My last deployment was as head of the Multinational NATO Hospital in Kandahar, Afghanistan. I was 56 years old. I still live it in my dreams many times a week. Why? Because we were, for a 2-month period, in 2009, the busiest trauma centre in the world. And I didn't want to f**k up. I didn't. Over a four-year period, we achieved a 97% survival rate, a world record for all hospitals, whether civilian or military, in all countries. If you arrived with a beating heart, you had a 97% chance of leaving our hospital alive. 98% for soldiers.

Every time we fought for a soldier's life (and that was many times a day), I always had a thought for you, Maryan, that soldier's mom. And I made sure that my conglomerate of multinational doctors, nurses and medics never forgot you. We fought like hell. There was a time when, if you stopped talking to some of my people, they would fall asleep. Literally.

I'm Canadian. The only reason I wound up in Afghanistan is because Canada is part of NATO. And in the NATO convention, it says that if any member country is attacked the others are obligated to come to its aid. Immediately. Therefore when the US was attacked on 9/11, we had to jump in. I was glad to participate. Better this old guy at the end of his run than some young fellow whose life would be affected by that deployment which promised to be rock'n roll, especially after Obama's announced upcoming surge in troops for the summer of '09. Which did happen.

I have more thoughts on this period, but I think I shall reserve them for a piece I should write about that.

Suffice it to say, that mothers, I held you all in my thoughts while I was over there, and I made sure my people did too.

All the best.