Need some processing time before I write on this
A Letter From Chaplain Gary Goodson in Iraq
The SW Texas Synod office receives an email from Chaplain Gary Goodson about once a month. He is assigned to this synod but is currently serving as a military chaplain in Mosul, Iraq.Pastor Bob Kaul
From our Deployed Chaplain in Iraq. Do not read if you do not like reality. You may choose to share with others.
An Evening in Mosul Iraq, May 21, 22
I was passing the MWR (moral, welfare and recreation) room about 8:30 PM heading to my trailer for an early night. I stuck my head in for just a moment. It was Karaoke night and I wanted to see if anyone was singing. A voice called out from inside the room, "Chaplain, you need to come in and sing." Ok, I thought, I'll go for a while and sing a couple of songs, then head off to my trailer. Well, one song led to another. More people began to show up. I was having a great time. I choose selections from the Beatles, Willie Nelson, Rolling Stones and a couple from Frank Sinatra. I sang the Stones "Honkie Tonk Woman" with our Executive Officer. He has a good voice and carried me through it. It turned out to be a bit more suggestive song than I had first thought. You really can't tell when the Stones sing it. O well. They are very forgiving of their Chaplain around here.Just before mid night, I chose the Beatles "Lady Madonna" for my last song. I had a great time and really didn't want to leave. Sunday is a busy day for me though, so I really needed to get out of there. I got back to my trailer a little after mid-night, took a shower, and just as the clock was moving toward one, I was ready to hit the sack. Then myradio began to crackle, "Alamo Main, this is Maverick Main." AlamoMain is the hospital, or to put it more accurately, the emergency room.Maverick Main is the headquarters. After almost five months here weknow that when we hear "Alamo Main this is Maverick Main" thatcasualties are coming to the hospital. I listened to the rest of thetransmission. "We have one U.S. litter urgent gun shot wound coming byground and will be here five mikes(minutes)"
I usually sleep in my PT uniform, so I put on some socks and tennis shoes and pulled on my warm up pants and began to make my way to thehospital. When I got there, the casualty had already arrived. He wassurrounded by docs, nurses and medics. From my vantage point I could not see him. I moved a little closer and as I did I heard a doc say, "We need to crack his chest." There was no pulse and they would need to do open heart massage if the patient was to have any chance. I noticed a pool of blood on the floor, he was going to need blood and a lot ofit.
To my left was a soldier, a First Sergeant. He was pacing back and forth, a rigid look to his face as if he were trying to keep from crying, his eyes were blood shot and full of tears. This was his soldier. I motioned him forward so he could be closer. He shook his head, continued to pace. I asked again, he moved forward, then turned and moved back again.In the midst of this, the docs, the nurses and medics managed to get the heart beating. As I moved closer, I could see it pumping in his chest. What a wonderful sight. Life has been given a chance. He has been given a chance. I moved up toward his head, stroked his hair and said asilent prayer. They were wasting no time, they were going to move himdirectly into the Operating Room. As they rolled him in, he was being trailed by spots of blood on the floor.
There is a viewing room outside the OR. I sometimes stand there and watch. In this case I was standing there silently watching beside the First Sergeant, still unable to cry. In the midst of all this, I heard the soldier was Catholic. I had to leave the First Sergeants sidefor just a bit, so I could radio the Catholic Priest.
I returned to the First Sergeant's side. I asked him about his soldier. He began to share about the soldier, his family, how the men in his platoon respected him. As we were talking, there was some movement toward us from the OR, it was the Deputy Commander for Clinical Services or the Head Doc. He began to explain to the First Sergeant that there was just too much damage. The First Sergeant nodded, he understood. He said we would clean up the soldier, so his buddies could say a final good bye. The First Sergeant turned and walked slowly away. I don't know if it was here or later, but the Head Doc and I looked at each other, eyes sad and full of tears, and just gave each other a hug.
The Priest came and we went into the OR and he performed last rites as they cleaned up the body and disconnected all the tubes. The soldier was cleaned and wrapped in a sheet. The face was a rest. No more crying, no more pain. He was wheeled into a hall and his buddies began to file by. I had seen this ritual many times before. It is never easy. This seemed much more intense. Slowly they walked by. Some stroked his hair, some put their hand on him and said a short prayer, many kissed him on his forehead. Truly, soldiers on the front lines fight for the guy on their right or on their left. These are all theyhave. And when they lose one, there is intense grief. But they alsoknow, they must go back out there. These brave men make it possible for us to have a hospital here. With out them patrolling outside the wire, we would not be able to go about the job of healing. These are the real heroes.
In the midst of all this, I heard the radio come a live again,"Three more US, litter urgent coming by air, possible burns." I was soabsorbed in the grief for this soldier, I forgot we had more coming in. As the line of soldiers began to slacken a bit I peeked around the corner to see the same organized chaos that characterized the ER whencasualties come in. As I moved closer to the action, a smell hit mynostrils that I remember from the past, the smell of burnt flesh. As I moved closer I heard screams of pain that is part of burn wounds. Out in the main ER, were two casualties, both horribly burned. There putting breathing tube on one, so talking to him was out of the question. As I was putting on my gloves, I moved to the other; he was burned worse than the other, over 90% of his body, 3rd degree. He was unrecognizable. I stroked his forehead, and said a silent prayer. I heard the doctor say this one is expectant, which simply means there is not much we can do beyond making him as comfortable as possible.
I had completely missed the one who had been moved into one of our side bays. He was still conscious, though burned over 50% of his body. I said a short prayer with him. Two were moved into the OR. The wounds would be treated enough so they could be transported back to the burn unit at Brooke Army Medical Center. I went and kept vigil with the one who was expected to die. I was there with a medic who was holding his hand, his buddies who had just arrived and a doctor who was doing whathe could to make him comfortable. He was taking three, maybe fourbreathes a minute. All of us hung on each breath; waiting, hoping tohear the next one. Soon, that next one did not come. We looked ateach other, waited for a minute more. Than we all huddled close over the body as I said a short prayer. I than withdrew from the trauma bay so his buddies could have some time alone with him.
The medics began the laborious task of cleaning up. They were mopping up any blood on the floor, bagging the tubes, the IV bags, the gloves that just seem to be tossed on the floor as they go about the task of putting these young men back together again. I moved outside to talk with a few of the medics I have gotten to know during my time here. They were in the smoking area, sharing a smoke and talking about whatthey had just experienced. I asked one if I could bum a cigarette. Ihaven't had a cigarette in over eight years, but it seemed like the right thing to do. We smoked, joked and talked about the night we had =just experienced. I admire these medics, and the Docs and the nurseswho work in the Emergency Room. They go full speed ahead for an intense fifteen to twenty minutes to try to preserve life. They win many more than they lose. Tonight, we lost two of the five we tried to save. I got back to my trailer about four in the morning. It was an intense three hours. I didn't get much sleep.
POST SCRIPT: On Monday we received two more Americans in the emergencyroom. One had a through and through wound in his head. The other hada minor wound. The soldier with the head wound was dead when they brought him in. It turned out to be an apparent suicide; his buddy caught in the cross fire. Later on Monday I met with the day shift to talk about the suicide and how it affected them. On Monday night I met with the night shift to talk about our Sunday morning together. We told our stories, shed some tears. The work goes on.
Blessings
Pastor Gary
POST SCRIPT #2 As I send this, we received ten more Americans, one KIA, two hurt pretty bad. The rest are doing well. Perhaps a story for another time. The war goes on.
The SW Texas Synod office receives an email from Chaplain Gary Goodson about once a month. He is assigned to this synod but is currently serving as a military chaplain in Mosul, Iraq.Pastor Bob Kaul
From our Deployed Chaplain in Iraq. Do not read if you do not like reality. You may choose to share with others.
An Evening in Mosul Iraq, May 21, 22
I was passing the MWR (moral, welfare and recreation) room about 8:30 PM heading to my trailer for an early night. I stuck my head in for just a moment. It was Karaoke night and I wanted to see if anyone was singing. A voice called out from inside the room, "Chaplain, you need to come in and sing." Ok, I thought, I'll go for a while and sing a couple of songs, then head off to my trailer. Well, one song led to another. More people began to show up. I was having a great time. I choose selections from the Beatles, Willie Nelson, Rolling Stones and a couple from Frank Sinatra. I sang the Stones "Honkie Tonk Woman" with our Executive Officer. He has a good voice and carried me through it. It turned out to be a bit more suggestive song than I had first thought. You really can't tell when the Stones sing it. O well. They are very forgiving of their Chaplain around here.Just before mid night, I chose the Beatles "Lady Madonna" for my last song. I had a great time and really didn't want to leave. Sunday is a busy day for me though, so I really needed to get out of there. I got back to my trailer a little after mid-night, took a shower, and just as the clock was moving toward one, I was ready to hit the sack. Then myradio began to crackle, "Alamo Main, this is Maverick Main." AlamoMain is the hospital, or to put it more accurately, the emergency room.Maverick Main is the headquarters. After almost five months here weknow that when we hear "Alamo Main this is Maverick Main" thatcasualties are coming to the hospital. I listened to the rest of thetransmission. "We have one U.S. litter urgent gun shot wound coming byground and will be here five mikes(minutes)"
I usually sleep in my PT uniform, so I put on some socks and tennis shoes and pulled on my warm up pants and began to make my way to thehospital. When I got there, the casualty had already arrived. He wassurrounded by docs, nurses and medics. From my vantage point I could not see him. I moved a little closer and as I did I heard a doc say, "We need to crack his chest." There was no pulse and they would need to do open heart massage if the patient was to have any chance. I noticed a pool of blood on the floor, he was going to need blood and a lot ofit.
To my left was a soldier, a First Sergeant. He was pacing back and forth, a rigid look to his face as if he were trying to keep from crying, his eyes were blood shot and full of tears. This was his soldier. I motioned him forward so he could be closer. He shook his head, continued to pace. I asked again, he moved forward, then turned and moved back again.In the midst of this, the docs, the nurses and medics managed to get the heart beating. As I moved closer, I could see it pumping in his chest. What a wonderful sight. Life has been given a chance. He has been given a chance. I moved up toward his head, stroked his hair and said asilent prayer. They were wasting no time, they were going to move himdirectly into the Operating Room. As they rolled him in, he was being trailed by spots of blood on the floor.
There is a viewing room outside the OR. I sometimes stand there and watch. In this case I was standing there silently watching beside the First Sergeant, still unable to cry. In the midst of all this, I heard the soldier was Catholic. I had to leave the First Sergeants sidefor just a bit, so I could radio the Catholic Priest.
I returned to the First Sergeant's side. I asked him about his soldier. He began to share about the soldier, his family, how the men in his platoon respected him. As we were talking, there was some movement toward us from the OR, it was the Deputy Commander for Clinical Services or the Head Doc. He began to explain to the First Sergeant that there was just too much damage. The First Sergeant nodded, he understood. He said we would clean up the soldier, so his buddies could say a final good bye. The First Sergeant turned and walked slowly away. I don't know if it was here or later, but the Head Doc and I looked at each other, eyes sad and full of tears, and just gave each other a hug.
The Priest came and we went into the OR and he performed last rites as they cleaned up the body and disconnected all the tubes. The soldier was cleaned and wrapped in a sheet. The face was a rest. No more crying, no more pain. He was wheeled into a hall and his buddies began to file by. I had seen this ritual many times before. It is never easy. This seemed much more intense. Slowly they walked by. Some stroked his hair, some put their hand on him and said a short prayer, many kissed him on his forehead. Truly, soldiers on the front lines fight for the guy on their right or on their left. These are all theyhave. And when they lose one, there is intense grief. But they alsoknow, they must go back out there. These brave men make it possible for us to have a hospital here. With out them patrolling outside the wire, we would not be able to go about the job of healing. These are the real heroes.
In the midst of all this, I heard the radio come a live again,"Three more US, litter urgent coming by air, possible burns." I was soabsorbed in the grief for this soldier, I forgot we had more coming in. As the line of soldiers began to slacken a bit I peeked around the corner to see the same organized chaos that characterized the ER whencasualties come in. As I moved closer to the action, a smell hit mynostrils that I remember from the past, the smell of burnt flesh. As I moved closer I heard screams of pain that is part of burn wounds. Out in the main ER, were two casualties, both horribly burned. There putting breathing tube on one, so talking to him was out of the question. As I was putting on my gloves, I moved to the other; he was burned worse than the other, over 90% of his body, 3rd degree. He was unrecognizable. I stroked his forehead, and said a silent prayer. I heard the doctor say this one is expectant, which simply means there is not much we can do beyond making him as comfortable as possible.
I had completely missed the one who had been moved into one of our side bays. He was still conscious, though burned over 50% of his body. I said a short prayer with him. Two were moved into the OR. The wounds would be treated enough so they could be transported back to the burn unit at Brooke Army Medical Center. I went and kept vigil with the one who was expected to die. I was there with a medic who was holding his hand, his buddies who had just arrived and a doctor who was doing whathe could to make him comfortable. He was taking three, maybe fourbreathes a minute. All of us hung on each breath; waiting, hoping tohear the next one. Soon, that next one did not come. We looked ateach other, waited for a minute more. Than we all huddled close over the body as I said a short prayer. I than withdrew from the trauma bay so his buddies could have some time alone with him.
The medics began the laborious task of cleaning up. They were mopping up any blood on the floor, bagging the tubes, the IV bags, the gloves that just seem to be tossed on the floor as they go about the task of putting these young men back together again. I moved outside to talk with a few of the medics I have gotten to know during my time here. They were in the smoking area, sharing a smoke and talking about whatthey had just experienced. I asked one if I could bum a cigarette. Ihaven't had a cigarette in over eight years, but it seemed like the right thing to do. We smoked, joked and talked about the night we had =just experienced. I admire these medics, and the Docs and the nurseswho work in the Emergency Room. They go full speed ahead for an intense fifteen to twenty minutes to try to preserve life. They win many more than they lose. Tonight, we lost two of the five we tried to save. I got back to my trailer about four in the morning. It was an intense three hours. I didn't get much sleep.
POST SCRIPT: On Monday we received two more Americans in the emergencyroom. One had a through and through wound in his head. The other hada minor wound. The soldier with the head wound was dead when they brought him in. It turned out to be an apparent suicide; his buddy caught in the cross fire. Later on Monday I met with the day shift to talk about the suicide and how it affected them. On Monday night I met with the night shift to talk about our Sunday morning together. We told our stories, shed some tears. The work goes on.
Blessings
Pastor Gary
POST SCRIPT #2 As I send this, we received ten more Americans, one KIA, two hurt pretty bad. The rest are doing well. Perhaps a story for another time. The war goes on.
posted by Pastor Bluejeans at 12:10 PM
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