The damage to the limb stretched for almost a metre, and a specially extended Sarafix had to be used to hold the leg straight. The upper pins were inserted into the thigh bone, immediately beside the hip joint, the lower ones near the ankle. Long metal fixator bars then bridged the huge gap between the pins. Even then the problem was not solved. As so much bone had been lost, however long we waited, it would not heal. The only way out was to use bone grafting. Bone was taken from Josip’s pelvis, broken and minced into tiny morcels, and placed into the bone cavities the bullet had created. The smaller bone in his lower leg, the fibula, was also removed and used to help bridge the gap. Bone grafting like this is a very useful procedure, as not all bones heal reliably. Many need a kick start, the tibia in particular.
From time of wounding to complete bone healing took Josip ten months, and eleven operations. On occasion surgery had to be performed without anaesthetic as medicines were in short supply. Josip could not fail to impress you. Wheeled into the operating theatre on a patient’s trolley, he calmly slid himself on to the operating table, his externally fixed leg rigidly stuck out before him. Then, cooperatively, he held up the leg with one hand by the fixator bars, helping the surgeons paint antiseptic iodine on his skin to sterilize the area before surgery began. He showed no fear and never whimpered once.
Once the bone had healed, Josip had an intact leg, but was barely able to bend his knee. It had taken so long for the bone to recover, what few leg muscles remained had scarred and contracted. Even a radical operation similar to Kayed’s in Lebanon was unable to improve the situation. Josip was destined to limp for the rest of his days. That one bullet, unfairly placed by a Serbian sniper, had forced him to pay a terrible price. Seen from a Serbian viewpoint, I imagine the sniper had done a good job. Their task was, after all, to maim, not kill, thereby jamming the Bosnian logistics. The last thing you want as a sniper is a clean head shot. By the time Josip had healed, he had required more than fifty hours of surgical time and the services of more than eighteen medical staff. Had he been shot dead the hospital would never have seen him.
Leaving Sarajevo was an immensely emotional experience for me. I daydreamed and pondered most of the way home. War does force unreasonable reflection on the meaning of life. To hold my own progeny, to see Louise, uninjured, limbs intact, was an indescribable delight. I felt guilty too, that I had escaped while others lay maimed and dying. It is a strange combination of feelings that only those who have been shot at would understand. Yes, I resolved, it is time to hang up my boots. Peaceful surgery beckoned.
Whatever the emotions, or personal promises, reality always returns - in my case with a flash. It was as I opened the front door of my home that I heard the telephone ringing.
‘Yep? What is it?’ I panted, out of breath in my haste to answer, indicating uselessly to my family they should keep silent.
‘Mr Villar? Is that you? Mr Villar?’ came the earnest female reply.
‘That’s me.’
‘Mr Villar. Thank Heavens we’ve got hold of you. I’ve been telephoning for days. It’s the World Rescue Foundation. We’ve a spot of trouble with war-wounded in Sri Lanka.’ Her voice prattled on, a mixture of monotone and enthusiasm, as she described the horrors of the Jaffna Peninsula. The children, the mines, amputations, torture, the inhumanity of mankind.
A strange feeling came over me while I listened. I knew that sensation so well. I had lost count how many times I had felt it before. It was that tiny voice again.
‘Keep quiet!’ I said forcibly to myself, looking towards Louise. I had made my resolution. England, family, it had to be. I had done my bit for warring society. I had risked myself enough. Then the little beast took over. It always does. Say ‘Yes!’ it cried. What the hell, I submitted, I have never been good at resolutions anyway. Sri Lanka? Maybe just this once.
Illustrations
SAS Selection - sometimes you just walk too far.
Mount McKinley’s West Buttress - I am at 5000 metres and climbing.
Treating a goat in the Middle East. The poor animal died shortly after this photograph was taken.
Examining a Bedouin’s mouth with an improvised light source. It was impossible to avoid dribbling down the torch into the patient.
The holding area for our highly secret operation during the Falklands War. I lay in this tent for seventeen days, convinced I would die.
Hard at work cooking an inedible meal at Everest’s Roadhead Camp.
Everest’s major-wobbler kit. Something for every emergency.
Everest’s North Face. All I see is Tony when I look at this view.
Pushed for bed space in the Third World - sometimes you just have to share. Two small children recover from their broken legs.
Hundreds queue to see me in central India. Each case more insoluble than the one before.
You’ll have your work cut out to straighten this one. Gross bowing of the shin-bone present since birth.
Central India - operating on a polio victim. I assist Vincent (right) in major tendon surgery. Photograph by Nicola Townley.
Louise, the paediatrician, at work in the Far East. No wonder I love her.
Examining a Palestinian knee in Southern Lebanon. Only minutes before there had been a gunfight outside the consulting room.
Trying to undo the after-effects of war in Lebanon. Reconstructing an elbow damaged by shrapnel.
One high-velocity bullet can cause immense damage. This leg will never bend fully again.
Sarajevo’s Swiss Cheese Hospital. In genocidal war, even hospitals become so-called legitimate targets. Photograph by Roop Tandon.
Teheran - I (right) operate under the close scrutiny of local surgeons.
Copyright
© 1997, 2012 Richard Villar
Richard Villar has asserted his rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Published by Vineyard Press Ltd
First published and printed in 1997
First published in eBook format in 2012
eISBN: 978-0-9542203-2-7
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher.
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Knife Edge: Life as a Special Forces Surgeon Page 35