Care packages

Are definitely morale boosters... and weight boosters as well.

In all seriousness though, I have received two care packages from my dad. Good guy, gotta love him. Because of this I now have an assortment of magazines, pounds of junk food, coffee, sheets, and a pillow. Now for the average take-everything-for-granted American, it sounds unappealing and worthless. I'll tell you what, it makes a world of a difference when you are away in a country you know nothing about, let alone deal with mortar fire, death and dying patients, chalky air environments, massive amounts of dust, dryness, cracking fingers, knuckles, toes, and skin, long working shifts, co-workers' moods, job knowledge, walking half a mile to work/home, etc...

Now, by all means, I am not complaining; just putting it into perspective that aside for all the shit a normal person thinks they deal with, all of what we deal with changes person forever. I don't care who you are. There is no coming back from this place with the same mentality as you came in with.

How do care packages play a part in this? Aside from all the crap we have to deal with (refer to the short list above) care packages just make it all better. To know you have family, friends, and loved ones thinking about you and spending time and effort into packing junk into a box and going out of their way to develop a more comfortable environment that they won't be a part of is completely selfless and totally appreciated.

So dad, and Debbie. Thank you so much for what has been sent thus far. I love you both and am very happy to have you as a father and step mother.

Oh and just one more thing... cookies... good but next time make sure a piece of bread or slice of an apple accompanies the cookies to retain moisture. For the most part the integrity is worth salivating over but the wrong amount of pressure to the touch will crumble the amazingness. Not that I don't scramble to pick up the scraps, along with licking my fingers. It's just that I know the intentions of a good cookie is that of softness and that fresh-out-of-the oven feeling/look to it.

Very well done and put together though, I must say.

So yea, care packages... they rock!

Give me a break...

Our job here is for one reason, and one reason only; Enduring the utmost amount of persistance into maintaining a better state of health, and if that is not possible then to offer information and or direction, for our patients. I can understand feeling like you are out of the loop when tons of activity and movement clouds your workspace but sometimes observation entails expectation.

What am I talking about? Since both of my Shift IC's are off today (tonight) that made me in charge, next highest rank always gets tagged, so upon my arrival to work I get handed a plethora of pass-down information... okay, nothing surprising about that. Anyway, one of the information consisted of a landing time of when a patient was arriving, which no one knew the ETA of, by the way, and the others were about patient transfers that were to happen at a later time, cool, I got this. So upon me settling into work another colleague walks in and I begin to explain to her the plans for the patient transfers and ask her if she will be okay staying behind. Communication was straight forward, to me at least. Soon after the agreeance was in place there is a call at the front desk and it just so happened to be the information on when the patient was arriving... 10 minutes, shit! That means we need to be out on the flight line... now!

The Doc wanted to join so she asked: "Is is here now?"

"Yes ma'am. Let's get going."

It seemed clear what we were doing as everyone else was hustling around getting gear ready and flying out the door to the flight line. Proper protocol is to grab a radio, huge indication that something is happening... huge.... maybe because we never grab radios and do radio checks just for the hell of it.

Anyway, we pick up the patient and continue with our night. Eventually the time came to pick up the transfer patients and we end up equipping the ambulances with the proper gear when I decide to go in for the radio. This colleague of mine approaches me, all serious and quite emotional: "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure," we walk outside.

Her complaint consisted of how she didn't know anything that was happening and that, me as the Shift IC, 'well not really the Shift IC but, whatever,' failed to sit her down in a breifing room with a projected map and a laser pointer guide to go over the executive plans for the night... monotone voice, excessive slapping of the paper map, that underminding look while pulling down the glasses to emphasize my point, and all. She also brought up that I should have asked her if everything was fine at the front desk and if she could man it while we do our jobs. Sarcasm aside, me being the nice guy I am, I side with her just for the mere sake of peace in the workspace, plus arguing with her is like arguing with a brick wall. The things I did agree with is that I should have told her about what we were doing when picking up the patient, the first one that we only had 10 minutes to prepare for, but, then again common sense would have alleviated her worries about where her crew was. The fact that I picked up a radio and did radio checks, alone, should have proved everything that was going on. Well looks like I need to start breaking everything down to this girl. My thoughts: How is it that YOU are the ONLY one who doesn't know what's going on?

So, me being the independent leader that I am (is it so bad that I assume that you know your job well enough to do it?) I now understand that some people may need to be told what to do and or explained everything whether or not it effects the given circumstances (like, to me, patients are what really matters, and they were taken care of without problems occuring).

Like the title says... 

Remind me to never do it again.

Work my quadriceps the way I did three days ago, that is. Limping around everywhere isn't quite covering it. Of course, during my excercise I felt fine, just a little bit of stiffness but that is of the norm most of the time, just a little sore the next day. I guess since I don't really work out my legs it sent the muscles into shock creating a slow recovery process. This is what I get for being motivated, no pain no gain, right Navy?

Friends? Only for $1,000 though. Cool?

What kind of friend gathers the fucking gall to ask a deployed friend, which by the way sleeps in cold weather in nothing than a sleeping bag, gets shot at, sees comrades die, eats MRE's for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and deals with all the surreal realities of war, for a $1,000 so that the friend can purchase a car in the states? Are you kidding me asshole?

Sure mother fucker, take my money to endorse your needs. I am a good friend but there is a line and it doesn't start with your needs but, don't worry, I will stay over here, in Satan's playground, defending you and earn my money that apparently means as little as shit to you. Just because you want to ride to your girlfriends house with a fucking sun roof and power windows I will totally let you borrow my blood soaked money. Just make sure you ring it out before you hand it over to the liar who just wants your signature. "Sure, I'll pay you back bro...." eventually.... Fuck off.

Take cover!

Okay nothing can ruin a good relaxing state of mind, body, and soul and what I mean by that is laying down in my bivvie sac playing my PSP in a quiet room with no worries in the world, just midless button mashing and bright color observations to keep me temporarily entertained. Let's call this a state: volunteer de comotose. Anyway, lovely day right? Sounds good, looks good, even feels good.

Not a worry in the world until a peircing siren pisses in your cheerios followed by a muffled thud and explosives in the near distance. I am talking about mortar fire and yes it fucked my volunteered de comotose up. I will not use this bombing in vain as it did rough some people up but they are okay. How about you show your fucking face Mr. Muhammad Bearded Ballsac? Then see what happens.

Regardless, it is a time of war, this stuff happens, luckily we have good systems in place. Just lets the new guys know that this shit's real.

Never forget the first...

Eventhough my first experience with death was of a local national Afghani it still hit me harder than I expected but it wasn't until afterwards when I felt it. We got the call that a bird was coming in with casualties and I jumped on the opportunity first chance I got. I assembled my team, hopped into the back of the ambulance and drove out to the flight line, at this moment the bird flew in and quickly came down to a landing, the force wind from the rotor blades and all. We then ran out, ducking, thinking we are dodging the spinning blades, and I notice our helocopter crew hopping out and sliding the side door open. The flight medic had our guy on a stretcher performing CPR chest compressions. We quickly ran up, grabbed a handle and got him over to the ambulance, continued CPR compressions, got to the hospital and followed him inside. After brief observation of the patient the nurses quickly scrambled around while others performed chest compressions. There was no pulse left and after and ultrasonic scan of his chest the local national was pronounced dead. At this moment I felt a little weak, to my surprise actually.

On my way back to the clinic I couldn't find a single body, turns out there was a secondary patient in the helo that needed to be transported to a different hospital so I geared up and hopped in the second ambulance with a nurse. The second local national was dead but the nurse and I started chest compressions and breathes. There was no pulse. Great, two in one night. That's what I was thinking until we got a small pulse, irregular but, there, none-the-less. We ended up saving this guys life. Eventually we were able to remove the oxygen and he began breathing on his own so to balance moods out -- lose a life, save a life.

I am still a little shooken up but need to get back to work.

Uncomfortable

I don't think you have been uncomfortable until you have to transport a Afghanistan National Army soldier to the entry control point and wait right next to the wire in a spot light with a little to no armored jerryrigged truck with red crosses all over it. Then having the drivers of the other transport vehicle approaching you, local nationals, asking you why you don't have the magazine loaded in your weapon, then talking in Dari about it, looking at the weapon then straight into your eyes smiling.

My thoughts -- It aint fucking loaded but give me a reason and it will be.