Thursday 18 February 2010
I am currently in Kuwait, laying in my cot and listening to the sandy wind blow the tent flaps after making the overnight, 5 hour flight from Afghanistan in a C-17. I must admit that the sand of Kuwait looks a lot more inviting to me while traveling in this direction. I’ll be here for 4 or 5 days before going to Ft Benning, GA to complete the redeployment process.
The feeling is kind of surreal. I can feel my body unwinding, my pulse slowing, a kind of deep fatigue possessing me. I see it in the other redeploying guys, as well. Not as much banter among the guys returning from Afghanistan as one might expect. It seems like guys are sleeping 14 or 16 hours at a stretch.
I watched some news on a TV in the gym tent and am filled with mixed emotions. I am ecstatic to be heading home, but strangely, a little guilty to have left while my friends are there doing important things. I can hear the EOD guys blowing some ordinance in the background. Not sure why they are having controlled detonations in Kuwait.
I am actually thankful to have this temporary stop on the way home. It has been a good chance to unwind and slow down, let the caffeine wear off. I am jaded enough to know that this stop is unlikely intentional on the part of the “system,” but it is worthwhile nonetheless- sort of a soft transition back to our other lives.
You can’t always get what you want,
But if you try, sometimes, you just might find,
You get what you need.
-Rolling Stones
Sunday 14 February 2010
Until I just wrote today’s date, I had once again forgotten that it’s Valentine’s Day. Being here, my hope is that this transgression will be overlooked (right, B?)
While much about the Army frustrates me beyond words, I don’t think I have ever been prouder to be in the Army than I am today. I just came from an awards ceremony for the 8th Forward Surgical Team, recognizing the work of their medics, in particular. I am extremely flattered to have been asked to present the awards to their medics since I’m not assigned to the unit and I’m not in their chain of command. I have, however, been to their forward operating base several times and have worked closely with their team. It’s also special to me that that the unit happens to be based out of Hawaii.
Their forward surgical team has been the busiest in Afghanistan. So much so, that they were highlighted in an MSNBC piece that I mentioned on this blog several months ago. Their successes have been phenomenal and they have paid a high price- they have had to experience the tragedy of their own medics being severely injured in combat. Beside my clinical ties with this unit, I have worked with their medics and trauma nurses on what has become a very high-profile project to improve the life-saving interventions performed by combat medics. They have been the best in every respect.
I have never before been choked up at a formal military awards ceremony. I wish I could capture that moment and the looks in their young eyes, standing in their worn and faded uniforms, waiting to board their flight to Kyrgyzstan, Europe, then home to Hawaii. I wish I could turn my appreciation, my admiration, my affection for these young people into something tangible. My words seemed so impotent, unworthy of their deeds. I hope to remember their laughter, their sarcasm, the smell of the broken wooden crate bonfire in front of their medical tent, the sight of the stars flying over their dark FOB, my own comical fear that I might have flinched at an outgoing artillery round or flare, belying my nonchalant facade.
Now they head back to their motor pools, medical supply offices, and Tripler clinics where they work. Back to their car payments and pau hanas (happy hours). At the end of the ceremony, their First Sergeant went medic by medic, pointing out their dreams, aspirations, career hopes. Meanwhile, the assault on Marjah progresses as I head up to the smoke shack for a cigar, wondering what the night will bring. I think I’ll have a good one, tonight.
Sunday 7 February 2010
It’s about 8 pm and I just walked through the ICU to check on a patient that I operated on Saturday. He’s an ANA soldier who had been injured by an IED. He had a tissue defect just above his right ankle, essentially a 6x 5 inch hole with damaged tendons. On Saturday, an orthopedic surgeon repaired his tendons while I harvested a flap of tissue from his forearm for use in reconstructing the defect. My team sewed an artery and two veins from his leg to an artery and veins from this harvested tissue in order to give it a living blood supply. We did this under a microscope with 9-0 suture that is much finer than a human hair. The closest place to Bagram where you could get this kind of surgery is probably in India, two countries away.
I stood over the patient with my plastic surgeon partner and we congratulated ourselves on our success. We listened to a Doppler device which documents blood flow through the flap and fist-bumped each other in toast. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up to see two older Afghan men in traditional Afghan garb pointing to the patient’s head, which I hadn’t noticed. As I walked around the bed, I saw that they were pointing at the rivulet of saliva which was draining from their brother’s mouth in a slow but steady trickle. I had forgotten that the patient also had a head injury from the concussion of the blast. I put on a glove and wiped it away, chiding myself for the descent into myopic vanity. The dark eyes and gentle tap of the Afghan villager who spoke no English provided a crystal-clear reminder that I was apparently in need of.
