ProseKnitic – of Words und Wolle

Today was a great day for a celebration. I took my very last PT test and made what I had put on my OER last week true. Passed, had guessed exactly right on my height and weight.

Not that any of this matters of course – I could have skipped the whole thing by playing the “over 60″ card. But that just did not seem like the right thing to do. Apparently I also impressed the NCOs who were timing the event by undercutting every other walker in the BDE by at least 6 minutes. It leaves me feeling that they probably have a course that is a bit short. Doesn’t bother me enough to borrow a wheel and double check.

Otherwise, tech iteration of the course, scrambling for laundry and dinner followed by an evening of post deployment health screenings. At first I tried to do all the paperwork at once, then gave up. For each person, there is the possibility of having an additional AHLTA note if they need anything. Plus, there is also the fun of having to go to a third system to enter prescriptions. Takes 10 minutes and potentially turns it into 30.

To top off this day – my younger sister has a birthday. She is great people, works hard and is hanging out in Arizona. Sending things through the mail is not quite as much fun as seeing someone in person. I can forward birthday greetings (but not going to put out an email address since I didn’t pre-clear it with her).

I am really wiped and headed to bed. Tomorrow and Thursdays are also going to be 0800-2200 days. -Holly Bagram Air Field

Don’t you just love it when acronyms fit just perfectly? There are some that just don’t make sense, are hard to say or impossible to remember.

SANE & SAFE just work. Not in an obvious way, but close enough. All of this is good because I am spending most of this week and part of next traveling around with a great Navy nurse to provide education to providers.

SANE = Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner
SAFE = Sexual Assault Forensic Exams

Perhaps you have seen that the US government (i.e. Department of Defense) has once again come under fire and is defending in a class action suit which is alleging that DoD is not taking appropriate action or responsibility in either prevention or providing proper care, support and action for those who are assault victims.

There is not one branch of the service that is completely free of problems. Because of Tailhook, the Navy started working on the issues a number of years ago. The Army started taking things more seriously starting in 2003 after the mess at Camp Udari along with problems at the Air Force Academy set off a series of complaints, reports in the open press (see Denver Post article of 16 Nov 2003 . Not seeing that they were getting any support from the military, service women (including those deployed) started calling stateside Rape Hot Lines.

I would like to think that over seven years later, everything had improved. That would be a false hood. There is still not consistent training and procedures across services. The Military Justice system has not changed. There are problems, but I don’t think the civilian side is any better. Many factors play into charges, trials and sentencing in both systems; there are individuals who seem to skate by in both systems. In the military it might be because of command deciding not to charge or offer an out in lieu of charges. In the civilian sector, it may well be that money protects or low status of victim means that charges are not brought. In neither case is justice always done. Standard delays in prosecution in both systems means that trials are not all that prompt (getting evidence processed and the discovery process takes time). Unfortunately in the military, it means that a change of venue may well happen with trial in Afghanistan for a crime committed in the States or vice versa. Obviously, that alone will affect the ability to conduct a trial.

So I am not claiming that the military is perfect. What I can say is that there are commands which take sexual harassment and assault seriously. They are willing to bring in an expert TDY to train examiners so that victims can be examined and treated rapidly, compassionately and professionally without being subject to unnecessary delays, exposure or relocation.  The system of advocates here in theater is running smoothly. We have cooperation between medical/legal/investigative services.

I can only wish I could believe that the providers we trained today and those attending the next couple of course will never need to put their new knowledge and skills to use.

Saturday morning started out just fine with showtime for my flight back to Afghanistan at noon. No problems that, we made the flight. This is good – we are a class to start teaching at 0800 tomorrow morning.

For the next hour or so we put up with the usual annoyances (stay here, don’t go anywhere) and several repeated roll calls just as I had gotten comfortable in my book. Around 1330 we got to line up, sort out and board buses.

First we drove out to the C-17. And sat in the buses (four of them). Then the buses pulled back around to one of the waiting areas where we hung out. After finally boarding again, driving to the plane and boarding – we sat. And sat, and sat for a couple more hours. Meanwhile, the 1400 show time for the only other plane to Bagram has obviously proceeded without any of us.

Finally, at 1745 they call it quits on whatever mechanical issue was related to this particular C-17; we board the buses and head back to the assembly area. (Did I mention that they brought back the pallets but didn’t want anyone to take back their bags?)

Checking, there is a 2200 roll call. It becomes obvious around 2000 that that flight will leave without us. Another R&R flight is back, plus all those who were already booked. The 45 open seats are quickly filled, leaving the 140+ of us excess to contemplate getting back.

No dummy I, there is a 2330 show time for a flight to Kandahar. There are seats. Long way around but it makes sense. We make the showtime, get manifest for the flight and at 0100 are roll calling and boarding.

Given the flight and the time zone changes, it is after 0700 when we arrive in Kandahar. Just enough time to get some breakfast and head over to the outbound PAX terminal for a 0830 show time for Bagram. Making that flight as well (puddle jumper this time), it is 1330 when we touch down in Bagram, just about 24 hours after we started the process of getting from Ali As Salem (a 4 hour flight).  It also means that an arrival prior to the 1245 show time in Kuwait which would have been our only other choice.

After all, it is not like we can back walk or drive.

It had sprinkled some yesterday. Just small rainshowers that barely damped down the dirt in the LSA at Ali As Salem. Certainly so little that the windshield wipers were hardly needed on the shuttle bus to KCIA

The air in Kuwait is so much higher in humidity that when I heard thunder last night, it did not surprise me. That and the sound of rain against the tent side. Even the occasional loudspeaker didn’t bother me nor did the occasion truck on the other side of the wall. So much quieter than the screaming jets taking off and landing at Bagram in the middle of the night.

This morning as I stepped out at 0530, I was stunned to find everything dry as a bone. Dust pluming up as I walked across the compound. Rain? Thunder?

Oh – tents. Tents rattle in the wind and I had forgotten. Those same sounds on the BHut roofs are rain and sleet. Here it is just the taunting wind from the Gulf – promising but not delivering.

Well, the whole system worked. I finished up everything that was time sensitive and got to the PAX terminal last night before 1800. Show time turned out to be a surprise. For whatever reason, there were less than 20 of us looking for a ride on the C-17 to Kuwait which means that I bailed back to the BHut to pack.

What should also not be surprising is that 1800+3 hours + fiddling around time + 4 1/2 hours in the air + bus time and hiking around meant that it was terribly late when I hit the tent here. Same tent, and actually same bed as I used when I was here in Sept.

Wavering between taking a shower and just crashing – I was undressed and ready to crawl in bed when I get paged. As in – Attention in the LSA would (fill in my name) please report immediately to the J3 LNO tent. It is after 0230 and it is not like I really care for everyone in the area getting their sleep disrupted.

I had been there not 15 minutes before; thought we had everything straightened out. Guess not. Groaning, I got up, dressed and hiked to the other end of the LSA (life support area). The crisis? The kid who is my POC had just returned from an airport run and had been told in no uncertain terms by his boss the previous evening that he was supposed to introduce himself. Make sure that he was prepared to support the errands, pickup and drop off runs that I needed.

SPC = E4. Nice earnest young man who is trying to follow up on what was requested. Not. his. fault.

Thanked him very much. Arranged to manage things for today (oh, wait a minute – it is already today) and crawled back to bed.

It has been a good morning so far. I am still overwhelmed with work but perhaps I work better against a deadline. Today, before I bail for another road trip I need to finish up my OER support form and OER, clear out my inbox, update an agenda, pack my stuff, draft three letters and get to the PAX terminal on time. (Did I mention that I dealt with the Internet people, CIF and PAX even before breakfast?)

The mood in my office is a bit manic. As it turns out, I am not the only one who has been avoiding dealing with support forms (since mine goes to the Two Star we have a NLT 30 days prior to departure deadline) or with pressing deadlines. The end of our deployment is just around the corner and we are all dealing with the “oh, S***!” there are all these things that we intended to do and still haven’t managed.

I think we can manage to roll through the Rabies stuff again, the Influenza stuff again and Infection control. All of those seem more interesting to be than the “invite” to draft my own OER. I don’t know about you, but I absolutely hate to write my own performance appraisal (OER). Especially with the Army, there is this style thing that necessitates the use of superlatives. I am just not in the mood to day that I am the best thing since sliced bread. I came, I did my job (in spite of a lot of people) and I get to leave. What more could I ask. Even worse, I can technically leave without doing one, but putting through paperwork to explain that (retiring) would probably take more effort.

So here I sit, looking at my support form (which I actually did last fall) and trying to figure out where all those hours have gone since then!

I realized today as we were putting more entries into the hysterical (ok, historical) report that I have told you almost nothing about my fellow inmates. Now I am faced with the challenge of trying to describe people without really identifying them closely enough that someone might be able to pick them out of a line up.

With rare exception – those of us working in Clinical Operations are PROFIS (Professional Fillers), i.e. augmentees to the unit. In garrison, those jobs don’t normally have someone assigned to them. When it comes to deployment, all of a sudden in a Medical Brigade, those jobs are what make us different than any other brigade and define our ability to accomplish our mission (health care delivery above the line level).

There was a different vet here when I arrived. She was one of the people with whom I did [not] participate in the Native American challenge. A cat person with the appropriate sense of humor, she tolerated us medical types in the office. This round we now have another single officer, this one a guy. I think I might be doing something wrong – he actually asks me for advice! Too bad he didn’t ask for some before his last round through the barber shop.

With a decent singing voice, he seems to favor country and western. Along with Pill Man, there were more than a few evenings of insanity in the office. Now that Pill Man has mailed his guitar home, I think things will be quieter. On a daily basis, his challenges just seem to cycle – support for the working dog population, feral animals, food & water safety and – did I mention the issue of rabies?

Another refugee from well inside the Beltway, our pill guy was a vaccine pusher in his previous existence. A bit on the straight-laced side, we have been able to get him to smile, especially when he talks about his family. It might be surprising to think about how much time is taken up with issues of theater formularies, vaccine shipments and accountability for controlled substances. But maybe not – these are the same issues as in any medical system with the added challenges of trying to restrict the availability of particular meds to only the hospitals.

They are good guys, and one of them leaving about the same time as I and the other up for the challeng (ha!) of working with our replacement unit for about four months.

I could do that easily enough. For some reason the mattress I have likes to slide around on the box springs. The sizes don’t match and the bed frame is larger than the mattress leaving this nice gap between the edges and the walls at both head and side. Just the right size down which to lose books, pillows or forgotten PT clothes.

But I really didn’t want to have to discuss crawling under the bed to retrieve books. No, the issue is bunk beds. A way to rack and stack a large number of soldiers in a space to small to have individual beds or cots.

Sometimes we have them in permanent quarters, such as the barracks buildings here, the Alaskas on Marmal or the MODs at Kandahar. Even more frequently, it is a way to shove large numbers in an RSOI tent.

Few, if any, voluntarily take the upper bunk. The bottom is just so much easier. And, if the place is not full – you might just get to put your gear on the top bunk or string up a poncho liner to provide the illusion of privacy.

All of this leads to my original point. You put enough people in bunk beds and someone is going to fall. It might be getting out of bed in the middle of the night. Rolling over and falling out is not all that common in adults but it could happen. Whether or not you get hurt is going to depend on the floor composition and the geometry of the space on the side that you fall. You might be lucky; then again you might not.

As you have probably guessed, we have had some soldiers fall out of the top bunk over the last year and not do well. Skull fracture = not doing well. Now, cracking your skull is not a good thing, but wanting to put bed rails on 35k bunks might not be all that smart either. I am attempting to hold off knee jerk reactions.

First, I want to know how many people actually have fallen out of bed, how many got injured and what kind of injuries. Then we look at the people to see if they were at increased risk (already injured, on medications, etc). I just keep thinking that kids past the age of 10 usually stop falling out of bed. If they do, there is usually an underlying reason. You would think someone might just wake up as they fall.

And for most of us, the head is not the heaviest part of the body. If it was me, I would have a sore butt for a long time given that my head is empty.

No, not hand knit socks. Just normal, ordinary regular boot socks. The kind I wear inside Army boots. Yes, that last sentence was a bit obvious.

Up until now, socks have not been an issue. I brought lots of socks with me to theater, then George accidently sent me a bunch more when he mailed some stuff back about month two. Add to that the fact that until the last couple of weeks when I got in a hurry, I was doing inventoried turn in at the laundry. I knew exactly how many socks I was turning in and it made sense to always turn in pairs. When they came back, those socks were paired up, two by two and always matched.

Bulk turn in is faster. I don’t have to sort things out and go over how many socks, bras or panties I am turning in with some Afghani or Pakistani guy. The down side is that I get back this pile of socks, not matched. Unloading the laundry bag these last couple of times meant dumping socks into the drawer. No thought, just a tired doc at the end of the day.

This morning I pulled out a couple of socks. One green, one tan. Pulled out another two socks – both green – but no joy to either each other or the sock already in my hand. Couple more socks – one tan, but not the same as the first tan sock and yet another green.

Hello? I knew that I had two different brands of desert colored socks, but thought it was only two kinds of green. Turns out it is four. The next sock out is green and it matches sock #3.

After pulling on my socks I stand there looking at the drawer thinking – I can either
1) sort them now
2) keep going through this every morning till I either run out of socks or get sick of the process

(did I mention that I had black socks in the second drawer which could have made this process even worse?)

Just about when I decide that I want breakfast more than I am interested in order I notice that my left foot is wet. Seems like in my stomping around I knocked over my small water heater. Not too much water – just enough to soak a small carpet area, right under my foot.

Taking a breath, I went rooting the drawer for a pair of socks.

Ok, I will admit it. I have been in an incredibly bad mood for about the last two weeks. Itchy feet, tiredness, too much paperwork. It is all excuses, but still…

Talk about creating a downward spiral. If you don’t feel like doing work, and let things slide then there is just that much more to do. Which means you really don’t feel like doing much of anything. The pile just grows higher and you sink deeper.

Of course, if you are someone who just loves procrastination followed by adrenalin surges then you probably don’t have a clue as to what I am talking about. But, if you are someone with good intentions who just gets behind and then hates feeling rushed, you might just be sympathetic. (And we will ignore all those management consultant types who tell you that paper should touch your hands only once. Well, in my world most projects are electronic and involve inputs from mulitple people, negotiations and compromise. Dealing with anything only once is not reality. )

Right now, I am somewhere inbetween. I don’t get a whole lot of thrill from things completed, so neither adrenalin or relief are helping. Since all the deadlines might just be far enough out, I am not yet panicking.

What I think I really need to do is blame the whole mess on sending all of my knitting home. That is right – I didn’t even hang onto one project. Now exactly how dumb was that? Obviously audiobooks are out at the moment since I have nothing to do with my hands and I am bored with most of the junk I can find here to read.

Ah well, the end is in sight – sort of – I should be in Kuwait five weeks from now! Meanwhile, it does sound more like whining doesn’t it?

There are those times when words from a song go round and round in your head. And then there are the other times when the title/words of a song just seem to match your misery.

Yesterday was one of those. Not a Simon and Garfunkel morning – but a Wednesday morning at 0300. It was not the usual screaming fighter jets that woke me up from a dead sleep but the migraine that exploded in my brain which caused a major kink in my plans for the day.

Not being stupid, I took my meds and tried to go back to sleep. I first discovered that it is almost impossible to get 100+ years to a flush toilet in a hurry when it is cold and slippery. Not completely out of the question, but not terribly fun. Nausea? If you didn’t have it before entering a filthy port-a-loo at 0330 you would shortly after.

Now, if you have friends in the medical community and had started accumulating a bucket, pan and tubing for one of the “Ron the Flight Surgeon’s” in room do-it-yourself sink specials then you at least have a basin. Of course, you have to remember where you put the parts (pan) that doesn’t have a hole it in. Failing that, several layers of plastic bags make a good liner.

Why am I telling you this? No good reason except that relatively simple illness/injury/misery that is normally handled in the privacy of one’s own place can assume major proportions when deployed. At Home, vomiting means that you spend some time with your own porcelain bowl. You know when it was last cleaned. You have personal knowledge of the floor, the rug, the sink and your own toothbrush. Deployed* (*college dorms also fall into this category) you are likely to have to go outside and a distance from where you sleep to find a toilet. That toilet is public, shared with others. Sanitation is questionable. 98% of people share their living quarters which means staying in the room and cleaning up later aren’t really an option.

The implications are also significant for the health care system – people vomiting are more likely to seek medical care (flush toilets in a lot of locations and someone else to empty the emesis basin in others).

Me? I live by myself and could be miserable in my own company. Meds kicked in and a good portion of the day was lost to sleep.

Sleeping is good. No pain is even better. Today was good – not even two days worth of built up emails or unreasonable officemates could cause me pain.

My good friend Brad, who I think I have known forever, or at least most of the time I have been stationed in Germany sent me the following – written in one of those interminable staff meetings that the Pentagon is famous for. With his permission.

With apologies to E. A. Poe, Esq. -  Brad Harper -

Once upon a staff call dreary
While I sat there, weak and weary
As were discussed things which had been discussed
A multitude of times before

As I sat there, nearly napping
Suddenly there came a clapping
Like the sound of waves a-lapping
‘pon some far and pleasant shore

‘Tis the ending of the meeting!
That for which I’d so yearned for!
But no, ’twas but the 3rd of 30 briefers
Sitting down, and nothing more

Like the Red Queen, ever sprinting
No matter how hard we onwards bore
At the end of all our labors
No more closer, than before

As a swimmer ever striving
T’wards some near enticing shore
The tide would ceaslessly pull backwards
No more closer than before

Will this torment be unending?
why is every brief a bore?
Is my sentence so unbending.
I am not allowed to snore?

When at last the meeting’s ended
Headlong rush I out the door
But even as I flee, a’gowning
There is a future dread that’s sure

For my glee so freshly minted
“tis but the fleeting joy D’Jour
In two weeks my fate decrees that
I’ll be back again, for more

(and please give Brad Harper credit and link back to here – if you quote, etc, his excellent take off on The Raven)

There seems to be only one temperature in our office. Way too hot. That is, unless we turn the heat off. Then it can get too cold. All of which leaves me with a challenge every morning as to whether or not long underwear is in the forecast.

 This morning the hot/cold issues were made worse by it being a USFOR-A update morning. Obviously, it is important for GOs to get updated by their staff. It is important that we have someone sitting in on the VTC. I can’t even argue with the fact that Clinical Operations should have someone sitting there “in case a question arises.” That is just the reality of briefings.

 Unfortunately this morning some of the briefers were worse than awful. Horrible, meandering and wasting everyone’s time. The Ops guy and I that were monitoring the meeting watched the clock crawl minute by minute through almost two hours before it was our turn. Our turn, of course was Chris giving a less 35 second update after which we painfully endured the rest of the conference.

Which left me bored during most of the meeting. Once I had finished re-writing my to-do list a couple of times, and reading the paperback I brought along under the table, and drinking my soda and my coffee and talking about retirement ….. Can you tell I have little patience?

Reality is that large organizations have meetings, updates, briefings and conferences. They suck out a lot of time and energy. On the other hand – it is a way to get people across the entire theater the same information at the same time.

 Meanwhile, it has gotten cold in here. I need to find my gloves.

The topic is pretty obvious, isn’t it? One of those mandatory holidays that Hallmark (for entirely business sensible reasons) has spread around the world. When you stop and think about it, many national holidays are about religion, death, war and remembrance.  This one no longer really relates to any of the above.

Wikipedia, of course, has a detailed article on the history, development and current customs of the holiday around the world. Most of the European traditions are covered here – a combination of holidays related to local saints and imported from the US customs.  Although with its origins in Christian Religious Tradition – except for a few locations, all of that has been overcome by commercialism.

What should not be surprising is that 85% of cards are purchased by women, or that men often grab candy and flowers on the particular day. In Germany – you can always by large Lebkuchen Hearts decorated with icing.

Ok – all of that speaks to your location (and can serve as a reminder if you have not yet figured out what to do for your love/partner/spouse). I think most of us are beyond the “commercial box of Valentine’s Cards” for everyone in the classroom of elementary school.

My location?  What about here? There was supposed to be a Valentine’s Day 5 K yesterday morning which was cancelled because of slush on the road (even the fanatics agreed that it was not safe to be running in ice water at 0530 in the morning. I should have gotten up, just to get the t-shirt, never mind that my feet would have been soaked just getting out to the main road).

There was nothing marking anything at the DFAC this morning, but a couple of people dropping off kids style cards on everyone’s desk. Another celebration option enjoyed by many is wading through 32 pages of Valentine’s greetings and personal messages in the Stars and Stripes (Feb 13 Mid East Edition) looking for people you know or hopefully at least entertaining ads.

Otherwise it is a Monday – with paperwork, deadlines and more of the same that has been happening for the last five months…  and a batch of us headed to the UAE DFAC this evening for Mideastern food. A husband on a plane to the US West Coast, three kids in school and one on the job fills out  Isn’t normalcy grand?

There dozens of fairy takes featuring knights in shining armor. There are the Golden Knights who jump out of airplanes. There is Dog Day Night (Halifax Group Album), Boca Knights (by author Steven Forman) and Blackmore’s Night (Ritchie Blackmore and Candice Night).

Then there are all the quotes, phrases and books that have to do with the dark of night, that which comes out to play at night, and general evil deeds under the cover of darkness. All of which, of course, should lead to heroes rescuing fair maidens between the covers of books, on screen, and in ballads.

In real life, it is the small acts of kindness that are more important and usually less noticed than the grand gestures. It doesn’t take a knight in shining armor. Instead, it is a couple of young Air Force guys loaded down with rucksacks, rifles and covered with muck. What they also have between them is a half-size Tuff box that is obviously heavy as well as awkward. They stop every dozen or so feet to get reorganized, swapping places and re-adjusting their load so that nothing lands in the filthy snow or major water hazards they are attempting to traverse.

The third member of the group is an extremely petit SrA. She is as loaded down as the guys, with the exception of the Tuff Box. Its her box that they are hauling to the post office; both of them reassuring her that it is really no problem to help her. They were going to the USO which is in the same direction. And besides, even if they weren’t team mates, they both have sisters.

You know all the bad mouthing I did about rocks, stones, gravel earlier in the year? Stumbling over large rocks, slipping and sliding through gravel? Muttering about risking ankle fracture every time I took a walk?

Forget it. Every last word. There are worse things than rocks.

Not having rocks.

The areas around the Bhuts are rocks and stones. The snow piles up, the water is below. When the snow builds up enough, it packs between the rocks. You can walk between the buildings without sinking into puddles up to your ankles. Wearing sports shoes is not complete suicide.

Not so on the main streets and roads. Those that are paved actually seem the worst. I don’t know what idiot graded them so that they are lower in the center and filled with potholes, but there you are. Walking through a field of landmines might be extremely deadly, but it has to be no less challenging than trying to get along the road from my BHut to Disney without becoming cold, wet and even more crabby.

In case you hadn’t figured it out, the rain continued and then early this morning turned into wet snow. For a while it was even too wet for snowballs, but that has changed. Now there are lakes, puddles, slush and hidden sink holes just waiting to soak your boots.

Don’t I sound like the typical military? When it is dry, I would rather have some rain. When it is wet, I long for the dust and sun. In any case, I am glad I have a lot of socks.

At home, which means home, not garrison, not work but one’s own living location, there are jokes galore about the battle of the sexes when it comes to toilets and toilet seats.

There are the little boy jokes which have to do with aim and then there are the adult conflicts that have to do with seat up vs seat down. The logic is pretty clear: the average guy likes leaving the toilet seat up because it is quicker; the average woman wants the seat down but the cover up because it is quicker (and safer in the middle of the night). Battles can rage for years and decades over something which might seem simple.

Now let us move to the deployed environment – specifically US locations. I am specifying US so that no one has to compromise (after all, the Dutch are sensible, do all sanitary facilities as individual with locks on the door so unisex is not an issue). When it comes to the San Trailers – they are all gender specific. The women’s has flush toilets. The seats are always down. If the lid is closed – it means there is a problem with the toilet. Universal, easy to understand.
Near where I work there are two port-a-loos which are marked “Women only.” Again, no issues and only rarely does a guy fail to read what is 240 point right at eye level.

Now, we come to the rest of the port-a-johns. They are unisex and generally have a urinal as well as a toilet area. Some have a “built-in raised seat area.” Others have a seat that can flip up and the third variety actually has a seat and cover. Since most guys pee in the urinal, there shouldn’t be an issue – right? Ignoring the boot marks on the toilet seat, after a while one can cope with just about anything.

Even though the issue here is not the seat, it is still a guy issue, especially after dark. Absolutely NONE of us want to open the door on someone in the loo.

Just what is so flipping hard about latching the door?

crept in last night, stealing down from the mountains and across the plains. Covering the camp like a frostly blanket, it caught me unawares in the middle of the night. Awaking, nose cold and breath visible in the air, I started to sneeze. Not that I needed any incentive to cough and sneeze. This particular virus has been hanging around for several days, just to make me miserable.

My nice flannel sheets are in the laundry and the poncho liner substituting for a bottom sheet is slippery enough to have dumped my kleenex onto the dusty floor. Tripping as I untangle myself, I suddenly notice that it is a bit dark in the room with only the backlight provided by my laptop illuminating a small area.

Brain kicking in I think – ah, no power, no lights, no heat. Taking flashlight in hand from the night stand I stumble across boots, books and a chair to the door. Flipping the switch, the overhead lights come on as I am quietly grateful that Michelle is on R&R and won’t be disturbed by a flash of lights in her eyes.

The heat is not on. Thank goodness it starts back up with a reset. Sticking my nose out the door, the security light is on and our section of the compound is quiet. More sneezes as I crawl back in bed.

Several hours later, I give up, get up and head to work. Perhaps to spread the joy of my virus to everyone else but more likely to attempt to get some work done. My pillow is still calling me.

After several discussions regarding the less than healthy menus featured at VIP SuperBowl Parties I thought I would offer a reality check.

In the US, a SuperBowl Party is as likely to feature healthy food as Thanksgiving, Pesach, Christmas, Easter, and Fourth of July Picnics. There are just certain meals where all the righteousness about good diet give way to relaxation, fun and family tradition.

None of these meals have a patch on the diet of the average deployed service member. At least if what is mailed by family and friends is consumed. And frankly all too often it forms a major component of the daily caloric intake.

Admittedly, everyone at home wants to support those of us who are deployed. What better way to express this than sending something? Like cookies, candy, snacks, gum …… It makes you feel like you are supporting your person, giving them a little bit of home. Even the trail-mix and nuts have draw backs in terms of salt load.

The Dietitian here with the research unit joked that the holidays saw 2000-3000/Cal/Soldier/Day extra over normal times. Normal times being weekly rather than daily packages. In spite of that, there are a number of people who have been successful on losing weight by dint of responsible eating and a lot of exercise.

It is difficult enough for me to eat a healthy diet while deployed without putting temptation on the desk. Fancy coffee drink mixes, bubble gum, Twizzlers, just to name a few potential downfalls. Oh, and Sweettarts, can’t forget the Sweettarts. My self-discipline is just not all that high.

It is why I have been reticent to having anyone send me things. Temptation. There is just so much food, drinks, candy and just plain junk floating around it is ridiculous. I did my share consuming the treats for a while, spending several months living on sugar and toothpaste (what? you think I can’t learn from others? One guy here drank Gatorade his last deployment, returned home needing five fillings. Even I can figure that drinking sugar water all the time is stupid).

So here I am, surrounded by sugar heaven and trying to keep my hands on the keyboard rather than feeding my mouth. Thank you all for your help, kindness and restraint.

It has been raining for four days. Except at night when the temperatures get below freezing, it is has just been cold and wet. January and February are normally the only really rainy times of the year. This leaves little incentive for drainage ditches. As most areas outside the cities do not have indoor plumbing, the concept of storm sewers, much less waste disposal are something expected by foreigners.

There was snow on the rug outside my Bhut this morning and puddles all the way along the crushed gravel walkways. On the side roads there are standing areas of water almost obscuring the entire road bed. Port-a-loos sit on pallets only barely above the water with marginal access. The dumpster glowers from its crouched location at the end of a row with bags dripping from hinged jaws stuffed to overflowing.

The wet and shiny rocks crunch as ice flakes off while attempting to roll the ankles of those fools trying to keep their feet dry as they avoid puddles and lakes of water and mud.

Near the terminal the puddles are large enough to cause a major splash hazard from passing vehicles and I head once again cross country between buildings and able for the most part to stay on gravel or cement. The parking lots are seas of mud and there is a coating of snow on many of the containers and pallets in the tranport yard.

The falling rain is starting to whisper against my jacket as small drops turn to ice crystals with the drop in temperature.  Even hiking along Disney’s cement walkway is not completely without its hazards as the sidewalk becomes slippery with ice.

There is standing water outside the office, in the roads and in the entry way next to the DFAC. The next few days may be no more fun that my cold which was kindly shared by an office mate just returning from a jaunt to another base.

I think a cup of tea and going back to sleep sounds pretty good right about now.

Bagram is as quiet as it ever gets. Only the occasional vehicle pases by; splashing through puddles in the cold damp air. Planes roar as they warm up – mostly the mail carriers with the intermittent punctuation of jets screaming by.

I have a flashlight (thank you Mark) in my hand to check the location of some of the bigger puddles as I hike over to the office. I had stopped at the PAX terminal to determine if my flight to Shindand was still scheduled. Yes, come back in 4+ hours for the show time.

There is no one at the office and I am able to get at least a modicum of work before heading to breakfast then back to the BHut. At 0845 I meet my travel partner at the terminal and we get logged in for the flight. Of course then it goes into waiting time.

And waiting time. Right at load up time, I hear an announcement for our flight.

Cancelled due to weather.

Ok, if the weather is bad, I am more than willing to stay safe on the ground. But, as it turns out, all the flights this morning going south, west and north have been cancelled due to weather. Little thing at the far end – icy runways.

Not unexpected but it would have been nice to salvage the time.

Back to the BHut – I am seriously lacking on sleep and sense of humor.

It is Wednesday. Ground Hogs Day . You could be looking for the offical US ground hog – ”

The Prognosticator of Prognosticators, Punxsutawney Phil, once again appeared at sunrise at Gobbler’s Knob in the Pennsylvania Wilds to make his annual prediction.

Phil surveyed his surroundings and found no shadow, so an early spring it will be!”

 Since this is Afghanistan, and it is raining – it is more like the movie. Ground Hogs Day. 

With approximately 51 days left, all I hope is that it doesn’t rain the entire time although I suspect most of them will be pretty much the same.

 -Holly
Bagram Air Field 

Yesterday at a meeting the senior cheif (yes, Navy – we don’t discriminate too much…) mentioned that we had to be accurate-ish.

Everyone else snickers and I am looking clueless.

Afghan time, it is explained to me, carries over to dealing with the US military. Things will happen when they happen and accurancy and pin point timing are out of the question.

Example – a tour is 6 months, or 180 days. More or less, given a whole lot of changes, variables and the arrival of one’s replacement. Means that I am on a six-ish month tour. Expected but no guarentees.

This particular group may have to relocate offices in the April-ish time frame. They will worry about it when the dates roll a bit closer so as to not waste time and energy on something that might just not happen. Time is a variable, and not a precise one.

It is all “ish” explains the senior chief. Arrive Octoberish, leave Octoberish, travel next weekish.

Can you use the “ish” for something other than time? I ask – Such as billeting-ish or dining-ish?

No, I am informed -that is simply ick.

The US military went to an all volunteer force right after the Viet Nam draft ended. Depending on particular branch of service and the wants/desires/recruiter, various individuals received various deals and promises.

In reality, you volunteer for the military. After that, the oath that you swore means that you accept what comes next. You are serving the needs of the military. The military is not particularly obligated to you. After all, you are one little cog in a huge organization.

There is wisdom that says – don’t volunteer – if someone wants you to do something, you will be told or receive orders.

Now, we move on to the issue of deployments. A number of us were discussing the phenomena this afternoon. Of knowing that a deployment was on the horizon and just trying to position for the best job, good length of tour or locaion that was going to be tolerated.

One of the guys said he was “volunteered.” Ok, means that someone else made the decision and he just complied. Well, he replied, not really, I was told it would be much better if I just tossed my hat in the ring. It woud be a really positive thing and stand me in good stead when I was applying for long term civilian school.

Several heads nodded sagely – oh, you were voluntold……

Medical care should be clear and easy, right? Person gets bitten by an animal that could potentially have rabies, follow the protocol.

Now the problem becomes – whose protocol? Centers for Disease Control? ACIP? WHO?

Getting the idea? There are difference between countries on medicines, vaccines and treatment. Most of the time, between Europe, UK, US and OZ, these differences are trivial; mostly a difference of packaging or cultural dosing. The principles are the same, the care is the same.

And then we come to Rabies prophylaxis. WHO (World Health Organization) has a five shot protocol which is based on several factors: approved and tested vaccines, rising in viral titers, and actual prevalence of rabies. The latest US protocol is a four shot series. Based on US vaccines and risks, this is more than reasonable.

Now think about Afghanistan. Some of the assumptions we make in the US are simply not true – none of the feral animals have ever been immunized. Nor have their dams. The incremental difference in anti-body titers between 4 and 5 doses is not much. In the US it is unlikely to make a difference, but what about in a location where the assumption is likely that the feral is infected. In a location where we have seen rabies in 10 week old puppies.

All militaries adhere to their national standard; the challenges come when treating someone from another country. ISAF uses the WHO standard, except, of course, where national interests over ride for own country patients.

The debate is raging fast and furious.

Meanwhile, I spent some time thinking. If I was stupid enough to get bit by a feral animal here, I would not turn down any added protection that might be offered by a more conservative protocol that offered an additional vaccine dose.

What I discovered about KC-135s is small but significant. The plane was older (45) than most of the crew. We had two crews – the CCAT (Critical Care Augmentation Team) and the regular flight crew. The passenger section is the upper half of the fuesalage. The bottom half (this is a tanker) is fuel. That floor is ice cold. Trust me, you don’t want to laydown on the floor or even leave your boots in contact with the floor for any length of time.

I am not that tall, standing up was not an issue for me. If you are over 6′, I think it just might be! Besides the litter stands, there were a few comfortable patient seats, and a small row of jump seats. Small head, nothing like the fancy unit on the C-17.

Smaller plane, more fuel efficient, great crew. I read, talked and crawled into a comfortable chair for a while. Seven hours later, I climbed down the ladder, picked up my rucksack, signed in and went to my BHut to crash.

Spending the day cleaning out desk, parcels and emails. By this point, it is all starting to fade. Did I just dream it? Probably not, since I would never dream boxes in my bedroom or a computer that would not work in a billeting space.

Repeating the story a couple of times, it convinces me that I left. But it certainly feels like I have not.

stands for Space-required. Unlike downrange (or when one retires) when one flys Space-A (Available).

In the former case, it means that the Air Force is obligated to find me a seat sooner or later. And the Army is probably going to have to pay for that seat.

In the later, it means that the burden of getting somewhere is on me, and it will take however many days it takes (and, in some cases, can you spell …. never?)

Ramstein PAX terminal has a DVQ lounge, so at least I have been able to hook up my netbook to a LAN line and download a few things.

Flight goes out in a while, KC135. Never have flown on one of those before. The bad thing is, I know it is headed down range because there is the need for a CCAT mission…

More tomorrow when I am back to what passes for normalacy in my deployed world.

Between 1500 and 1600 this afternoon I was racing around collecting signatures like a kid on a scavenger hunt.

In military speak – it is called “clearing.” You have to check out at a number of locations for various reasons. For example, you have to clear finance to make sure that you have enough cash to last to your next stop. You have to clear the baggage room to make sure that they don’t wind up with stuff of yours staying here while you are on a flight off to some other country or another.

And, most obviously, you have to clear medical. It is why you were here in the first place!

Most individuals are on a flight to the US from here; headed to home station for further treatment. Some on commerical flights and some regulated through the evac system. A few of us got done what we came to do and head back to the deployment. The bad thing about people not returning is a stready drain in prepared manpower downrange. It is why we now have a number of medical specialists deployed who really don’t have much of a combat trauma role, but can make a difference on diagnosing disease and keeping the ok in theater. Cardiology and Dermatology are classic examples.

I hate to say it, but there are a fair number who just don’t want to go back. Usually it is those with medial problems rather than those with injuries or combat trauma. I think the fact of getting injured might just be a bit more acceptable than getting ill and it might just leave a number of soldiers feeling like they are still part of the unit. Attitude is everything.

So there I was, at almost every turn explaining to people that no – I was not headed to the US, I was headed back to Bagram. After collecting all those signatures, I received my orders. In the morning the very few of us headed back downrange will clear billeting, bus over to the PAX terminal and get manifested (I hope).

Unlike downrange – this is Space-R = Space-Required. I had been hopeful that rank might help. Maybe, maybe not, rumor has that there is some BG who has been stranded for a few days. Here is hoping that it is because of flight lack, not because of no space on flights that are going!

But anyway – I have orders. If I don’t get out, we will get bused to ROB and billeted there. Not for fun and games but because it is a lock down location where they will be able to find us and load us up on no notice should a plane suddenly express a desire for passengers.

Now, if the PX had not been closed today for inventory (I kid you not), my day would have been perfect.

Oh!!!! You need to see this! Real Ice Fishing for those of you who don’t have enough snow and ice. Some people actually (about 10,000) have a good time with a line, hook and hole in the ice!

This past week has been a blur. It wasn’t until answering an email from Carmen that I realized that my subtlety had been perhaps too much so. I suppose I can use as an excuse the fact that long distance flying from Bagram to Landstuhl took a number of hours longer than planned (that stop in Kandahar which I still don’t get) or the fact that I am sleep deprived. It meant that I got up on Thurs – the 20th and didn’t get to bed till quite late on the 21st (and then you have to add in the time zones as well. I should admit that I am just a bit past the point in my life where staying up for 36-48 hours has any appeal.

But honestly, it is more likely that I did not come clean early on through sheer embarrassment at needing to come out of theater for something as stupid as a retirement physical. Some parts of it just could not be accomplished downrange. While I was at it it, I took care of a few other bits and pieces. But still, there are all those who are ill or injured really need care. My guilt kicks in at the thought that I might be depriving someone else of a needed appointment.

People are nice, extremely helpful. Tomorrow is the last of what I need to do (and last stop with the blood sucking lab), then hopefully I will be cleared to get back to work till the end of March. Obviously, I am not holding my breath about it being easy to Space-R out of here, since they want new orders (visit the movement branch) and an incredibly early show time.

more as soon as I have a clue

(with a 0505 S1 to Landstuhl from Heidelberg)

It some ways it is not the big things that throw the deployed environment into sharp contrast with home, it is the little things.

• Being able to brush one’s teeth with water from the tap
• Passing people on the street who are not wearing weapon harnesses
• Asphalt streets glittering like diamonds with ice coating rather than being coated with dust and sand
• Paths paved with bone stone rather than just covered with ankle twisting size rocks.

But again there are things the same:

• idiots on the S-Bahns who want four seats to themselves, just like everyone on the downrange buses, only without the excuse of wearing battlerattle.
• Drivers who manage to speed even in areas where it should not be possible.
• People working hard to get their jobs done and support others.

In the end, I think it comes down to how easy it is to get the job done and how much stress it creates on a daily basis. Changing environments, in and of itself is stressful.

On the other hand, Aviation DFAC can’t compare with a really good Thai dinner.

or perhaps managing change or at least coming to grips with expections that don’t relate to the current situation. That was what I was thinking early this evening.

In some ways, working and dealing with Afghanistan is not all that hard for me. I know it is different from the other locations to which I have been deployed. It is certainly not the Balkans, Kuwait, Korea, Iraq. The weather is different, the bases are different. It almost is an island or time onto itself with its own peculiarities rules and expectations. I don’t make the assumption that I understand the place or know the rules without asking. Yes, I can get surprised by something, but I don’t walk in the door thinking that I have it all under control.

Dealing with Germany, whether it be one of the bases or the country itself is a different matter for me. We have made our home in Germany off and on since 1981 and I get caught in that challenging word – “assume.”

I assume that I know how to get around or get home (this one has bitten me more than once since construction patterns have forced me to backtrack or go around a different direction). I know what services are where, and what time things are open.

Wrong. The world is not stagnent. Opening times are not the same as they were 30 years ago. The stores lining the main street through downtown Landstuhl no longer has a yarn store (it closed sometime around 1993-95) and many of the family owned stores have given way to chains and franchises.  The train station no longer has a lobby or ticket window meaning that you are going to have to operate an electronic ticket machine while freezing outside in the cold.

You can’t drive up to the front of the hospital complex from town. In fact, that gate has been closed by years but, again, there is construction with the appearance that eventually the wall which now has a set of gates that look like river locks just might open for the right kind of traveling vessel.

On the grounds – two of the old Ramstein Inn buildings have been converted to house those registered with the WTU and a new USO, open from 1130-2300 has opened between.

As I look around me most days and realize just how young the medics, docs and nurses are, it gives me a fright. Sometime when I was not looking, the world changed around me. Since looking out my eyes I really don’t think I am any older, something else must have changed. Not me.

But that really is the point, isn’t it?