Today I had one in a series of farewell lunches (I don't think I'm actually getting one tomorrow, my last day - everyone's too busy with the Virginia Tech shooting). It included my publication's Pentagon correspondent, who is only a couple of years older than me, way more stylish, and highly awesome, and she told us stories about her visits to Iraq. This included a really awful story about the driver of a humvee in a convoy she was in getting hit by the next thing after IEDs, I don't even remember what it was called, but it hits you in the head and kills you. You'd think that when you get hit in the head, you just die, but it's not so easy. First your brain does things to you. She said the sweetest thing was when they got back with this kid, alive and convulsing and in pain, and the doctor kept reassuring them all, the medic, the driver who rushed him back, everyone, that they'd done a good job, and they got him there as fast as they could, and they were crying, and it was just awful.
Let's see...google my publication's name and "chuck norris." Basically, she told us that whole story, only with more heartbreaking detail.
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