Our Beloved Soldier

Since Dave is too modest to post this his proud wife will. A New York Times reporter spent some time with Dave and his crew a few weeks ago. Here is an article that shows some of the hard work and challenges Dave is facing everyday.

When Afghans Seek Medical Aid, Tough choice for U.S.

The 4th and 5th slides are also good pictures of Dave at work. If we're lucky Dave might expound/correct it for us. We love you, Dave!

Communication Breakdown

I bought a cell phone from an Iranian company here called ROSHAN and I'm pretty sure that means I am funding terrorism. They are cheap little phones and I bought a sim card and a 50 dollar pay-as-you-go calling card. I was told I could call home for about 25 cents a minute. Not too shabby. I called Valli and had a great conversation with almost no delay. But after ten minutes I had burned through my 50 bucks.

Hmm.

Maybe it's a little more than 25 cent a minute. But i found out that incoming calls are free. Valli bought an ATT intl. card that she discovered had an only slightly better rate of 2.50 a minute.

Getting closer.

Valli gets online and finds a company thats sells minutes at about 15-25 cent a minute. Perfect. She can use it to call me during her free times and it only costs us and time for the card. So we do that and the conversation goes something like this.

v: Hi!

d: What?

v: Hi, it's Valli.

d: Hello?

v: HI!

d: Hi.

v: What?

d: HI BACK!

v: oh. I got a calling card.

d: What?

v: Nevermind.

d: What?

v: What?

d: I CANT HEAR YOU!

v: WHAT? I CANT HEAR YOU!

~call dropped~

So we are still working on the whole cell phone thing. I suspect it might soon get scrapped as a failed experiment. But by golly, Harrells don't quit. Until we have wasted a pantload of time and money trying it out, anyway.

BUT I did get a personal dial-up subscription today for only 100 bucks a month. That ought to buy the Taliban a RPG or three. Thanks Iran. And Russia. And China. And Pakistan. And Columbia. Thanks for helping me keep the fight for Afghanistan going. And if I left any other countries out I'm sorry.

But if it means I can Skype its totally worth it. Right? And it means I can do my homework from my room. I just finished my first assignment, a Memo of Introduction for my business writing class. I also wrote this blog. So. Ya. Totally worth it.

Daddy's Home!!

I'M BACK! And I love America. It's the best. I haven't sat down to write a blog because I've been to busy having fun, and I forgot all about it. Valli is at a lathe class so instead of pinning I'll write a blog about being home.

I got back to Ft Campbell around 8pm on the 23rd of December. Happy Birthday Joseph Smith, Lindsay Firth, and a bunch of other people not listed att. After 4 hours of time-wasting bullcrap I got to go home. The Army sucks. Literally, who on Earth wants to listen to the crappy band, sing the crappy Army Song, and be speached at about 'How great it is to have us back, now don't kill yourself or get sent to jail the first night back' for four hours, after sitting in airplane and airfields for 30 hours while our families are waiting in bleachers. Army: you suck for that. Suck. Anyway, after that mess I had seven days of repatriation/paperwork/dont-kill-anyone-including-yourself-beat-your-wife-drink-and-drive-drink-and-anything speaches.

I told you I was busy having fun. Now that that worthless crapfest is over with I have finally started my vacation. I have 30 days of Army-free bliss to spend doing all the things I've been waiting for. It's been awesome. Valli posted the bike pictures already- which is uber-cool, but not the best thing. The BEST thing is being with Valli, and includes a billion smaller reasons rolled up together.

Other best things about being home are:

Peace and Quiet. I could go on and on about the one. But I'll just say that Afghanistan was a very noisy place.

The House. Valli has done so much work on the house that I hardly recognise it. The bathroom is awesome and the eternal hot water is awesome and the new kitchen counters and cabinets and no more crappy carpet and crappy panelling is awesome too.

The huge truck Valli bought.

Christmas Holidays and rad gifts like friggin-awesome fuzzy slippers, REI gift certificates, and a monster gas grill. Also, Jenny- your gift is almost done, I swear I'll have it sent by February. And Ed, sorry man, not this year either.

Cooking my beautiful cow. He is so delicious.

Not working. There are no words.

Not being in Afghanistan. Way too many words.

The. Bike. Is. AWESOME!!! In case you also want one now, it's a Yamaha RoadStar Warrior 1700, and it has a ton of power! Who knew? Apparently not the insurance company because the premiums are so cheap! About a quarter of what they were for the last one. It is so sexy and loud and fast and shiny and cold to ride on in January but I DON'T CARE! I just bundle up and suffer because it so much fun!

The list has to end somewhere and I guess this will work, but I could go on and on. Being home is wonderful, and Valli and I are doing great, and if I haven't got around to calling you yet you are not alone because I've hardly called anyone. But I love you guys and hope you are having at least as good a time as I am, if not better.

Medevac Stories.

So apparently it's not against the law to murder your children in this country. We picked up a ten-year-old girl with 2nd and 3rd degree burns covering about 90 percent of the body, including her face and mouth. It looked like a huge pot of boiling water was poured over her head. I guess that out in the sticks it's a popular form of punishment- pushing your kid in a fire or throwing hot liquid on them. The call came this morning, and it took the civilian hospital in Kabul about 4 hours to decide wether to admit the patient. We think they were just stalling, banking on her dying if they waiting long enough. And- by the way- she will die. Soon.

The Jalalabad crew picked her up from the base closest to her town, and we took her from J-bad to the hospital in Kabul. When I went to the J-bad aircraft to transfer the patient, mom and dad were sitting in the back seat looking as cute and concerned as could be. For a second I thought about not killing them both. I sure as heck didn't let them on my bird, though. They flew in our escort bird. It's such a crime that parents here can do that to children and not face some kind of legal consequences or something.

The little girl was stable throughout the flight. She was a mess though, sedated and intubated of course, and drugged out. I won't go into detail, but I doubt she will ever wake up. I'm really glad she at least made it to the hospital. I don't know how I would have handled that.

Anyhow- now for a more positive story.
The last 'exciting' mission I got was for two local guys way down south near Salerno. They got caught in a crossfire between some good guys and bad guys and got shot up. They laid in a ditch bleeding all night and all the next morning. I think it was like- about 12 or 13 hours before they were found and brought to a base for treatment. One guy was shot up on his arms and legs and gut, the other was shot in the neck and had a severed carotid artery. And yet they both lived and looked like they would have a full recovery. What the doctor thinks happened was that they got hypothermia from laying outside in a cold ditch. That made their blood pressure drop and their hearts and brains shut down, and also caused them to bloat up- which in turn constricted their injuries and helped stop their bleeding. Amazing, isn't it? Talk about miraculous. Not many people who have those kinds of wounds do so well, if they even survive. That's not even considering laying out with no treatment all night long. That neck shot guy was lucky to live ten minutes.

The things you see happen out here.

The Fro, Yo.

When I was on leave this summer I let my hair grow out a bit. I liked it and my wife really liked it. She had never seen me with hair that long before. No one has in about four years. So I decided to keep it going when I got back to Afghanistan. I get it cut on the sides as per Army regs and let it get longer and longer on the top top. First I brushed it forward, then it got too long for that so I parted it on the saide. Now it's too long for that so I comb it backwards. I get some odd looks from people around here because of it. Most guys keep it somewhere between bald and about a half inch. I've also got some nicknames from it- Swoopy, Fonzy, Hippie, Shaggy, Zuko and Travolta.

The other day a co-worker told me I was breaking the "hair rules" of the US Army. We looked them up in Army Regulation 670-1. Interestingly, it says that the way leadership is to judge different hair styles is whether it interferes with the wearing of helmets, hats, and gas-masks. Weird. Also we found out that "all hair styled must conform to the shape of the head." So everyone with a flat-top in the Army is actually wrong. Weird. And Stupid. Who cares anyway?

So should I put my hair up....

....Or down?
Neat and tidy. Very Armyish right?

Why I Can't Get Promoted

Some of you who have experience with the military might wonder: Why hasn't Dave been promoted in nearly three years? I myself wonder that all the time. In this post I am going to try and answer that question.

To get promoted in the Army you need four things: time in grade, points, a peer recommendation and a visit to the promotion board.

Way back in the day- when I got back from Iraq- I was too lazy to do anything about it. I didn't have the time in grade, and I didn't feel like gaining points through gay Army correspondence courses when I had a new wife, new house and various other distractions.

A year down the road- Now I have the time in grade, and I've stocked up a bit on points by now. Now I have no time. My boss (the one who is supposed to recommend me) is gone for months doing some kind of Army training and I am left in charge to keep the Aid Station functioning and get us all packed up and ready to go to Afghanistan. We worked long days and weekend during this time. I sure as heck wasn't studying for any boards, and I can't recommend myself. So- no dice there.

Then we get to Afghanistan and I move to the Medevac. Now I have lots of time to study and scrape up the few remaining points I need to make that cutoff. So I told my new boss I was ready to go to the promotion board. I had all my points, awards, comendations, letters from previous supervisors- everything all ready to go. And he said he won't send me to a board until I have finished my progression as a flight medic. And that is understandable. He wants to know that I can do the job I have now, not the one I was doing for the last three years. Fine. Another month or two won't hurt.

After seven months of delays, broken aircraft, trainers going on leave and getting send to other bases, crappy weather, and an overwhelming number of medevac missions I was finally progressed and signed off as a flight ready crew member. I went to my boss again to send me to the promotion board. He said not yet. I needed some more experience flying missions and getting familiar with working with a crew, managing mass casualty scenes, and working on the patients. Okay- whatever. He wants me to have more mission experience. Cool.

Two months later: I don't know anyone who has been the rank of Specialist as long as I have unless they have been busted or can't pass a physical fitness test. People who have been in the Army less then two years now outrank me. It's getting a little insane. Every week I hounded my boss asking him to either recommend me for a board, or give me a written counseling statement explaining why he wouldn't, and what I still needed to do or be before he would. Finally he did. He said he would send me to the board. I would go in November and I have tons of time to prepare.

Two weeks later, or about a two weeks ago: I pissed off my platoon leader. I bit the hand that feeds. I had just finished a really crappy mission where lots of things went wrong. My platoon leader was chastising me for something that I had no control over while I was trying to restock my aircraft in the dark for the next mission. And instead of saying- Yes Sir, it's my fault. Everything is my fault and you are right. I said something like- I'm doing the best I can and you don't know what you're talking about.

A couple days later my boss told me I wouldn't be going to the board. The PL had shot down his recommendation because I have zero military bearing and respect for my leadership. Which isn't completly true. I have a little military bearing, and no respect for hypersensitive crybaby officers or condescending pigheaded jerks. It's been my biggest problem since joining the Army. And that incident confirmed it. So being hardworking, dependable, highly skilled and knowlegable, experienced and exibiting many other leadership qualities is not enough to get promoted. Not in this platoon anyway. It's so frustrating to watch my peers fly through the ranks. Friends with easy jobs and supervisors who don't care. Peers who are overweight or undertrained- but get sent up the ladder because they have a buddy somewhere. It's discouraging. But at least now I know what I need to work on. All the hard work in the world doesn't get me what I want until I learn how to bend over.

Hopefully I will be sent up in the first few months back in Fort Campbell. A lot of the leadership is moving to other places or getting out of the Army, and I will be one of the most experienced medics left. So there is a light at the end of the tunnel. And did you guys all see the size of that truck Valli bought? Its as big as our house! My wife is the awesomest.

This one time in Afghanistan...

It's been a while since I had any cool war stories to share. I had a trying mission the other day that I'll relate, and give my readers some insight into the exicting side of my deployment. These exciting moments don't come along everyday. Or even once a week. And sometimes in a month. But I did have a really cool one come along a few days ago.

I was on the second-up crew and through a series of unexpected events we had to take a mission for three urgent patients without the assistance of a flight doc. It's standard practice to bring one with us in case the patient needs care that exceeds the medics ability, training or if there is just too many things going on at once. We don't always bring one if the patients have some really lame ailment. But this wasn't one of those times. The only info we had was that all three patients required immediate surgery, and they were all already on ventilators. No info about specific injuries, treatment they have already received or anything.

While I was loading up the aircraft with all the extra monitors and breathing machines I thought I might need, someone else was trying to get a doc to us. In the end we decided to go without. I was a little nervous on the way down. When we got to Jalalabad and I saw my patients I was able to relax a bit. They were in a truck that was hit by a bomb, caught fire and crashed. Two were US soldiers and one was a local interpreter. They all had burns to their upper bodies and airways, and some broken bones, but they were all stable and drugged out. Our people in flight operations had called the Jbad aid station while we were in flight and told them we were without a flight doc, and they had a surgeon there for us. He didn't have any medevac experience but it was better than nothing so I brought him along. None of the patients looked like they would be any trouble and I didn't think I would need him anyway.

Normally if we only have one patient the doc doesn't have to do anything. If the patient is really messed up the doc and I will split up the work- ei one of us works on the airway and the other hooks up monitors and get the fluids and drugs pumping. And if we have multiple patients I'll work on the one worst guy and the doc will keep an eye on the less severe ones, and be a ready resource if I run into anything I haven't seen before.

On this flight the doc had no way of knowing what he should be doing, and wasn't up on our internal communication system. So to get his help with anything I used the highly inefficient point and scream method. Like so.

Me: (points to doc and screams) "YOU", (points to my eyes, then points to patient closest to doc and screams) "HIM".
Doc: (blank stare)
Me: (same thing but louder)
Doc: (nods, but doesn't do anything)

I wasn't his fault though. We normally train our docs on what we expect them to do. And doc aren't used to working in an environment that they didn't personally set up.
It all worked out in the end. It was extremely crowded and cramped in the back of our bird but eventually I got everyones O2 adjusted, IV bags hung and flushed, monitors monitoring and wounds looked at. Once that is done the rest of the flight usually goes real smooth but with these three there was always one or two things that needed to be done. A piece of equipment would fault and need to be troubleshot and fixed, a different patient would need suction, the middle guy needs more oxygen. And since the doc didnt know where anything was, I spent the ride crawling over the litters from one patient to the next constantly trying to fix something. The worst was in the last 5 mintutes of the flight.

I was doing something with dude-in-the-middle when I faintly heard the doc screaming something at me and pointing to the monitor on dude-on-the-left. His oxygen saturation display is showing a rapid drop. After checking the equipment to make sure the sensor is working right, I disconnected the ventilator and hooked the O2 to a bag and started breathing for him manually, and asked the pilots to please fly faster because all of the oxygen tanks are about to run out. I happily those O2 sat numbers climbing back into the pink. That's when I looked at dude-on-the-right and saw his pulse had doubled and his hands where clenched and shaking. Apparently while I wasn't watching his drugs were wearing off and he had noticed a big fat tube was shoved down his throat. So the doc took over bagging and I crawled/swung over the patients so I could get to my drug bag and send dude-on-the-right back to lala-land. Once that was done I looked to see how the doc was doing, and it lookded like his guy was tanking again. Thankfully we landed right then. Whatever was wrong with the patient at that very moment could wait the 60 seconds it takes to get to the emergency room.

We got everyone off nicely and wheeled into the ER, I gave my report to the doc there, thanked the guy that flew in the back with me, and went back to my bird. The cargo area looked like a bomb had gone off. Wires and tubes strewn everwhere, wrappers and syringes and trash getting blown around, a couple little puddles of bodily fluids, the hiss of leaking oxygen canisters, and alarms beeping angrily from two or three various machines. Accompanied my all this was a deep feeling of peace and accomplishment. I managed all three patients without panicing or forgetting everthing I ever learned about medicine, and everyone got to the hospital safely. After 9 months in this country I felt like I had been thrown into the fire and finally come back out unsinged. It was a great feeling, and since that mission I haven't had the usual pre-mission butterflies and doubts. I have arrived!

Stink-eye

This morning we gave a lift to local guy. He kept giving me the stink eye during the whole flight. I thought it was a little rich. We patched him up and gave him a ten thousand dollar ride, but he glared suspiciously at me the whole flight. And in return he made the whole aircraft stick like crap. I even gave him morphine. I didnt have to. I could have just let him suck it up. He wasn't stink-eyeing anyone else in the bird, just me. The flight doc had a thought about why that might be. I have a red cross patch on my helmet. Apparently that means I am an evil christian crusader, and want to take over the muslims. So there you go.

Waiting

With less than four months to go (fingers crossed everyone), the major theme now is waiting. For the last eight months Valli and I have been working for our futures. We have been working and saving all year in preparation for all the cool stuff we want to do when this deployment is finally over. We are so close to both meeting our financial goals, and more importantly- getting back home so we can put them into practice.

I left for Afghanistan in January. At that time it was all about getting out of debt. You might remember the motorcycle conversation. sniff. Then around April we made The List. We listed everything we could think of that we wanted or needed. Then we organized them by priority. Any time either of us gets money it goes towards the list. Funds get set aside for the highest priority items first. First was remaining debt. We were able to knock that out a few months ago. Next came "needs", like money to finish remodeling our crappy house so we can sell it when I get home. We just got that part taken care of about a week ago. And thanks to the state of Alaska for the awesome dividend this year we have a good portion of the fourth catagory filled: The downpayment on our next house.

Every day we are inching our way closer to the last catagory. All the work and all the waiting- every day a few dollars closer. This is my favorite catagory. Wants. Our wants list has sensible things on it. Things like home furnishings, a modest vacation, food storage, etc.

But there is this one thing. At the bottom of the wants list is something superfluous, immodest, insensible and expensive. Most of my free time is dedicated to thinking about, or corresponding with, my wife. Honey- I hope you know that you are always number one. What I think about most after her is the next motorcycle. Especially on warm sunny days. There are about 300 warm sunny days a year here. Everytime I go up in the air and see the long dusty roads stretching past the horizon, or the twisties carving over mountain passes and descending into deserted canyons, I see myself back home on my bike. And not just any bike either- a Hayabusa. The bike.

But there is still more waiting and saving. About three and a half months worth of waiting. Waiting until I can go home and be with my wife. Until I can sleep in my own house. Until I can eat good food and ride my bike. And do all those other things on the long, long list we've made. But first- more waiting.

(Sigh) Waiting.

How Spend 20 Bucks

Give it to the Kyrgystanis.
The other day I went to the barber on the north end of Bagram. It's operated by 6 or 7 girls and one dude from Kyrgystan. One (much needed) half-hour back and neck massage put me out only 10 bucks. The girl working me over knew very little english but did a great job. And we didn't feel obligated to keep up a conversation the whole time since we hardly understood each other anyway. After my massage I got my hair cut, not shaved or buzzed, but actually cut, styled and shampooed by another friendly person there. Seven bucks. Plus 15% gratiuty put me right at 20. More evidence supporting that things are looking up in Afghanistan. With all the soldiers spending money and the multitude of cheap services available I frequently wonder what some people are so pissed off about.

America Needs This

I spent a few hours in Jalalabad this morning and went buy the hadji-shop for a snack. I didn't find any snacks, but they had an amazing collection of DVDs for sale. The DVDs are produced by a company called World Movie BBK. I bought three for a dollar apeice. They each come in their own brightly coloered, glossy cardboard jacket which is covered in little thumbnail pictures representing their contents. Each disc holds about 30 hours of program. I got one featuring the Discovery Channel series called Wild World, A Disney disk that has a dozen or so full-length aminated classics and every Pooh movie ever, and a Kung-fu disk full of Bruce Lee, Let Li, and Jackie Chan. There were maybe 40 different disks on sale.

What is wrong with you America? I never thought I would say this, but Afghanistan has you spanked. At least in the cheap movie department. About 50 movies for 3 dollars, and I didn't even haggle with the guy.

Perspective

Sometimes I think that I should focus more on positive things. Peoples accomplishments rather than their failures or pain. Someone reading my blog might get the idea that I am a negative person who delights in embelishing on the suffering of others. I want to say that this is not true. I am a very positive person. I am an optimist. And I do not enjoy watching people suffer. Perspective is what is needed here.

As a flight medic in Afghanistan, I see people at their lowest. The service we provide brings me close to suffering, injured, sometimes dying people on a daily basis. These people are innocent victims of cruelty, or brave volunteers who accepted the mortal risks of being a warfighter. Only a small percentage of our clients deserve to be in their situation. Being a medic can be really difficult sometimes. Pain is never funny.

Or is it?
Being able to compartmentalize makes things easier. I take one part of a situation and put it in the serious drawer, and another part of the same situation goes into the hilariously ironic drawer. Today for instance:

This afternoon my crew got a call to fly to Jalalabad and pick up a young woman with burns to her face, right arm and hand. On the way there, we were guessing how she got burned. We were pretty sure it didn't have to do with fighting because of the place and manner in which we were picking her up. Was it from a hot coffee spill, an accident in the shower, did her clothes catch on fire somehow? I found out when I arrived. Apparently she was trying to burn some pieces of wood, and they weren't burning as fast as she wanted. So she decided to dump gasoline on them and light it with her cigarette lighter. Um... duh. Back to that perspective thing. On the one hand- oh, sad. On the other- Friggen awesome with a side of serves you right. Taking into account that she's fine- no permanent damage, and she gets a free trip the Germany for recuperate for a few weeks. Like free leave! So yeah I think it's funny, and I'm sorry you were hurt because you did something super-retarded.

The story gets better/worse.

While the doc and I were getting her all ready to go, we got another call. There was a second helicopter on it's way to Jbad with a middle aged local guy for us to take to Bagram, with gasoline girl. He had some bad eye and face trauma and a big laceration on one of his arms. So I'm thinking- was in an I.E.D., a mine, some kind of industrial accident, or was he kidnapped and tortured by the taliban? Nope. And I kid you not... Mauled by a bear. I didn't find much funny about this one. But it brought a bunch of questions. We have bears here? How did he manage to find one? How do you get it to attack you!? Flying around the mountains out here I've never seen or heard of anything accept goats and camels. And the biggest question of all- How did I wind up with these two bizzare cases on the same day, even on the same flight?

I have no doubt that this is the weirdest job I will ever ever have. Good thing I'm so positive.

A Sharp Increase in Sphincter Tone.

I hit another benchmark today. Today I had my first cardiac emergency patient!

We got the call to pick up a guy at a little outpost over an hour away. The only information we got was that it was a US Army male and "unconscious and clenched jaws". That was all. Thanks a pantload people. About five minutes out from the pickup we were radioed that the guy wasn't breathing anymore and they were going to do an emergency cricothyrotomy. That means cut a hole into the trachea through his neck and push a tube down into his chest. We were still getting ready for that when we landed. So we loaded him up and took off while we hooked him up to a ventilator (that only worked for 10 seconds- we did it manualy after that) and a cardiac monitor that told us his heart wasn't beating. Instead of coming back to Bagram we flew really really fast to a closer base. After 5 or 6 minutes of CPR, two shots of adrenaline, some atropine and 200 joules his heart started beating on its own again. After the first few minutes I didn't think he was going to make it. I thought he had a head injury because he had some bruising and blood was coming out of his mouth and nose- but that blood was actually from the hole he had cut in his neck being pushed up to his mouth because of the CPR. Cardiac arrest cause by head trauma is a really bad injury. The base we went to was only about 15 minutes from the place we picked him up. I kept bagging him until we got into the hospital and then someone else took over. I also learned there that his condition was caused by a drug overdose of sleep aid and other unknown drugs, not head trauma. He looked like he was doing pretty under the other doctors care by the time we left the clinic.

It was a good thing I was flying with a more experienced flight medic and a very experienced trauma doctor. That dude was a handfull. He would have been screwed if it was just me and the crew chief. I learned a lot from that one patient about cardiac care. And about messing with sleep aids. It's too bad because I know that is a problem that a lot of soldiers struggle with here. That guy was just trying to get to sleep and nearly went to sleep forever. Plus having to wake up with a hole through his neck, subcutaneous emphesema, multiple broken ribs and an assortment of other aches and pains to be sure. Maybe he will get legal action against him by the Army as well; for drug abuse and destruction of government property. I'm glad that I'm not that guy.

So to sum it up. Yay for me for getting to learn some cool stuff about patient care and gain some awesome hands-on medical experience. Yay for the other medic and doc for saving the guy and teaching me to do awesome life-saving stuff. And yay for the patient for only being dead for a few minutes.

Bilbo Finds a Bomb.

A couple months ago we brought a patient to the hospital. He was a US Army guy that got a little banged up. The emergency room is always loosely organized chaos to begin with. There are a million hospital workers that pour into the tiny room whenever we send them a patient. Half the people that go into the room aren't even doing anything, they just want to watch the show. On the peticular day I'm thinking of: one especially excitable little guy makes an interesting discoverey. This doctor - who I will call Bilbo because he kindof looks like a hobbit- is going through the unconscious patients gear (presumably because he has nothing improtant to do) and finds a grenade inside a grenade pouch on the said patients vest.

I want to pause the story for a sec. Here is what I would have done: Nothing. Most people would have thought- cool, a grenade- and went on doing whatever it is they are paid to do. Our patients carry all kinds of neat toys on them and the protocol doesn't change for any of them. The clinic staff makes a big pile of all the patients stuff and leaves it in a corner until the patients unit comes and picks it up.

What this guy did was different. He pulls it out of its perfectly safe pouch, grasps it tightly in both hands, holds it alofts and fairly screams "GRENADE!" over the mass of bustling doctors, nurses, techs and patients. Everything stops. All eyes go to little Doc Bilbo. For about two seconds nobody moves. That's how long it takes the room to see that the pin is in, spoon is secured with 4 or 5 wraps of electrical tape, and there isn't anything to worry about. After that, everyone goes back to doing what they were doing- except for Dr. Bilbo and me. I think he expected his coworkers to swarm the exits at his pronouncement because he kept looking around the room and calling out "Grenade! I have a grenade in my hand! Look out everyone! Grenade!" evey few seconds. He was in arms reach of me this whole time and I thought about taking it from him at this point. I almost did but I had this nagging thought that if I did, he might misunderstand my actions and shoot me. He was pretty wound up. So I just watched, open mouthed, as he slowly walked to the door. You couldn't even really call it a walk. Each step looked like it was an enormous effort. His arms were holding the little ball out as far from his body as possible. His bulging eyes were fixed unblinking at the object in his hands. From the look of him, you would think he was holding on to his own beating heart. And still shouting out "Grenade! Move aside for the grenade! I have a grenade here, in my hand!" as he slowly made his way to the exit. I saw him about 10 minutes later outside the hospital. He was still holding the 'thing' out at arms reach. (I can hardly bring my self to say it anymore- it's so retarded) He was telling everyone who walked in, out, or by- "Please, be careful everyone. I have a grenade. Just go on about your way. I have a grenade."

I'm sure that he called his wife and told her how he saved the entire hospital from an abrupt and firey death. It was nothing though, just doing his duty to humanity, just doing his job. Just a grenade. I and my fellows at the hanger went around the rest of the day holding up ordinary objects and yelling in terror- "Oh my gosh! I have a muffin! A muffin in my hands everyone! Look out for my muffin!" And wetting ourselves.

R and R

I'm back!

My vacation was awesome. I can hardly describe how great it was to be back in Alaska for the last 20 days. I didnt get to do all the things I wanted, and I didnt get to see half the people I wanted, but still had such a wonderful time.

Before I left Bagram, and again in Kuwait, we were repeatedly warned that things will have changed while we've been gone. Expect things to be awkward for the first few days. These little pep talks were always at least an hour long and included a detailed list of activities that were prohibited. Ironicly, I always had the impression that they expected us to go out and do them all anyway. Such as- drinking and driving, going to jail, doing drugs, spousal abuse, murder, tackling and detaining american citizens of middle eastern ancestry. Personally I never had a desired to do any of these things. In fact, once I landed in Anchorage I didn't feel any akwardness at all. It was great.

I had such a good time. I could go on and on about all the fun stuff I got to do- but I won't. I will say that I got to eat great pizza and other wonderful foods, I went kayaking in Seward, 4-bying in Palmer, rafting in Denali, rollerbladed through the solar system, and hung out with some of the best people you would ever want to meet.

I'm not happy to be back in Afghanistan. But it's not so bad.

Letters Home

There is an organization within the Army called the Family Readiness Group. Everyone calls it the F.R.G. because in the Army, everything must have an acronym. Must.

Anyway, its purpose is to provide support for and information to the families of service-members. Our company creates a newsletter once every month or two with pictures, stories, etc. and posts it on a F.R.G. website. One of the features of this newsletter is a section called- Letters Home. Someone here writes a letter to their spouse/family and it printed for everyone to read and go- awww. I think it's gay and hoped I would never have to do it. But.

I got asked it write one up last week and have it done by the end of the day. After politely declining the opportunity, I was ordered to write one. The next day I was even sternly reminded to write one. This is the problem I have with it. I dont care about the F.R.G. organization. I never read the newsletter and neither does my wife. I don't even know where to find it. So the whole thing is a sham. I dont know any of the people who are actually going to read it and I didn't feel like I had anything to say to them. My company had cancelled every flight I have had scheduled for the last 36 days. I only need one before I can start pulling flight duty. I have been stagnant for months, and it's been pissing me off. On top of not flying or working, I can't start college classes or get promoted until I am signed off.

After contemplating my situation for a few hours, I tried one last time to get out of the assignment. I tried to justify myself sighting some of the reasons listed above, but it was pointless. I was still stuck with it, and I only had a couple hours left to finish it.

So my initial letter was something like rant that became a very sarcastic verbal assault on the Army, Afghanistan, deployment, my flight company, and several individuals therin- followed by a slew of language that was quite beneath me. I felt much better afterwards and managed to barf up a decent letter after deleting attempt number one. Once I got that frustration out it was actually pretty easy. It is at least half bullcrap but it was positive and supportive and hopefully one of the poor pining saps who reads it will get some warm fuzzies, put down the twinkies, leave the sofa, and go to something productive.

And to anyone who thinks I'm appraoching this from a very shallow and uncaring direction- you're absolutely right. I never felt qualified to do it to begin with, remember?

And then.
Something really good happened the next day- my commander and my flight instructor got together and had a talk. After deciding it was totally pointless to try to get a training flight approved- ever, ever, ever- they fudged the paperwork and gave me the thumbs up to start pulling missions. After languishing here for a full 6 months, and 4 days before leaving the country for another month, I finally flew my first mission! And then another, and another, and another, and another. It's been so nice to actually be working and doing what I came here to do. It's been almost a year since I reenlisted to come to a medivac unit- and finally I am doing it!

I'll talk more about that stuff later. Today is my last day flying missions, tomorrow I am packing, and sunday I am leaving!

The ride over.

I made this short clip just before takeoff in Kyrjzkistan (or Uzbekistan or wherever-stan) back in January. On my left is Major B the flight surgeon, my old pal and boss. On the right is Crenshaw- the guy I've been filling in for in Flight Ops. We're on a C-17, it's 20 below outside, and we've been up for over 30 hours. If at any point my eyes cross- thats why.

I wasn't going to blog this one because I didn't think it turned out that good. But I loaded it yesterday by accident and before I deleted it, my sister already saw it. She said she liked it so- here you go.

Come in! And know me better man!

I've been asked several times to put up some picture of my living area. I tried taking pictures, but the walls are so close together that the pics don't show much. Hence the video. I made it while I was waiting for sleep to come. That's why I sound that way. Don't mistake it for gloom. Because it isn't gloom. It's just sleepiness. Enjoy the tour.

Flight Operations

It's a long one.

For the last 3 weeks I have been working in Flight Operations. It all started while I was on the way to the dumpster and I passed my First Sergeant, who said-

"Hey Harrell, you’re going to start working in flight ops tomorrow. I know you don’t know anything about it, but we’re short a man and you don’t have anything better to do. So get some sleep because we need you on the night shift. Do you have any Ambien left?"

I replied in the affirmative and he assured me that it wouldn’t be long before I was flying. I just got used to the 11 hour time difference and now I was pulling another 180.

Oh well. That’s the Army for you.

Now let me tell you about my date with Ambien.

I tried to sleep through the day without chemical help, but around 2pm I broke down and popped 10mg of good ole zolpedim tartrate. But it didn’t help. Not a bit. So two hours later- desperate now- I swallowed another. It was about that time that the rest of the inhabitants of my hall decided to begin some kind of construction project involving what sounded like 6 hammers, a drill, and a rocked powered bulldozer. No rest for the wicked.

So I got up, showered, ate, and listened to the drug-induced voices in my head. By 7pm I was no longer stoned and couldn’t remember how I hadn’t fallen down a staircase or collapsed in the shower. But I still remember the conversation that the brightly colored, floating balls of fuzzy electricity had as they zipped around my ankles in the shower where I tried not to fall, but was perpetually ricocheting off the walls as I staggered this way and that. I’m being serious.

That night I got introduced to my co-worker Chanique. I got a crash course in radio etiquette and some standard operating procedures. Other than some janitorial work, I didn’t do much. Not job-related anyway. I did find the time to read Brave New World from cover to cover, and draw a pretty picture for my wife for Valentine’s Day- something I don't do very often.

The next night I learned a few more things- I can’t remember specifically what- about flight operations. It was probably something like- what paperwork get prepared for this and that thing, what data gets entered into this and that spreadsheet, or one of a hundred other tedious, repetitive chores. But mostly I swept, dusted, mopped, tidied, and read. Both Chanique and I were really hoping this arrangement would only last a week.

This is what flight ops looks like. It’s a three-sided plywood cave, an incorrigible dust-magnet, limbo. Among other things, there are a half-dozen radio systems, four computer and seven monitors.

Now that nearly 3 weeks have gone by, I feel like I understand everything pretty well, and have become friends with my co-worker. I still pass time reading, watching movies, practicing guitar, talking about religion, and now- even going to the gym. And every once in a while- we will actually get a call for a medevac. During this time, I’ve been introduced to my feminine African-American side. I’ve watched several of my partners Madea movies and listened to her Mary J Blige and Alicia Keys. And I’ve read some good books. Brave New World was great. So was Catch-22 and Shutzhund (protection dog) Theory and Training Techniques, and yesterday I finished Middlesex.

So. That’s work- for the moment. Any day now I’ll be fired and I will get to return to medic-world. I hope it is sooner than later. I miss my real job, and I can’t take much more Madea.

Scrounge

Scrounging is a big part of deployed life. Especially the first month. Thankfully, there are stores here where I could buy the things I want to make life more comfortable. But- lots of people have already bought all those things, and now they are leaving. So, this is where the scrounging come is. Another term we like to use is- tactical aquisition. If you want to be successful at this there are some things you got to do. Most important is just be alert. Keep track of how is leaving and when, then once they go- be first and be fast. Everyone plays, everyone wins. This is a list of some of the things I have snatched up since getting here.

• lava lamp


• blender


• 2 years worth of truck and fitness magazines


• a dozen or so very good novels


• small refrigerator


• dresser


• shelves


• desk lamp


• 21 inch color tv


• 2 boxes of handi-snaks


• about ten bucks in change and pogs


• textbooks on criminal justice (which is my current major)


• coathangers


• air freshener


• a couple hundred square feet to build a rock gym with- more on that later

and other junk i can't remember.

I figure it works out to about a thousand bucks of home furnishing, food, and entertainment. Every day I find some other little abandoned treasure to add to the pile of stuff. And it's something to do.

That's the real quest here at the moment- finding something to do. Because I wasn't able to switch companies untill I actually got here, I am not qualified to actually do my job. There are 5 of us fligth medics all the the same situation. And since I am one of the lowest ranking and least experience of the red-headed stepchildren- I have to wait my turn. That makes me the guy who gets all the crappy details and odd jobs until my time comes. Tedius junk like sitting at the gym sign-in desk for a twelve hour stretch to make sure that the water cooler is stacked and that people aren't coming in without towels. I think that gig will be a weekly thing. Punishment for procrastinating getting promoted before the deployment arrived. That's the worst example- but there will be more. I'll be in this holding pattern for a few more weeks at least.

Before I signed off I wanted to bring up one more thing. I realize that I keep changing the subject and that I should make all these seperate posts, but I don't get to the computer too often. But this is really cool...

I got a calling!! Yup. Brother Dave- I got one that I always never wanted and was sure I would NEVER get. Does everybody out there like apples? How do ya like THESE apples? I'm the ward choruster!! HA! I get to gear up the cd player and swat the flies. I am also the substitute second block instructor. We alternate between the Book of Mormon lesson and the Teachings of the Prophet manual. There is no third hour. It couldn't have come at a better time either, because the other teacher has left for the month.

I can handle that stuff. So, like- yay for me!