I got a call on my radio today to get ready for an urgent mission. When I ran up to my room to grab my jacket, gun and drug bag, I discovered that I had locked myself out.
My door is a flimsy sheet of half-inch plywood hung on two hinges. It is secured on the outside by a hasp and a little masterlock. I checked my pant pockets again to be sure. Then I kicked in the door, grabbed my stuff, and went out to the aircraft. The mission was cancelled before it started on account of bad weather. I went back upstairs to fix my door. I wasn't at all perturbed because this is the fourth time I have had to kick my door down. After the last time I started keeping a hammer and nails in my room just for this purpose. It only takes a minute to bend the latch and hinges straight and nail them back on the door frame. My key was on my desk, right where I always leave it.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Saturday, August 2, 2008
What just happened?
A couple months ago in a weekly servicemens group meeting we discussed the possibility of initiating an addiction recovery program. The group leader got in contact with some people at LDS family services to get some more info. About the time I got back into country he asked if I would spearhead the program and think about holding meetings during the week on days I wasn't flying.
The next day: somehow we were mentioned in the Church News.
Crazy crazy.
The next day: somehow we were mentioned in the Church News.
Crazy crazy.
Monday, July 28, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
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!
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!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
The Fathers Day Special
Happy Fathers Day!
Fathers are so important. So influencial. So essential.
Mine is great. The best I could ever ask for. I've been thinking about some of the moments from my life that my dad has really come through for me, or taught me a valuable lesson, that I am really thankful for.
Like the time when I was 8 and he picked me up from the police station after I ran away in the middle of the night and started a fire in the woods while he and my mom were on a date. We had a good talk about choices and responsibility. The thing that stuck with me the most from that talk was that he didn't kill me- as I felt I deserved- And I knew that he really loved me.
When I was 11 he helped me get a paper route for the Daily Republic to teach me the value of work, self-reliance, and the feeling of accomplishment from recieving my very own paycheck. I was a terrible paperboy and he frequently had to help me do the route, or go over it to fix my mistakes. Putting the papers on the porch was just too boring after a while.
He was always involved in the Boy Scout program when I was, and taught me how to do manly things like camp, fish, make fires (big mistake), fix flat tires, first aid, how to build and fix stuff, and he set an example of service and preparedness and all those other scouty qualities.
He went with me my first time in court. I swore that I didn't know anything about that forest fire I started. I had to do it with my hand on the Holy Bible in front of a judge. I was only 10 and I knew if I told the truth that me and my whole family would go to jail. So I lied, the fire started itself. And prayed that God wouldnt just smite me straight to hell, and promised Him I'd never do it again. It was the most scared I have ever been, and Dad was there to support me.
My Dad carried me to emergency room when I tripped on some stairs and busted a hole through my lip. And again when I busted my head open on the elementry school rope that we weren't ever supposed to swing on. And patched me up over and over when I would come home mangled because I did something stupid.
My dad was the tallest, smartest, toughest, funniest, coolest person alive. He was Indiana Jones. He was He-man. He was a force for good.
He consoled me after I lost my first school fight.
He helped me do all my science projects and taught me how to do impossible things, like add fractions and spin a quarter with one hand.
He was my first home teaching companion and taught me the meaning of duty and magnifying your calling.
He taught me how to deal with dissappointment, how to stick things out, and how to keep my sense of humor. He taught me respect for women. He introduced me to spicy food, rock and roll, grilling, and martial arts movies- some of the greatest pleasures in life.
And that's not the half of it. The list goes on and on and on.
So thanks Dad, and thanks to all good dads and father figures everywhere. I love you. I appreciate you. I want to be like you. Happy Fathers Day!
And now, a quick vid for all you patient and supportive dads out there.
Fathers are so important. So influencial. So essential.
Mine is great. The best I could ever ask for. I've been thinking about some of the moments from my life that my dad has really come through for me, or taught me a valuable lesson, that I am really thankful for.
Like the time when I was 8 and he picked me up from the police station after I ran away in the middle of the night and started a fire in the woods while he and my mom were on a date. We had a good talk about choices and responsibility. The thing that stuck with me the most from that talk was that he didn't kill me- as I felt I deserved- And I knew that he really loved me.
When I was 11 he helped me get a paper route for the Daily Republic to teach me the value of work, self-reliance, and the feeling of accomplishment from recieving my very own paycheck. I was a terrible paperboy and he frequently had to help me do the route, or go over it to fix my mistakes. Putting the papers on the porch was just too boring after a while.
He was always involved in the Boy Scout program when I was, and taught me how to do manly things like camp, fish, make fires (big mistake), fix flat tires, first aid, how to build and fix stuff, and he set an example of service and preparedness and all those other scouty qualities.
He went with me my first time in court. I swore that I didn't know anything about that forest fire I started. I had to do it with my hand on the Holy Bible in front of a judge. I was only 10 and I knew if I told the truth that me and my whole family would go to jail. So I lied, the fire started itself. And prayed that God wouldnt just smite me straight to hell, and promised Him I'd never do it again. It was the most scared I have ever been, and Dad was there to support me.
My Dad carried me to emergency room when I tripped on some stairs and busted a hole through my lip. And again when I busted my head open on the elementry school rope that we weren't ever supposed to swing on. And patched me up over and over when I would come home mangled because I did something stupid.
My dad was the tallest, smartest, toughest, funniest, coolest person alive. He was Indiana Jones. He was He-man. He was a force for good.
He consoled me after I lost my first school fight.
He helped me do all my science projects and taught me how to do impossible things, like add fractions and spin a quarter with one hand.
He was my first home teaching companion and taught me the meaning of duty and magnifying your calling.
He taught me how to deal with dissappointment, how to stick things out, and how to keep my sense of humor. He taught me respect for women. He introduced me to spicy food, rock and roll, grilling, and martial arts movies- some of the greatest pleasures in life.
And that's not the half of it. The list goes on and on and on.
So thanks Dad, and thanks to all good dads and father figures everywhere. I love you. I appreciate you. I want to be like you. Happy Fathers Day!
And now, a quick vid for all you patient and supportive dads out there.
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