ryker vehicle hit a roadside bomb and flipped over, knocking me unconscious. When I came to, I tried to get up but couldn't; my left foot was hanging by a few tendons. I felt brutal pain, like an electric shock, that began in my leg and swept through the rest of my body. Lying inside the vehicle, I thought of my wife, and willed myself to stay alive. Eventually, a soldier found me and tied on a tourniquet. In my years as a photojournalist, I'd taken many pictures of wounded soldiers and victims of suicide bombers. I had covered medical evacuations from Afghanistan, Pakistan and the Palestinian territories, and found it odd to suddenly be among those pulled from an inferno and carried on a stretcher along with two other soldiers and AP Television News videographer Andi Jatmiko. They loaded me onto a helicopter next to a soldier who had lost both of his legs and we locked hands as the chopper took off for the provincial capital of Kandahar,toms the shoes. The solidarity in that moment is the last thing I remember before waking up in a hospital tent to find my left leg had been amputated below the knee. There was no option to save it, doctors told me. Bone and tissue were destroyed by shrapnel. But fortunately my knee was intact, and that would make a substantial difference in my future mobility, they explained. That offered little comfort as I lay alone and exhausted in a hospital bed in Afghanistan. I had so many questions about life with just one leg but I preferred sleep to thinking about my uncertain future. The difference between those who lost limbs in Boston and me is that I knew I was taking a risk in a war zone and assumed it willingly, while they had merely gone out to cheer friends and relatives at a family sporting event. They weren't supposed to be in danger. I was a photographer documenting soldiers at war and everyday life for civilians under fire. But before violence grabs you, does anyone really believe he will become one of the dead or wounded? No. Nothing had happened to me on dozens of previous patrols with the military through hostile lands. And while I suspected I was playing a kind of Russian roulette,toms shoe store, I also told myself that car accidents happen every day and most people don't stop driving because of that. For months after the explosion I was tortured by so many "what ifs." What if I had stayed back to pack rather than going on patrol that day? What if I had sat a little bit to the right, would the shrapnel have missed my leg? Or if I had sat to the left, would I have lost both legs like the soldier next to me? I imagine those in Boston whose bodies were torn up by nails or the blasts have similar thoughts: Why didn't I stand at mile 25, go for water, leave earlier, stay home? I would like to tell them that these questions fade as one begins to accept the reality of losing a limb. The morphine they gave me to dim the pain of my amputation sapped my energy. I wanted off it so I could start my recuperation with all my strength and walk as soon as possible. I am a Spanish citizen,cheapest toms shoes, not American, and was lucky that Related articles:

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