Monday 31 August 2009

I suppose that the reason I’m writing this is so that my family and friends can share the feelings, smells, and tastes of being here. Hopefully, many years from now, I’ll also be able to reread this and remember things that I had forgotten.

Because of the constant dust, I always have kind of a dry, chalky taste in my mouth and nose. There isn’t enough water to wash it away and it covers everything, imparting a dull, opaqueness to the buildings, tents, and horizon. The soundtrack to this place, though, is what will stick with me. It is the sound of laughter. Despite the obvious challenges of being here, you hear laughter nearly everywhere you go. People laugh at themselves, at each other, at the discomfort, at ridiculousness, at situations they might never have imagined. They laugh at the Sergeant Major who runs down the main drag every morning from 0500-0700 flanked by two henchmen in complementary t-shirt colors, sending them out on missions to correct errant runners who may have committed the cardinal sins of wearing their reflective belts too loosely around their waists, or God forbid, their sunglasses prior to 0730 (when sunglasses are authorized). Anyone sporting a beard, of course, is immune from prosecution. They chuckle at the young priest with the flattop, who looks as capable of removing someone from this world as he is of preparing them for the next. Then, they’re moved to laughing tears as he tells the story of missing his younger brother with Down’s Syndrome, because he is a better person when his brother is around. The brother isn’t jealous, or boastful, or vindictive. He does, however, apparently have a slight stealing issue.

Hindu Kush Mountains

Bagram is surrounded on the west, north, and east sides by the Hindu Kush Mountains in a sort of horseshoe shape. Kabul lies about 20 km to the south. Due to the constant dust in the valley from the vehicles, aircraft, and personnel, it's been difficult to see the mountains clearly. I understand that soon the mountains will become snow-covered and much more clear.

The dust picks up in the afternoons along with the winds. A dry, chalky smell and taste is ever-present.

I've posted a picture of "The meat shack," the most famous of the dining options here at Bagram. They actually serve barbecue ribs, burgers, and pretty good grilled chicken. The tent has picnic tables and pies for dessert. It's not the Salt Lick outside of Austin, but it sure is a nice change of pace. You can almost convince yourself that you're back in the States, except for all of the weapons inside, of course. I think they won an honorable mention for landscaping from the Garden Club of Afghanistan.

Sunday 30 August 2009

Sunday morning, Groundhog Day. Sunday is Tuesday is Friday. I went to the gym early this morning and watched the potpourri of soldiers, contractors and “shadow warriors” in their beards and ballcaps. Disclaimer- I have the utmost respect for our nation’s secret warriors- Special Forces, CIA, etc. It does however, intrigue me to see the legions of white guys with short hair, full beards, and UT Longhorn baseball caps trucking around in Land Cruisers, looking a bit like rogue Amish Dutch. Now in 2001, that was probably a pretty good disguise. I mean, people probably bought that they were a University of Oregon student on a walkabout for some good hash who just happened to be carrying several automatic weapons. In 2009, not so muich. By the way, yes, Mom, I’m going to mass.

29 August 2009

I have had to think carefully about my feelings before I write today’s entry, which is unusual for me. I spent the first half of the day in the hospital. Bagram hospital is currently the busiest trauma center in the world with patient acuity (severity of injury) unparalleled in the civilian trauma literature. Rather than a fleet of university physicians to shoulder the burden, however, Bagram’s surgical staff consists of—well, I shouldn’t really say because of operational security. Suffice it to say, however, that the few surgeons here work 7 days a week, night and day. Their courage is only matched by that of the soldiers and marines who go out to do their duty every single day, facing incredible danger and discomfort. Most soldiers now wear their blood type stenciled onto their helmets. It’s a functional, yet eerie sight to behold. It really highlights the acceptance of risk that these young men display every day when they pull on their dusty boots. Although I work in an amazing facility at home surrounded by excellent physicians and people, I stood today in the ICU, choked up with awe at the heroes laying before me and bustling around this strange place.

22 August 2009 0709 Shannon, Ireland

I’ve just experienced another first on my Grand Tour of the Middle East and Southwest Asia. I am currently in the airport in Shannon, Ireland, having flown directly from Atlanta on an Omni International Airlines flight. I assume that Omni is some sort of charter/government contractor airlines. I’ve elected not to apply for their frequent flyer program. We are expecting a 6 hour layover here prior to departing for Kuwait International Airport. Speaking of waiting, I was reminded early this morning of critical Army lessons that I had apparently forgotten. I failed to recall the golden military axiom of “never volunteer for anything.” (see photo of end result) I was informed yesterday that anyone volunteering for the baggage detail would be bumped up to first class on today’s flight. In retrospect, I can see two fundamental flaws in my decision to volunteer for this duty. First, the words ‘baggage detail’ should have leapt out at me. Our “baggage”consists of 100 lb ruck sacks full of body armor, Kevlar helmets, entrenching tools, etc. 800 of them on this flight. Despite the intimation that the baggage detail wouldn’t have to actually lift the baggage, the team was aptly named. Second, the assumption that “first class” would exist on this flight was a tad naive. At any rate, I got a good early morning workout and provided much entertainment to the E3-6 weapons guards who stood and ogled the LTC lifting all of the duffels (picture 19 y/o soldier with M-16 standing “guard” over me and offering words of helpful encouragement while I helped the others and civilian KBR (Kellog-Brown-Root) contractors move their duffels about 50 yards in the South Georgia early morning swelter. Although the first class section ended up as a bit of a sequestered quarantine for the ripe-scented, post-workout officers dull enough to volunteer for an additional duty, the flight was actually pleasant- isle seat in row 4 with, strangely, noone beside me.

I should describe the rather unique flight attendant’s pre-flight brief, delivered with quite a pleasant smile. “This aircraft has 4 exits, two located over the wings and one each at the fore and aft of the plane. Please place all carry-on items safely in the overhead storage compartments. Place your weapons on the ground at your feet with the butt-stocks facing the aisles and all magazines removed. Should the aircraft experience a temporary loss in cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop from overhead and oxygen will flow freely through the mask. Thank you for flying Omni International.” I wonder what else she learned in flight attendant training.

Forgot to mention that today was my 41^st birthday. After unloading all 800 duffel bags from the belly of the airplane on the Kuwait City Airport at 2300 (temperature 96 degrees, 100% humidity), my buddy Chuck (the SF type) led a rousing chorus of ‘happy birthday’ for me on the runway, culminating in my blowing out my birthday candle (a bottle cap placed upside down on the empty water bottle.) Pretty surreal experience on the runway of Kuwait city International airport at 11:30 pm.

On the bus from the airport to Ali Al Salem staging area, had some interesting conversations behind me. Classic Army conspiracy theory. MP E-6 to his neighbor, “Did you hear that bullshit about Pluto?”

“What bullshit?”

“It ain’t even a planet!”

“What the hell is it, then?”

“I don’t know- cloud or some shit.”

“That’s bullshit. I lived 23 years thinking that Pluto was a planet, now I find out they were bullshitting me all along. You don’t do that to people.”

26 August 2009

I’ve spent the past 5 days at the garden spot of Camp Buehring, Kuwait. High temps during the day is 126 degrees with near 100% humidity. I’m not exactly sure how you can have humidity here since there isn’t a living thing in sight and the place seems incompatible with life. Did a bunch of pretty interesting Army training- practicing rollovers in HumV’s and armored vehicles, classes on IED’s and convoy tactics, etc. I had a computer class with 12 docs and it turns out that 6 of them were West Point grads, ranging from the Class of ’85 to 2000. Since the class was boring, one ’92 grad spent a good deal of time hazing the 2000 grad under his breath for the entertainment of the rest.

“Hey Travis, are you wearing the pink underwear they issued you in Beast? Did they give you a pink or yellow striped towel? You did have Beast, right? Hey, you better drink water, Travis. You look like you’re going to fall out. If you’re not drinking water, you’re wrong, Travis.” Travis, by the way, is a 6’4” 225 lb orthopedic surgeon stud who played along and took it all in good humor. We all got some good laughs. In retrospect, a large portion of the baggage detail was made up of these guys. Laughter, by the way, is the perfect tonic for misery. At times it felt so hot and miserable that I just had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

One profound thought. We have sophisticated, satellite-guided weapons, IT jamming devices, and high tech infrared scanning that is used medically to diagnose internal injuries, but the US Army can’t install a functional flush toilet at Camp Buehring. We’ve occupied the area since 1991 and still live in tents and use port-a-potties.

What has struck me so far about the deployment is how simplified life becomes and how the mundane issues suddenly rise to the forefront of importance. I will actually ponder and pick which set of port-a-potties I use based on the whether I have to go #1 or #2. If I’m going to do the serious business, I’ll walk far away to less used port-a-potties for a more palatable experience. I will not forget the burning feeling of the hot port-a-potty seat at nearly any time of day or night (recall 126 degrees). The highlight of the day becomes mealtime. Not that the food is that good, but it signifies the concrete passing of time and the next scheduled goal.

The equipment that we’re issued is really pretty amazing. The body armor, helmets, new combat shirts, hiking boots, are all fantastic. I’m also impressed with the morale of the combat soldiers. They remain upbeat (but of course classically skeptical in the soldier’s way) and take their 2^nd, 3^rd, or 4^th deployment in stride. They talk about their experience with IED’s casually and slowly prepare to be reinserted into Iraq or Afghanistan. I’m not sure what inspires them, I suspect it’s a mixture of things, but it is incredible to see. The sacrifice and suffering they so nonchalantly endure is diminished by their attitudes.

0048 hours (after midnight)

I’m sitting back at Ali Al Salem airfield waiting for the flight to Afghanistan. We do everything at night (we own the night…) I’m really looking forward to Afghanistan. Only Camp Buehring could result in Afghanistan being an improvement in quality of life. I am not sure whether I’m more excited about the neat job at Bagram or just getting the hell out of Kuwait.

0400 27 August 2009

I’m sitting in a big black leather chair awaiting my flight. The chairs kind of remind me of the pilots’ pre-flight chairs on an aircraft carrier, although in true Army fashion, it appears that my mission is to wait.

28 August 2009

Finally made it to Bagram, Afghanistan. It is no garden spot, but certainly an improvement over Kuwait. The hospital is fantastic and really state-of-the art. Very busy place with some amazing medical research ongoing. Most of the LTC’s and COL’s stay in plywood buildings called B-huts, but I’ve elected to stay, for now, in a hardened building next door. I walked through an Afghani bazaar that happens at Bagram on Fridays. It’s exactly what you would imagine- tents with scarves, old guns and knives, and pottery for sale. Everyone sweating and bargaining in a dusty melee.

It's Monday afternoon here at Camp Buehring, Kuwait. Temperature is 126 degrees. I wish I could describe what that feels like. It's so hot it's funny. I'm doing well and in great spirits. Had a training class with 12 physicians this morning, and 6 of the 12 were West Pointers. There was one guy class of 86, me, some 92'ers, and one 2000. Needless to say, the guy from 2000 spent 4 hours being hazed about the "new corps" and the likelihood that he was wearing pink underwear. He's 6'2", 220 lbs. I didn't realize it, but I worked with most of them on the baggage detail Saturday night (my birthday), unloading the airplane of the 800 duffels. I should have recognized the affect when one big guy (Muggs Malinowski from Cleveland) was yelling in the cargo hold of the airplane that he needed more bags- the ones he was lifting were too light.