Tradition has it that general surgeons are the “captain of the ship” when it comes to coordinating care for trauma patients, especially when more than one organ system is involved. Unfortunately for many of the patients here at Landstuhl, their injuries are protean, and so there are many “captains” here, and many “ships” in need of one. As a urologists, I usually function in an advisory capacity for the general surgeons, or for the internists in the ICU, where most of the most grievously wounded are in residence. Last Friday morning began with a call from just one such person, with a most unusual request. A young soldier, who had been a victim of one of the ubiquitous IEDs in Iraq, was going to be removed from life support, and the wife was requesting that I do whatever had to be done to allow her to bear his child at some point in the future. This required clearance from the hospital commander, consultations with the Judge Advocate for U.S.Army European Command, and with the pathologists and dermatologists (who have the only supply of liquid nitrogen here). It also required speaking to the family — something I usually never do. That’s the job of the surgeon, or the head of the ICU. So I trekked over to the ICU waiting room to meet the moribund soldier’s mother and father, and his young wife, who was clutching not one but two teddy bears tightly. They were very tearful, especially when they got around to saying that it was his last wish that he have a child with her, and could I please help. So I scoured his military records, and his driver’s license, for any indication that he had ever explicitly forbidden an organ donation (which he had not), and then asked them to sign a surgical consent form. The procedure was done at the bedside, using the same tools and technique I would use in a formal operating room. The Ied had amputated one distal extremity, ironically making the surgical field larger and easier to work from. Two Army nurse lieutenants assisted, and the pathologist carted off the spermatazoon-rich epididymis for flash freezing, and later transport to America. I told the family it had gone well and they smiled and thanked me for giving them the only smile they had had since they arrived in Germany. Gotta go.