increase our numbers and were back on the trail twenty minutes later. We quickly stopped short of the border and scanned over to Syrian side, some discussion and map reconnaissance conducted and then we slowly headed down into the valley of the Euphrates. It was a stark contrast to the desolate desert we were living in every day and had been traversing through all morning. It was bright green, lush and reminded me of my recent R&R to Hawai’i. Throughout the afternoon we spoke to several locals, visited several homes and search many facilities. It was a long, drawn out, and miserably hot day. By 1600 we had completed our fair share of reconnaissance, surveillance and simple tactical questioning.
My commander made no inclination that we were anywhere near mission complete. As we headed down a local village side road, everything seemed rather calm and serene. Families were out in the courtyards of their walled up homes playing, talking, and just simply living. From my vantage point, high up from my Truck Commander’s hatch, I could see them all. In a courteous gesture, I would wave to many as we drove by. Many of them waving back; the children asking for stuff. There was seemingly nothing to worry about on this day. No hair stood up on the back of my neck, no awful gut feeling that something was wrong, no immediate withdrawal of the locals for safety. It seemed almost pleasant. Again, I waved at them, trying to spread my own goodwill to the Iraqi people; they all waved back with a smile. Then I put my hand down and began to turn my body toward the front of the Stryker. What happened next changed my life forever…
WHAAABOOOOMM! What just happened?! Did I just die?! Am I alive?! Am I blown apart?! I love you Heather! No warning, no radio chatter, absolutely nothing to give any heads up. As many Soldiers have said, my TV was turned off almost instantly. I struggled...frantically I struggled for something. Anything. A feeling, a sound, a visual; anything would do. There are no words or pictures I could paint to fully describe what happened. It didn’t seem to be loud, but then again, it blew my eardrums. “God help me.” My mind seemed to be active, but was I unconscious? For what seemed to be forever…I had no senses, but I was awake. “Lord, what just happened? Lord….Heather…,” I thought…that I was literally blown apart. My mind was racing, “Please…please, give me some feeling somewhere.” A feeling, a sound, a visual; anything would do. Slowly, I could hear some things in the background. Nothing much, but it was sound. Light started entering my sight. Nothing could be made out, no images, just light. Then slowly a feeling, a feeling all over my body. Then suddenly just as I had been switched off, I was switched on. I grasped for air immediately. All my limbs were swinging in desperate attempts for life and I jolted up from where I was!
The events are very hazy to me and I do not remember everything as it probably happened, but as I do remember it…the dust was still settling. I looked around the vehicle, I could see newly promoted SSG Kramer, sitting on the floor…completely dazed and covered in dirt. My eyes raced over the damage inside. Was everyone ok? The EOD NCO was yelling at me, and asking if I was ok…I could barely hear him…he was only about two feet from me. He wanted me to lock eyes with him, I could hear him say, “Stay with me sir...stay with me!” Then I tried to talk and started choking on my own blood. I could feel it running out my nose and I starting coughing it up. The EOD NCO told me to spit it all in his hands…so I did. I could see him asking me how to lower the ramp of the Stryker. I tried but it was damaged. Then I moaned for someone to call in our situation, but the radios were all out. I have no idea how long we sat there. For all truth told, it was probably only a few minutes, if that, but it seemed longer. Then SSG Du, started climbing out of the Stryker. I followed, now drugged up on my own adrenaline. As my head popped out of the hatch I could see the Squadron’s Operations Officer; he was asking if we were ok. Then he told me to jump down. I did, and stumbled towards his Stryker. I then started throwing up more blood and noticed something very odd…the inside of my upper lip was hanging out. So I ripped it off. It was only there by a tiny piece a skin anyways. I was then seated on the S3’s Stryker ramp. Still dazed, I noticed everyone else in our patrol moving around securing the perimeter, detaining several suspicious men, and slowly moving past me, as if to say…we are with you…you’ll be ok.
Adrenaline is an awesome gift we have in time of need. For as I sat there on that ramp, I did not know that my arm was pouring out blood. Not until the crimson redness of my sleeve caught my eye. So…very slowly and cautiously I pulled my sleeve up past my elbow. It’s not true what they say…at least for me. Once I saw my arm, the pain did not hit me. The hole was about 2 inches in diameter…and as I sat there I could see the blood just running out the hole and down my arm. The TAC’s combat medic, SGT Matthews quickly came over to me. With a calm self-assured manner, he started talking to me and asked me if and where it hurt. He then bandaged me up and started loosening my clothes to make sure I didn’t go into shock. His laid-back manner and dry sense of humor actually made me laugh out there...beat up, wounded and all. I then noticed that SSG Du had his tooth chipped. So I told him, to which he responded…”So do you!” I then realized it was true. I wonder where it went?
We waited for a medical evacuation helicopter in an abandoned house and were all shot up with morphine. The blood in my nose started keeping me from breathing. SGT Matthews then told me to blow my nose…”What? Seriously?” So I did…it looked like my brain came out. I had never seen so much blood come out of me like that. I almost got sick. Then instantly the entire left side of my face swelled up. “Doc…what the heck?!”, “Its ok sir…you just probably moved a blockage.” Then I could hear it…as the old cadence goes…I can hear the choppers coming. I was carried to a stretcher as the birds were landing. I laid down and that’s when it happened. My adrenaline quit.
For the next 17 hours or so it was just like the movies. Seriously. In and out. Everything is sketchy at best. I remember as I was flying away…thinking about Heather and my mom. I knew they would get that call…that call everyone back home hates getting. But as Heather says, “I’d rather get a phone call then a personal visit…we all know what a visit means…,” her strength amazes me to this day. I just did not want them to worry. What would they tell them, what information would be shared. Then I awoke at the combat support hospital (CSH). They were cutting all my clothes off of me. I hated that. This was my favorite uniform…oh well. The things that go through your mind. They started asking me questions…I tried to answer. It felt like a hundred different people were hovering over my body. Before I knew it, I was naked and had several IVs in me. My neck was surrounded by a neck collar and I had oxygen tubes up my nose. Then somehow, and I really don’t know to this day, but our Squadron Medical Officer appeared over me. He was standing over me as I lay there. I guess he somehow got a helicopter to take him to where I was being treated. But, in that place, unfamiliar to me, he was almost like an angel. He assured me and showed his true and genuine care for his brother Soldier. It gave me a great peace. Again, in and out, in and out all night, I awoke in another CSH…where they had flown me until I could be taken to Baghdad. I awoke again, while being taken off the helicopter, ”Where are we?” I asked. “Baghdad sir! You’re in Baghdad!” In and out all night. I had my first surgery, a CAT scan, and I was finally allowed to…well, urinate. The latter being the most important event that entire night. As I tried to sit up, I realized, that whether it was due to the shock of the blast or the trauma to my brain, I don’t really know, I couldn’t walk on my own. I had feeling, but my legs were not very responsive to my brain. And me, we’ll just say, not being a tiny guy, I had to have two male nurses carry me to the toilet.
I awoke the next morning in the recovery room. The sun was shining in and from the inside it looked like a beautiful day out there. I could see palm trees swaying in the wind. The air inside was cool and refreshing and I was comfortably tucked into my hospital bed - in my hospital room that looked just like any other hospital room I have ever been in…where was I? Am I still in Iraq? I looked at the clock on the wall…it was about 0900. My arm had a huge cast like bandage on it and other than feeling like I had just been blown up by a car bomb…I felt ok. I sat there, and just tried to remember all that had just happened. I was pretty sure it was the next day. I reached up to rub my head and dirt came falling down my face. Well, I can tell I wasn’t cleaned up since I had been in that dusty little town. Just then a female Captain walked in, “How are you feeling this morning Captain Harrelson? Do you need anything?” Actually yes, I was starving and again, I needed to…well, urinate. She walked over to me and helped me out of the bed. I still couldn’t walk too well without her help. She helped me over to the bathroom and then for the first time since it happened, I saw myself in a mirror. “My God…look at my face.” I was…speechless. There was no recognizable feature on me. Everything was scratched, dented, scarred, cut up, black and blue, and swollen. But I was alive. Praise God…I was alive!
Later I was flown to Balad Air Base where I finally had a chance to call Heather. She was a rock…as usual, but I could sense that apprehension, but also the relief that I was okay. Soon after they gave me my dinner, they carried me over to the shower facilities and for the first time in many, many…many days, I had my first real shower. The nurses had wrapped my wounds so they wouldn’t get wet and I had to lean against a chair and the wall to clean myself. That moment alone felt amazing, watching the last remnants of Iraq wash off my body and down a drain. Later that night, they carried me to an ambulance and drove me over to the medical evacuation plane. Almost as soon as they carried me onboard and secured me into the side of the plane, the ramp closed and we left the ground of Iraq. And I sighed. I sighed a great sigh of relief that I was finally out of there. I sighed also for my brothers, who had just about two more months left to fight in that war. I hated leaving them early. I hated that I couldn’t be there for them. It almost felt like I had abandoned them. All I could do was go to sleep. Go to sleep and hope that when I awoke, things would somehow be different. When I woke up, we landed and I was in a completely different world.
It was still August, it had only been a total of about a day and a half since I was hit, but I was now in a totally different world. As the ramp lowered on the tarmac, I could feel the rush of the cold, German, August air. I was far from the sands of Iraq. I was safe and I was treated with complete dignity and respect as I was passed from Airman to Airman, from nurse to nurse and doctor to doctor. It was an eerie feeling…being pushed into my recovery room at Landstuhl. It was a far cry from the sand dunes of COP Rawah. To me at least, I was now staying in a luxury hotel. For the next week I healed up, rested, and got my walking legs back. So much so, that no one at home ever saw my face as it was that morning in Baghdad. It is amazing what drugs, rest, and the Lord’s healing can do for you.
submitted by Major Eric Harrelson on Dec 6 2011
Comments
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This is a great sad and very well put together story you are a strong soldier I hope this doesn't happen to my fAther when he is away
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Braili
Dec 16, 2011 12:32 PMThis is truly amazing, and it's awesome to hear what God can do for people. Thank you so much for serving our country. Maybe someday i will acheive my dream of being in the Army as i have wanted to do for a long time. Stay strong soldier.
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Himi
Jan 6, 2012 4:33 PMWhat a story as if I was experiencing. You are real brave man and your love kept you hope and healed.
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Kelly
Dec 8, 2011 9:21 PM