Sergeant
Simon Harmer
My name is Sergeant Simon Harmer and I’m a medic in the Royal Army Medical Corps. I was injured in Helmand Province in Afghanistan on a routine night-time operation with the 1st Battalion, Coldstream Guards. I was injured on Monday, 26th October 2009, just three months after I got married, so my wife, Marisa, wasn’t very happy with me! I was in a place called Babaji, at a patrol base located there. I was about two hundred metres outside the patrol base when I activated an IED. It damaged my arm, took off my right leg just below the knee, and damaged my left leg irreparably, so that it had to be taken off in Camp Bastion. I was unconscious for a moment, and in that split second before I lost consciousness, I remember thinking, “Have I been injured? If I have been injured can I treat anybody? And has anybody else been injured?”, and that split second seemed to last an eternity.
When I came round, there was a firefight going on. I don’t remember being scared, though I must have been. It was a bewildering moment: I could quite clearly see that my right leg wasn’t there and my left leg was in tatters, and yet a split second before I’d had both legs. I think my overriding feeling was that I didn’t want to leave Marisa and that was what kept me going. I was lying there, feeling sorry for myself, and I started screaming a little bit. Then I realised that no one was taking any notice of me so I had a little bit of a rant! Then someone shouted “Medic!” and I said, “I am the fucking medic!” and then someone else went, “Oh shit!”, because I was obviously supposed to be treating myself.
It was pitch black, as it was night time, and there was dust everywhere after the explosion, so there was a bit of confusion while the guys were finding me. They carried out some first aid, and then I was evacuated on a stretcher, which I fell out of on the way—one of the guys carrying it tripped and that was me on the floor. Once we got to the Patrol Base, I was quite fortunate because the Chinook was already in the air heading to another injury, but because my injury was considered worse, they came to me first. I was in Bastion being treated about an hour after I got hit, which at night is unheard of. I remember getting unloaded from the Chinook into the ambulance and then taken to the Emergency Department. Then I knew that my job of remaining alive had been done and it was now up to other people to take that job off me, as it were. Each element of me getting back to Bastion was like a stepping stone in my mind: so, the first guy coming to me, me getting on the stretcher, me getting treatment outside the Patrol Base, me getting onto the MERT, me getting to Bastion – they were stepping stones back to my wife, Marisa. That’s what kept me alive.
I was in quite a lot of pain by that time and so I had to be put under. When I woke up, it was Friday and I was in Selly Oak Hospital, in Birmingham. I’d had an operation in Bastion to remove the rest of my left leg, and then a further two operations during the week I was unconscious. I remember waking up and Marisa was there. I was still under the effect of all the drugs that I was on. I was trying to high-five the nurse but I wasn’t making a lot of sense and she couldn’t understand what I was doing. Then Marisa said, “I think he wants to high-five you”, and I did! All my family came in at that point, and I spoke to them. I’ve got two brother-in-laws and I kissed them, and Marisa’s sister and her husband, I kissed them as well, so everyone got some love. I remember constantly looking under my sheets to make sure that certain other elements of me were still intact. Everyone kept on wondering what I was doing, and it soon became apparent! After I woke up on Friday, I got moved up onto the regular ward in Selly Oak, where I spent just over five weeks. I then went to Headley Court. I had a bit of a challenge on with my consultant, and I was walking less than two months after I got hit—albeit in between some bars. I was walking on prosthetic limbs before Christmas, so I was quite pleased with that.
They always say a little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing. As a medic, I knew the position I was in as soon as the injury happened. But I accepted the fact I had lost my legs there and then. I was more worried about getting back to my wife, Marisa, that’s all I considered really. I’m not saying there weren’t moments during my recovery when I was upset, but they generally weren’t to do with my injuries. They were more to do with other factors, like what was going on back in Afghanistan. I’ve always tried to take a “glass half full” approach. I see my injury as just something that’s happened; you’ve got to move on from it.
To be honest with you, I’m extremely lucky, because my injuries mean that I can now spend more time with Marisa and our daughter. The only negative thing is that I’m doing it without legs, but to me the exchange is more than fair because I’ve got a beautiful daughter, I don’t have to work, we’ve got very little stress in our lives. So if I was given the opportunity to change things back I probably wouldn’t. I would probably choose to remain as I am, with the life that I’ve got now. I do try to keep as fit as I can, that’s why I take part in charity challenges. I want to raise awareness and money for other heroes, but I also don’t want to be a fat man in a wheelchair! If I could inspire one other person who’s in a similar position to me, whether civilian or military, to go and do something that challenges them, then I think that would be a job well done.