"Am I going to die? Am I going to be alright?"
The words were pretty standard, given the blood all over the poor guy.
“Am I going to be okay?”
It took me a minute to realize where I was. I had been driving back to the farm from some buddy’s house, and I came across a pickup truck on its side. It was like something you would see at Dab Khar. Smoke was coming out from the engire as if it had just taken an RPG.
I pulled over quickly and ran low to the truck, even though there were no bullets hitting around me. I jumped up on the hood and opened the driver’s door skyward—it’s heavy when the vehicle is on its side like that.
There was blood all over the windshield and the interior. The driver, a young guy, was hung up in his seat belt with blood pouring out of his left arm, sliced to the bone.
I lifted him out, which was hard, though I didn’t feel my back hurting at all, which was good. I got him down to the ground, took off his belt and cinched it tight around his biceps to stop the bleeding.
Another driver had stopped and called for an ambulance. It wouldn’t come for a good twenty minutes.
He kept asking, “Am I going to be alright?”
"Sure, you’re fine. I’ve seen a lot worse than this."”
Into the Fire, by Dakota Meyer. USMC Corporal and Medal of Honor recipient. [page 183]