medics

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 8^th 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.