Immediately, there were medics working on me. I picked up a camera, shot a few frames. The frames weren’t very good, quite frankly, but I was trying to record. I knew it wasn’t good, but I felt alive. Adrenaline kicked in. I was compos mentis; I was on top of things. So, I made some pictures. I dropped the camera, then I moved to Plan B, which was to pick up the satellite phone. I called my wife, Vivian, and told her, “My legs are gone, but I think I’m going to live.” Incidentally, I’m a father of two. I passed the telephone on to the correspondent so she could continue the conversation and keep Vivian calm. Then I proceeded to lie back and smoke a cigarette. This is while the medics are frantically working around me, applying tourniquets, injecting me straight into the chest, and doing all sorts of really wonderful things. Those guys are amazing. They’re the ones who saved my life right there and then. The helicopter landed to take me to safety. I was completely conscious and totally awake, up until the moment that I got into the helicopter. That’s when I finally blacked out. I woke up in Germany, and then again at Walter Reed.