Home, Home Again. . .

Hi Everyone!

Sorry it took me so long to post this after my successful arrival home. It has been a fantastic month; I have spent all my time enjoying the benefits provided by those soldiers who went before me to keep us free. You can’t imagine how rich and fat we are. I’m still in culture shock.

I finally got my flight out on the 26th of May. That morning I went out to the tarmac and loaded bags on the plane with some young airmen, to secure a seat in the first class cabin, as those of us who worked would get to board first as a reward. Sweaty and smelly, I had a whole row to myself and stretched out for the flight home.

We stopped in Budapest to refuel. Surprisingly beautiful, the Budapest countryside is. It is very verdant, and all the houses had bright orange tile roofs. Poplars lined the roads and cool breezes blew across the grasses of the open fields between the runways. I had expected a vast and grey post-communist wasteland. Instead what I saw intrigued me, I now want to visit there on an extended vacation. It’s a good thing they overthrew the Ottomans and the Commies.

We climbed up an over the Danube, which was a steel gray ribbon, not the rumored blue, and pushed onward towards Ireland.

In Ireland I stopped over just long enough to drink a pair of Guinness pints and chase them with a Scrumpy Jack. Man, they hit me like a lead brick. My brain clouded over and I floated around the duty free shops trying to maintain. When they let me back on the plane I slipped into a coma until the vessel broached American airspace.

In Baltimore nice things began to happen to me. People, random people, approached me and began thanking me for my service. Let me create the image for you. I stunk, I was dirty, haggard and unshaven, if not for the uniform I’d have looked homeless; but no matter, people kept approaching me. Of course many well wishers were people of my grandparents’ generation but surprisingly enough, teens, yuppies and twenty-somethings approached me as well. After the hell of Iraq and the tension of Al-Udeid, to return to an America, so clean, so rich, so happy and full of patriotism, was an overwhelming experience for me. Another cool event occurred as I went to the ticket counter to get my boarding pass, only to find that I was in a first class seat, Hmmm, maybe it was the only seat open, whatever, I took my windfall and set off for the next stop in Memphis.

Now if BWI was nice to me, Memphis was like a party for this returning GI. “God bless you, sir.” was the perpetual refrain of the Volunteer State. Smiles greeted me from everyone as I marched through the corridors of the airport. I stopped and ate a BBQ pulled pork sandwich in the home of the free. Ah, succulent pork. It’s just further proof that God loves us. (Take that Mohammed!)

When I went to the gate, my name was called over the intercom.

“Captain Kewnen(sic), please report to gate six ticket counter.” All in that sickly sweet southern accent.

If you have never had your name called loudly and publicly over a PA, I will report that it is not elation you feel, but fear.

“God Damn!” I thought. “I’m freaking bumped.”

I trudged to the gate counter with my heavy bags and heavy sighs as I presented my tickets and looked dejectedly out the window at the plane.

The woman at the gate deadpanned, “There’s a problem with your tickets, Captain.”

Another managerial type arrived and both whispered and pointed at the screen with concern on their faces. Finally, the male manager nodded yes as they put me through the final torment.

“Here you go Captain. Were sorry that happened.” He said as he handed me back a newly printed ticket.

My stomached burned as I smelled the acrid, fresh ink.

“Someone forgot to upgrade one of our American heroes to first class. Welcome home!”

I almost cried.

They both shook my hand enthusiastically, and when the time came they called my name and I boarded ahead of everyone on the flight, the flight that brought me home to my wife and children.

Now I’m home, and back at work and the grind. Every day however more of my friends are preparing to go, many of my friends still labor and serve in Iraq, with no end in sight. Remember them. Despite their anonymity, they are enduring a dirty dangerous war so that we can continue to enjoy our wealth and remain free of Islam’s oppressive yoke.

God bless them.

Purgatory & Redemption

Lasciate ogni speranza, voi chi entrata!

By the time I post this I’ll be gone. Gone from here that is. I have made it all the way to Al-Udeid from Balad, so I guess the worst part is over. I’m out of a war zone and here in safe calm Al-Udeid in the Emirate of Qatar. If you have never seen where Qatar is on the globe, look for it, and you’ll understand what I’m about to tell you. Qatar is right on the eastern coast of Saudi Arabia. Qatar is HOT; really, really, hot. Now, I live in south central Texas which gives me a great frame of reference to evaluate hotness (temp, not chicks), and the temperature in Texas doesn’t even compare. It is late May here and it is easily over 100° everyday.

It feels like a blow dryer is on you wherever you go. There are no plants or trees, no shade, just flat hot blinding white sand for as far as you can see; and then farther than you could imagine.

I have been confined to this purgatory by an oversight. Everyone else I have served with is home, and I am stuck. I have become a low priority cargo item in a active war zone.

I have guesses as to why I am here but it’s not important to point fingers. It wasn’t intentional. Everyone left me three days ago and I can only patiently wait for the angelic charter flight that will take me home.

There is nothing to do here, but wait. Wait in this hot boring void for salvation. I am sure this is what purgatory would be like were there such a thing. I have been to Hell (Iraq), now I’m separated from all I love and hold dear, without friends, advocates or company. I have no purpose. I’m sitting here haunted by the memories of the carnage in Balad. I think about all the heroics and death. What I accomplished, and what I failed at. I’m haunted by memories of my Wife and children, who I can call, but like the torment of Tantalus they are out of reach. I have prayed fervently to my God to deliver me from here. I sent word to my family to do the same. Despite my belief that he will intervene for me I am unbelievably discouraged. (To further reference Classical Lit. 101, I am Odysseus, condemned to wander after the war unable to go home. Feel free to draw comparisons to this as well.)

Troops that have served together should never be separated, ever. That is why part of the treatment for battle fatigue is getting a soldier back, and to the camaraderie of his unit as soon as possible. I think I understand why now. My experiences were certainly not as harrowing as the average soldier, but I don’t feel they were light-hearted either. During my exit interview we were asked if we had seen wounded or dead soldiers and civilians.

“Of course!” I answered.

“Oh, But you’re hospital” the psych tech said. “That’s your job.”

Well, bullshit! Of course I have seen many dead people. Maybe even a lot of dead people compared to the common man, but that doesn’t change the horrendous quality and huge quantity I have seen while serving there. I wanted to go home just like everyone does, but I deserved to go home with my unit. All troops should return home triumphant.

I have set up camp in the passenger terminal and I am not leaving unless it is on a plane. Roughly eighteen hours from now a charter flight will land and I will board it. I want to be right here in case anything happens. I fear that if something goes wrong I will lose it, and I do not exaggerate when I say that. At least they’ll have to evac me home as a psych case if I freak out on someone. In addition, the poor person who has to sit with me on the trip home is in for a treat. I showered this morning but in the heat, my desert uniform and I have begun to smell pretty ripe. If I do a PTA in the john I might be good for a few more hours. I smell like an Iraqi. So I’ll stop writing for now, when I post this I hope it is from home. Wish me luck . . .

Cheap Riverfront Property

1500 years behind in the world.

Hi everyone!

Ok I said I wouldn’t write again but I couldn’t help doing it. We are getting the new influx of people from the states and it fantastic. The staff is swelling . . . Hold on; I mean the work force is increasing. (less sexual innuendo in that wording) So I have a lot of teaching to do, which is nice. I like to teach. Probably has to do with my know-it-all nature; I have accepted that I just can’t help it. I’m too old to adjust the larger aspects of my personality.

So I have packed my bags, and have begun to say goodbye to Balad. I want to say I’ll miss this place but, Nah. I’ll be glad to get back to the USA. You just can’t imagine how good we have it in the US. Our poor are rich. I’m sure this will raise hackles with some but it is true. Our poorest have opportunities others in the world never will see.

This little part of Iraq that I have witnessed could be really nice if Americans populated it. We would begin to invest in the land and infrastructure. We would band together to improve our surroundings. Americans would build big houses on the Tigris. Our people would dam portions of it for electricity, (and for fishing). We’d make mud bricks into an aesthetically pleasing architectural feature. We would create vineyards and make fine wines. Americans would fool people into thinking the mud here was healthy for you and put up spas. We would also create tourism, luring the entire world with slogans like “Back to the Cradle” and “Where it All Began”. It would be so nice that we’d have to build a wall to keep the illegal Iranians out. We’d have them picking dates for less than minimum.

We believe in the future as Americans. We invest in the future. Americans are not fatalistic we are optimistic. We don’t care if Allah wills it, who cares if Allah wills it. We believe God tells us to prosper. Don’t take your talents and hide them, invest them. Use what God has given you. Work hard and you will be blessed. Despite the modern secular nature of our government we still embrace these Christian ideas. Iraqis could learn from us but they are hindered in that every faction of Islam believes that government should be from Allah. No separation of religion from government, Shari’a law for everyone. But every little faction believes they have the truth. That is why they teeter on the brink of chaos. “Render unto Caesar what is Caesar, and to God the things that are God’s”, with this quote Jesus freed all westerners from the tyranny of religion. Now those of you who know me know that I am devout. But imagine an America with a state religion. Now imagine it with one you don’t agree with. Take it further and imagine it with Old Testament laws enacted, ‘Eye for an Eye’ laws. Are you getting the picture? Now imagine it with those laws enforced by humans, only male humans, with all the inherent flaws we engender. This is what Mohammed preached and this is the possible reality of a world under Islamic control. Totalitarianism is bad, religious totalitarianism would be hell, as oft demonstrated through out this part of the world.

So as I leave here I can only pray for the salvation of the Middle East. Modest salvation delivered in the form of American SECULAR democracy with free market capitalism; and Profound Salvation from the deprivations of Islam. As a Christian I feel a degree of guilt that I’m not staying to teach the Iraqis, and for convenience sake I’ll hide behind my government’s orders to not proselytize (weak as I am). But if the Christian message cannot be spread, we should therefore not encourage any other faith. Let the American President and his staff say truly to the American people and to the people of the world that Islamic hegemony and Shari’a law are acceptable for no one to live under and that the world would better be rid of them. I fear that my government is too ‘diplomatic’ to speak that truth despite how strongly they might believe it, and Iraq and our armies suffer needlessly for that.

Every fifth round is a tracer. . .

Truthiness, is a real word. Mom said so.

Stephen Colbert, perhaps the funniest commentator on TV, tackled the administration and the Whitehouse Press Corps at their annual dinner. He always presents biting satire but despite the high quality of his material you can hear the crickets chirp and sense the unease from the crowd as he zips through his shtick. (see links below) This guy is so good he has surpassed his mentor Jon Stewart, in little than a year. But the Press Corps were too shocked to laugh. I’m left thinking they must take themselves a little too seriously. Here are my highlights:

“I believe the government that governs best is the government that governs least. And by these standards, we have set up a fabulous government in Iraq.”

“I am a committed Christian, I believe that everyone has the right to their own religion, be you Hindu, Jewish or Muslim. I believe there are infinite paths to accepting Jesus Christ as your personal savior.”

“By the way, before I get started, if anybody needs anything else at their tables, just speak slowly and clearly into your table numbers. Somebody from the NSA will be right over with a cocktail.”

“I believe in democracy. I believe democracy is our greatest export. At least until China figures out a way to stamp it out of plastic for three cents a unit.”

“Now, there may be an energy crisis. This president has a very forward-thinking energy policy. Why do you think he's down on the ranch cutting that brush all the time? He's trying to create an alternative energy source. By 2008 we will have a mesquite-powered car!”

“As excited as I am to be here with the president, I am appalled to be surrounded by the liberal media that is destroying America, with the exception of Fox News. Fox News gives you both sides of every story: the president's side, and the vice president's side.”

“See who we've got here tonight. General Moseley, Air Force Chief of Staff. General Peter Pace, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. They still support Rumsfeld. Right, you guys aren't retired yet, right? Right, they still support Rumsfeld.”

“Look, by the way, I've got a theory about how to handle these retired generals causing all this trouble: don't let them retire! Come on, we've got a stop-loss program; let's use it on these guys. I've seen Zinni and that crowd on Wolf Blitzer. If you're strong enough to go on one of those pundit shows, you can stand on a bank of computers and order men into battle. Come on.”

“Mayor Nagin! Mayor Nagin is here from New Orleans, the chocolate city! Yeah, give it up. Mayor Nagin, I'd like to welcome you to Washington, D.C., the chocolate city with a marshmallow center.”

http://movies.crooksandliars.com/WH-Dinner-Colbert.wmv -LoRES

http://movies.crooksandliars.com/WH-Dinner-Colber.mov
-HiRES (huge file)

Begining of the End

Hi everyone!

Getting close to the end now. Sorry I haven’t posted for a while. Many of the things that were so new and exciting upon my arrival have become mundane to me now. I’m worried that I might bore you with constant repetition, as I’m becoming bored with my existence here in Balad. Was I ready to go home before? I’m doubly ready now, and I feel my exasperation will grow geometrically from today.

The Army anesthesia folks who began this tour with us have left. I will miss Major Brian Pitcher, most. He is from Walter Reed ARMC in DC and is a superlative CRNA and officer. He was tireless worker and generous with his cigars. I’m lucky if I can count him as a friend. Their replacements are unknown commodities and we are still getting to know them. We have a new Captain and a Lt.Col. So far they have been doing fine, but frankly I only have three weeks with them and my heart’s not interested in making new friends as such. I’m so much more interested in saying goodbye to the ones I have.

Speaking of cigars, I’m smoking like crazy. Crazy for me that is. I have smoked about 4 cigars in the last year. Here in Balad I smoke that much in a week. Cigars aren’t like cigarettes. I don’t get that “I’m addicted-craving” feeling from them. But, I know they’re not healthy for me. Its one vice I still get to enjoy here. My friends who fly bring me Cubans from Germany (shhhh!) Sounds like a code word doesn’t it?

“Senor K, the ‘Cubans from Germany’ will be arriving by plane late tonight. Meet us at the flight line and bring money or chu-know what will happen . . . and don’t try to double cross us again!”(Click)

Brian, my uncle sent me a serious quality assortment, which I have run through already, and I wish I had more. (Thanks Brian they were schweet.) As vices go they are pretty benign. Hell, we roasted a whole pig at Mardi gras. If Allah is offended by porn and booze I guess he turns a blind eye to all the swine we eat here in the land of the prophet. I have more disdain for Muslim bullshit than ever after being here. Islam forces these people to live in a backward state forever cursed to follow the precepts of that false prophet Mohammed. Many of the jingoistic people here are, shall we say, less than accepting of the Iraqis, I just have pity for them.


My roommate and I barbequed tonight. We got a small pan and some charcoal. He was able to buy two thick, well-marbled rib eyes from the PX three days ago, and we marinated them until tonight in soy, honey, grapefruit juice and spices that we cobbled together. Man, were they good! We resurrected them from their spicy entombment and slapped ‘em on the grill over the piping hot coals. Ice cold near beer, and chips with salsa. It was the best meal I have eaten here. We even sat outside and continued to eat while a mortar exploded a couple thousand yards from us. We didn’t even take cover. Whatever, it was too good to stop. I just can’t wait for a big glass of cabernet to drink with my steaks when I get home. I’m salivating as I think of it.
Hear that Kim?

Now is the time to send anything else to me. I have less than a month to go I will be out of country about ten days from the end of the month, and I will not be here to receive anything you have to send. Make sure I don’t have to ship it home as I already have a couple hundred dollars of stuff to send right now. God willing I’ll be home soon, and I look forward to seeing you all.

BeeGees and Eyebrow Hair

Hi everyone.
I’m ready to come home. Just in case you wondered.
This letter was going to be a catharsis. I had a bad day yesterday, and I was going to unload by writing you. E-mailing you guys and this subsequent Blog have been a way to pass the time and get out my missives to the huge list of people that I need to correspond with while I’m here. I don’t have the time or the speed to type out letters to everyone so this seemed to be the best way to accomplish that task.

But as I sit here now I’m having second thoughts about spilling my feelings all over the page for you. I hope that you all read what I send, but I suspect that mostly I’m sending my thoughts out into the electronic ether, to be casually glanced at as proof that I’m still alive; which is fine. But, in the interest of keeping the meager audience I may have I’m going to spare you the emotions and stick to the story.

My patient yesterday was a ten-year-old boy. I guess ten because a lot of Iraqis don’t know their ages. They don’t know their weight either. Weight and age are unimportant to them as far as I have seen. You are alive or dead, old or young, fat or skinny. Maybe you are thirty, which can be old or young depending on the amount of wear on your tires. But he was young, pre-pubescent and dying.

We were told he was coming from Baghdad after an unfortunate encounter between a brick and his head. The Army’s 207th Head and Neck Team are posted with us in Balad. So we get the every neuro trauma from the entire theater. The neuro team is really fantastic. Some of the lazier people here don’t like their presence, because it means we get all of the severely head injured patients. Severely head injured patients are a lot of work, both intra-op and post op, but I don’t care. It’s become the most high profile thing we do. Without them here the suspicion is that the Army in Baghdad would only send us the cruddy cases they didn’t want.
But back to the kid. . .

His head was swollen and purple. He had a massive sub-cutaneous hematoma throughout his scalp. Giving him the appearance of a hydrocephalic. His pupils were fixed and dilated, a really bad sign. I placed a subclavian central line in him while the rest of the team prepped and assisted with the surgical setup. Craniectomies bleed a lot. So we spent a bit of time preparing to combat that before the start of the actual surgery. (Incidentally, he had blood products administered upon his arrival in the ED, which was due to the blood policy I spearheaded.)
Then the surgeons began their task. I continued a full-bore resuscitation with blood, plasma and fluid. 700ml of blood were lost in his scalp prior to his arrival. Maybe one liter was oozing out onto the field. The neurosurgeon had told me right at the beginning that he though the kid was too far gone but of course we were going to try anyway, which I agreed to. Things proceeded well for a few minutes. But by the time a quarter hour had passed, he was dwindling. I asked for, and got help from an operating room RN, Emma Piehl and my boss Lt. Col. Schank. We needed three people just to keep up with the blood loss, ventilatory efforts and pharmaceutical interventions. Trauma surgeries were proceeding in every room so there were few personnel to spare. Brett Schlifka, the surgeon, called over to me and said that he was sure that the brain was dead. The tissue was white, secondary to the swelling that had starved it of blood and nutrients. My team were maxing out an epinephrine (adrenaline) drip and trying to keep him well ventilated despite the fluid that was shifting into his lungs.

This child was dead, but his heart didn’t know that yet. Dr. Schlifka suggested that we cease giving blood, as it was futile. I kept him alive long enough to get him to the ICU where his heart exhausted its last beats about thirty minutes later. I had never been so depressed over a patient’s death, before I encountered this child. As an RN I didn’t have the responsibility for my patients’ lives that I currently do. It weighs so much heavier upon me now.

Now, for the really depressing news. I went to get my hair cut today. Going to the barber here is an experience. The barbers are I believe, Indian (dot, not feather). There are so many Asiatic third country nationals here: Philippinos, Nepalese, Pakis, Malays etc. It’s hard to keep them straight. I think these dudes are Indian, however.
Anyway, the barber is cutting my hair and in the background they have a stereo blaring pre-disco Bee-Gees. The kind of BeeGee's you hear on AM. My barber, I believe in an effort to add to the surrealism of the scene, is whistling along to “Lights go Down in Massachusetts”. I’ve got an Indian, entranced by the musical stylings of the Australian Brothers Gibb, who are singing a song about a NewEngland state, as I sit in Iraq. I don't think this is what people expect from the new globalism but this is the strange reality of it.
and just then , he does it. . .

He takes the scissors and cuts my EYEBROW HAIR!
Aw shit! I have wild old-man eyebrows?! Why didn’t anyone tell me? Now it’s shit like that; that can make you really depressed.

Big Gun and the Big Board

Hi everyone.

So more cool events unfolded here for me in a brief respite from the monotonous grind of casualty-care, that we do everyday at Anaconda.

Recently I gave anesthesia to an officer who I cannot describe in further detail, but suffice it to say he is very well connected and highly placed in our organization here at Balad. Because of the kindness shown to him by his surgeon and I we were invited to go on a behind the scenes look at our base defenses.

It began with a look at the weapons caches we have captured from the insurgents in the area. He had his staff show us piles and piles of weapons, of all makes and models from ancient WWII equipment, to the latest AK47s from the eastern bloc. We saw the mortar tubes, captured from the various Muslim insurgents, that have plagued this base as of late. Most interestingly he showed us various IED devices and how they were triggered. I’m frustrated when it comes to describing the things I saw; because they are secret. If anyone were to know what we know, say by stumbling across a careless blogger for instance, the enemy might change tactics. So vivid description will have to wait until I’m face to face with all of you.

Following that we went into the JDOC (Joint Defense Ops Center). The real secret stuff is in here. Remember in ‘Dr. Strangelove’ when the American general played by George C. Scott loses it because the soviet ambassador is going to see the BIG BOARD! Well the JDOC is the home of the big board for the area it is supposed to cover. I can't even tell you the area it covers. ARRGH! I just can’t tell you more than that, but it was really awesome, and I truly mean that. Our enemies are so outclassed technologically; I’m at a loss for words. It is really impressive to see how this NASA-like command center has real time control of the battle space, and integrates seamlessly with the troops in the field and planes in the air. I don’t feel anymore protected but I see now why we are as safe as we have been. I just wish I could I could truly tell the story. Kudos, to the men who devote their tour to keeping the bad guys on the run.

Finally we went on a tour of the actual fortifications and gun batteries around the camp. At the end of this we got a tour of the 155mm self-propelled howitzer. This is a cannon on tracks. It can lob a shell up to 30mi away. It looks like a big tank, but the armor is thinner and it is not as fast as a tank. Our host then let us put it through its paces. What a machine. I actually got to drive it around a small track and slog it through deep mud and gravel. Easily in the top five coolest things I have ever done in my fifteen years of military service. It’s an automatic and drives with a little steering wheel; anyone of you reading now could drive it. But, it weighs 27 tons and when it is moving you get a real rush of power (similar to an American SUV). Sadly we did not get to fire it but I could tell the crew would have loved to demonstrate that for us as well.

Later, I sat outside smoking a cigar and contemplating all that I have done lately, I watched the Blackhawks come and go just 100ft above my head and I came to the realization that I have done and seen so many things that I always wanted to do as a boy, I’m living the dream. My twelve-year-old self would have passed through puberty in one day if he had seen what I saw today. But I would trade it all in less than a second to be back in the arms of my wife and to hear the tinkly voice on my toddler or be goobered on by my baby. I’d give all this crap up just to be back with them and not have to leave their presence ever again (at least until the teenage years).

. . .I miss them so.