Me en route to Iraq, 2004

July 4 always takes me back to Iraq. Here, I'm flying from Qatar to Iraq. A 34-year-old neurosurgeon. Scared to death. Unsure what I'd face, if I was strong enough to handle it. Wondering if my training was adequate. Whether I'd survive. I'd never carried a gun into surgery before. Never been mortared or rocketed. Never had to triage between 20 different people who were all going to die without urgent care. It was our responsibility to decide who had the best chance and make a quick decision of who went to surgery first- knowing some of them would die waiting. A lot of responsibility, and I didn't know if I could live with the decisions I'd have to make. Some nights, I still ask myself that question. We had to learn on the fly- how to operate while being in danger ourselves, to be prepared not to react to explosions or gunfire, to be able to hand a case off to someone less trained for it if another person came in who needed us more urgently. Commonly had to help general or ortho surgeons when they were needed elsewhere, and they helped me. "Work on this guy while I stabilize that other soldier," was a daily experience. We got used to operating for 24 hours in a row. To multiple sleepless days and nights, to running out of supplies or equipment but never out of patients, and having to improvise. All for the cause of freedom. The politicians sent us there, and it wasn't our job to debate the whys. Just to save lives- American, coalition, Iraqi civilian, and even terrorists and insurgents. So that's what we did. Fix the person in front of us without judgment or hesitation. It's the only way we could live with ourselves. Do the best for everyone every time. Almost every patient had multiple injuries, and it was common to have 3-5 different procedures happening on a given patient simultaneously. This almost never happens stateside. Five months later. Coming home. I wasn't scared anymore. But I just as many questions; was I strong enough to survive what was already unfolding in my mind and heart? Those questions took me years to answer. Every veteran has their own version of them. And that's what the cost of freedom is. Some people give their lives for it, but all of us give parts of our lives to it. Don't take it for granted. America sends its sons and daughters to these places for the sake of freedom. I'm grateful to have gone and been blessed enough to come home. I think about it every day, 21 years later. My wife and kids have lived it with me. And I think (and dream) of the ones who didn't come home, and those of us who are still trying to. That's what today means to me. To learn more about the war and my journey home, check out my book "No Place to Hide," at my website drleewarren.com #4thofjuly #america250 #iraqwar #veteran