Day 181

A new week with a new plan. We received two new soldiers to our office this morning, much needed and very welcomed, and we spent time today figuring out a new work schedule. I won't bore you with the entire plan, but I will bore you with my new work schedule. Starting tomorrow I will begin my work day at 2 in the afternoon and leave the office at 10 in the evening. Also, beginning this weekend I will start having Sunday's off. For the rest of the deployment. Yeah me! I got here on the 30th of November and have had one day off in that time. I know I was just in Germany but I don't count that, because it'd make me seem less needy for a day off. So, ignoring Germany, this coming Sunday will be my second day off since arriving here. I don't know what to do with all of this free time. Maybe I'll begin by improving my grooming and hygeine practices. Start your goals low and work your way up I always say. I'm pacing myself; I've still got six months to go and I don't want to peak too early.

Day 180

Back in Iraq, making another tax-free dollar a day. It turns out that Iraq does NOT use Daylight Savings Time, so I am to remain at an eight hour difference between here and Central Time in the States. I went to all that trouble not to learn to convert to the eight hour difference and now I have to. Of course, last week while in Germany, we were two hours difference from Iraq, which was confusing, because I'd look at the clock, add two hours, then take back nine hours and then add an hour to make it right with the central time zone. But even that was problematic as every time I looked at the face of a clock I added nine hours and then took back an hour, I was taking back the hour by mentally moving the hour hand back an hour in an anti-clickwise direction. (Well, not really using my thoughts to move to the hand itself. It was more of a move-it-with-my-minds-eye sort of mental thing) However that wasn't taking back the hour, just making it a nine hour difference again. So I never really did think of it as a nine hour difference with a one hour adjustment to make it eight hours, but in fact it was a nine hour difference with a one hour non-adjustment to make it nine hours. But, now that we're not going on daylight savings time it'll always be an eight hour difference, so I have to learn how to look at the clock and do the math all differently again. Add eight hours and change the 'm'; either to 'a' or 'p'. I think I've got it.

Day 177 - 26 March

I was released from the hospital this morning. Check out at 0445, breakfast at 0530, bus ride to Ramstien Air Force Base, 20 minutes of comfort riding with a German driver who spoke halting English but loved to use it. I checked in at the counter to be told there were to flights to southern Iraq or Kuwait today, but there was a flight tomorrow at 1:30 in the afternoon. What to do with me until then? Turns out, the Army has a plan. I was picked up in a van and driven to R.O.D, don’t know what it stands for, and given a bed. Oh, what lovely accommodations we have here. I am in a warehouse. Not kidding. There are a total of 400 beds here, most of them used storage for our stuff, with about 60 of us in total sleeping here. Bare concrete floors and room dividers to keep the men and women separated. There are free Heater meals and MRE’s and some snacks just outside of the TV room. If you have ever been inside the USPFO warehouse in Bismarck you’ll get an idea of the size of this place. My flight tomorrow is supposed to take me to Kuwait where I’ll have to wait, again, for a flight back into Iraq. Thank goodness they’re paying me.

It is now Sunday the 29th and I arrived safely back in Tallil yesterday.

Day 176

Still in Germany. I have to check the flight roster in about half an hour to see if I'm listed. If so, I leave here at 0445 tomorrow. If not, I wait another day. I have cable TV in my room. The Armed Forces Networks play. Some channels in English, some in German. It's odd to watch an episode of the Simpsons over-dubbed into German.
The staff and facilities here are great. But better than they are the other patients. All of us here have been flown in from either Iraq, Kosovo or Afghanistan. We are Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines. To be flown to Germany means there's something wrong with you, so you don't meet anybody that's not banged up a little bit. My knee seems to pale in comparison with some of the soldiers I've met here. One guy is being shipped home because he has Crone's disease; one guy was sent here because they thought he had MS. Turns out he doesn't have MS, but they're looking for the cause of his problems. One guy told me he had to go back to his room and lie down as his head was killing him. He said his brain is sloshing around in his skull. I met a guy that had his pinkie finger caught in door of a hummer. It was 30 seconds before anybody believed him and opened the door. It crushed his knuckle and he's going home to get a plate implanted. More than one guy is here with a broken leg or foot received from exercising. Several guys are here because they were caught in an IED blast and suffered a concussion. I am fully aware that it is not 1863 and it is not the Civil War, but I keep on thinking of "Red Badge of Courage". Left, encountered the wounded, go back. Maybe a bit of a stretch?

Day 175 - Evening

First off, we had snow. Not much, but it snowed. Last week it was 85 and we were having dust storms. What a wild swing in weather.
I finally saw the doc again today. I am not going to have surgery. I am going back to Iraq. I have something called Patellofemoral Syndrome. That's what's causing the pain in the front of the knee. I also have a Popliteal synovial cyst in the back of my knee causing pain in the back of the knee. I also have an extremely tight hamstring that's causing pain on the side of my knee. Word of advice; Don't deploy when you're old. They slapped a knee brace on my right leg and showed me the door. I have to wait a few days for a flight, but it's back to Tallil to finish my tour. It'll be good; with the desert heat pounding on us for the next six months I should be able to sweat off that last 40 pounds of water weight. I should come home a lean, mean, pink fighting machine.

Day 175 - morning

The barracks are at far end of the hospital, on the east side. The easiest, and shortest, route to anywhere in the hospital is through a door about 150 feet from the barracks. We wander through the halls to get to the Dining Facility, the Shoppette and our appointments. As in every hospital there are signs labeling all offices and hallways. There is one sign that I keep noticing, even though I have no need of either office. I suppose it makes sense, from a medical point of view, but as a layman I don't undertand the connection. Why is the Urology office and the Lactation room in the same area? They don't seem to be in the same area on the human body, so why would they be in the same area in the hospital? I don't get it.

Day 173 - evening

Other than not having anything to do but to sleep and wait for my next appointment, all here is well. I am at the MTD(Medical Transition Detachment) and being treated very well. The rooms here are two-man rooms, with two rooms sharing a bathroom. Oh, the joy of not having to walk 100 feet to go to the bathroom, or another 100 feet to take a shower. And here, no combat showers. The first shower I took here lasted only 4 or 5 minutes, but today, I know I was in there for at least 10 minutes. Hot water; steam; privacy. The things we took for granted. When we arrived here, we were all given a voucher for up to $250 of clothing from the local PX. I bought a new pair of shoes, two pairs of blue jeans, four shirts, socks and underware. I haven't bought this many clothes since, well, I think, in my life. We eat in the hospital dining facility, and if it isn't the best food in the world, at least it is free. I am in my room, using the free wireless internet service, watching 'Ben Hur' on the TV, and drinking a Gatorade kept chilled by the in-room fridge. Carpet on the floors and a blanket on the bed; who needs anything else?

Day 173

Sunday in the Barracks at the hospital. Ah, sleep; let your waiting arms embrace me. A word of warning for the faint of heart and the faint of smell, the following information should not be taken lightly. If you have a weak stomach, I urge you, do not read on. I've warned you. If you continue reading it is at your own peril. I've got some seriously stinky farts. I guess my system became accustomed to the food in Iraq, because it isn't used to the food here in Germany. It's not that we weren't fed three times a day in Tallil, for there was plenty of food, but I'm not sure from where the food was shipped. Certainly it wasn't from the US or Europe. It's such a shock to my system to have real beef; real chicken; real sauces. Soda NOT from a can; milk not in a juice box. There are actually water fountains here. The first one I saw I just had to stop and stare for a minute. I didn't actually need a drink, but I just couldn't help myself.

Day 171

Still in Germany. Saw the doc today. Had some x-rays. I have physical therapy in about an hour and then a MRI today at 6 pm. My next doctors visit will be on the 25th at 2 pm. I won't know anything until then. Other than that, this place is incredible. Green Grass!! Trees!! Hills!! There's not a layer of dust on and in everything. My room mate showed up with a buddy and they wanted to room together, so, for now, I have a double room without the other half. And it's so quiet. It's hard to describe how quiet it really is. No generators running all over the place; no up-armored trucks driving all over the place; no planes and helicopters flying all the time. When I'm in a room all by myself, there's a noticeable ringing in my ears, just from the quiet. I didn't know how loud life in Iraq was until I wasn't there. More later.

Day 170

Today I find myself in Landstuhl, Germany. Yet another stop on my journey. About Christmas-time, after walking on all of the rocks that populate COB Adder, my right knee began to ache, and then it started hurting. I went in to sick call shortly after New Years, was given 800 milligram Motrin, Ranger Candy, and told to take it easy, stay off the rocks(through levitation, apparently), and come back in three weeks. I did that. Things weren't getting any better. Two doctors appointments, with three weeks between visits and two physical therapist visits later, I finally got to see the orthepedic surgeon in Tallil. My visit with him was two days ago, Tuesday the 17th. He said that I have a messed up knee, torn miniscus something or other, and he wants me to get a MRI. There are only two MRI machines available; one in Kuwait and the other here in Germany. He won't send anybody to the MRI machine in Kuwait, a short one hour flight, because of the the stupid rule in Kuwait. Apparently the docs in Kuwait have to maintain an 85% return-to-work rate. So, everybody the docs from Iraq sent to Kuwat were sent back without having a MRI, just so the docs in Kuwait could keep their numbers up. So, Tuesday I have the appointment and get paperwork I have to fill out to get to Germany. I dropped the paperwork off with the unit and they got it back to the hospital around noon. By noon on the 18th I hadn't heard anything, and went to lunch. When I returned, at 1245, I was told that I had a flight at 1600(4 pm for you civilian types) that day. I went to my CHU and finished packing. I got on a C-130, prop plane, with other injured soldiers flying to Germany for medical treatment and spent the night in Balad, Iraq. They got us up at about 0300 in the morning to make our flight. We boarded a C17, this time a plane with jets, and 4-1/2 hours later arrived in Germany. We got to the hospital, got fed, got checked in, got our rooms, and got a shower. My appointment is scheduled for 0930 tomorrow and we'll go from there.

Day 167

So, there I was, visiting with some of the fine people with whom I am deployed, and somebody said something interesting. My mind, working the way it does, formulated an idea that it would make a good blog entry. I even spent some time mulling it over in my head until I had a fairly interesting story. And then the Alzheimer's kicked in. I got back here and couldn't remember what it was. Oh, I remember having a thought about having a thought, but for the life of me, that thought escapes me. You'll just have to take my word for it that it was the best blog, EVER, only to be lost due to the ravages of age. Speaking of stories, those of you who sometimes let me hang around with you should be happy. As those who hang with me know, I know only about 100 stories from my life, worth repeating for entertainment value. And as those who hang with me also know, I have no problem repeating the stories as they move to the front of the line in my brain. After this adventure I'll be able to add dozens of more stories to my collection, cutting down on the number of repeats my friends have to sit through, and won't they be happy! For instance, in the office we collect lines of the 'stupidest things ever asked of a supply sergeant'. My favorite thus far, asked by a Sergeant Major, is, "Is my wet weather gear water-proof?" I swear, it happened. I have a witness. The other stories will come from; I had to sell my house and put stuff in storage. I had to get out of North Dakota (the story of my frantic packing in Dad's garage is a fun tome). I had to hang out in Ft. Lewis for 6 weeks, while my only respite was an all-too-short visit to my sister's place in California. I had to hang out in Kuwait for two weeks. And now I've been here since the 30th of November with just a scant six months to go!

Day 166

Not much new to report, other than to say, "We've got 6 more months!" Of course, on the downside, we still have six more months. So, there I was, at the dining facility, carrying my tray with my plastic silverware and plastic plate, picking through the steam and chilled tables, and I loaded up on a salad and moved to top it off with croutons. We've had several dust storms of late, and the roads have been closed, and the delivery truck has been delayed, so there were no croutons for my salad. No croutons for my salad!? Man, this war sucks!

Day 164

I could spend the rest of the evening typing what "home" means to me, and even longer if I were to presume what home meant to others. Here, "home" has a distinct meaning. We all live in metal trailers, three rooms to a trailer, two people to a room. They are lovingly called Containerized Housing Units, or to use the Army acronym, CHU, pronounced "chew". I know I've already talked about the CHU, but for those of you who may not remember, the rooms are about the size of a college dorm room, except without all of the charm. To the vast majority of us, our CHU's are just that; rooms. Whenever we speak of home, almost always we are speaking of the United States. We all work, and then at the end of the day we say we're going to our CHU's. Rarely will anybody, at the end of another round of tedious monotony in front of a computer monitor but behind their desk, say they're going home. In fact, whenever anyone mentions that they're going home, they are always asked when their leave starts; when is their flight; where are they going? I think that, more than anything else here, is what keeps us going; knowing we're soon to be with our friends and family, at home. The United States is like a country with a split personality. On the one hand we want to remain isolated from the rest of the worlds ills, but on the other, we stand up to the bully in the neighborhood when he won't quit pulling on the cats tail. How many other countries in world history have conquered a country and then just up and left? Other regimes have always stayed and acted as "administrators"; we counsel, advise, arm, and when they're ready, we hand over the keys to the outhouse, pack our stuff, and go home.

Day 160

Daylight Savings time; who would have thought it'd be so difficult from 7,000 miles away? When we first arrived in theater, we were told that there is a nine hour difference between where we were and Central Time back home. In trying to figure out what time it was in the States, I looked at a clock, added three hours, and changed the 'm'. If it is 6 am here, then that meant it was 9 pm back home. If it is 6 pm here, then that meant it was 9 am back home. That worked fine until you started getting closer to the twelve o'clock mark. Using the original formula, then 11 pm would be 2 am, but it is in reality 2 pm. (I think that thought just gave me a nose bleed.) Now we throw daylight savings time into the mix. All you all in the States, with the expection of Arizona and Hawaii, switched to daylight savings time yesterday. We all remember the rule; Spring ahead/fall back. However we here in Iraq don't go on daylight savings time until the 29th of March. Since all you all sprung ahead an hour, that means that for the next three weeks I am only eight hours ahead of you, instead of nine. Not that this isn't confusing enough, but my worry is that if I were to begin calculating your time as an eight hours difference from my time, then just about the time I got used to the change in time it'd be time to revert to the original nine hour difference in time and I'd have to re-learn my time change all over again, and that'd just be a waste of time. I think what I'll do it keep calculting the time difference as a nine-hour seperation, and then subtract one hour. I know this makes it an eight hour difference, but if I think of it as a nine hour difference with a one hour adjustment, I'll be able to function for the next three weeks. I have to stop writing now; this is giving me a headache.

Day 159

You don't realize all the little things that are no longer in your life until you happen upon one. Today I had one of those moments. I was returning to my room after completing a necessary task and noticed an American nickle on the ground. I stopped and looked at it for a few moments before pocketing it. Loose change, or any metal change, is unheard of here. The few instances when we use American currency, in the shops, we get our change in bills and PX Pogs. The pogs are just like any other; cardboard or paper, with an image printed on both sides, but in this case, they also list the coin amount, such as 5 cents or 10 cents or 25 cents. (My computer does not appear to have a cent icon, and I don't remember the ASCII code, so you'll just have to use your imagination.) They are redemable only at the PX, which is ok because that's the only place to use loose change, or loose pogs, as the case may be. I suppose since there is no Wal-Mart, they have the literal monopoly on the local shoppers and print their own money. My guess is that it'd cost lots of money in shipping costs to have metal change shipped over here. And there is no sales tax, so when purchasing items in the local shops, owned by the PX, they usually price things to the exact dollar, removing the need for change in coins. And at the PX, just to make our lives easier, the PX prices are the same here as they are in the States, so $3.95 widgit here is a $3.95 widgit back home. Oh, it's so nice of the PX people to make our lives that much easier, so we don't have to worry about comparing different prices. Plus, who wants to jingle as they walk when they're in a combat zone? Not me, that's for sure.

Day 156

As the wise rat Nicodemus said, "You must move your house to the lee of the stone". (I'll let you try to guess the movie.) We here are there. When referring to the doldrums, is it acceptable to refer to it as doldrumic? Seems like it's a made-up word, but it is appropriate. We've been in Iraq now for just over three months. Everybody has their job figured out; everybody is settled; everybody has a routine. We have a few more months like this, and then shortly we'll begin the process of packing for the voyage back to the land of milk and honey, or snow and ice, or housing and stock market free-fall; whichever you prefer. It's not bad. It is just like any other job. Sooner or later you find your niche and slide into the comfort zone. However, here, one can't simply jump into the car and head off to the Olive Garden for a good meal and a cold beer. We travel from room to chow to work to chow to work to chow to room; repeat until redundency becomes reduntant. I have much to occupy my time in the off-hours; movies, books, piano playing, visiting. I have not yet found three people here who play pinochle. Must be a North Dakota game. Speaking of pinochle, I don't know that I have yet boasted of my triumph. In July of 2008, while returning from a performance in Turtle Lake, in the back of the bus, playing four-handed pinochle, with the assistance of my partner and an extremely fortuitous pass, I ended up with a thousand aces in my hand. I saved the scorecard. All my stuff is in storage, but if pressed, I know I could find that sheet of paper in less than five minutes. Yeah, me! Of course, I'd have to be home for that search to commence, but if there is anybody who is unable to wait for me to return, I'm sure we can contrive some emergency to get me home sooner. :)

Day 152

Oh Happy Day! Better than this being day 152, it is also Day 199. There are 199 days remaining until we have our Transfer of Authority (TOA) ceremony. Then it should be just a matter of a day or two until the planes wing us back to the States, then 5 days at de-mob station, and then home. Oh Happy Day! We're under 200 days! Now if I could only find my meaning in life. Or my meaning of life. Is there a difference? Should there be? Does the meaning in life dictate the meaning of life? Or is it the other way around? If you can't find a direction, or are unsatisfied with the way things are going, is it in your life, or because of your life? Will changing the things in your life give more meaning to your life, or are we predestined to lock ourselves into the patterns of life? When you have need of a change, it is in or of your life? By human nature we all gravitate to our comfort zone. Does that need for comfort stifle our ability to change ourselves when we feel the need? Why does it sometimes take a swift kick to the groin for some of us to see that we need a change? An editorial note; I've received several emails from people concerned for me, after reading my blogs. I do appreciate it, but things are ok. Please remember that we all write as we speak, or think, and my joy of adding sarcasm to everything I say is one of the few pleasures I have in life. If you have read a blog entry and have concern, please re-read it with the voice of Hughie, using his most laid-back, subtle voice of sarcasm. You should be able to read new life into most of the entries.