Friday, August 31, 2007


The worst fear of anyone over here is being forgotten by loved ones, the country, or really just simply fading away to the backround noise, which in this place can be anywhere from a whisper to a strait roar. I suppose these fears can be irrational, but let's face it, when you live even the drama studded, often crazy life of a comfortable american, who gives a crap about a person half the world away? out of sight out of mind. Perhaps it is a good thing that people can go on, but when i put my armor on day after day with a repressed groan, i have to wonder, who still actually gives a shit.

The news will often spend more time on Paris Hilton's "ordeal" than the real life and death strugle of young men and women who for whatever reason chose to serve instead of being served. Is it vainity that makes me ask? Watching the news only pisses me off. But sometimes it is the silence that gets to me the most. I have attention from people I want nothing to do with, idiolizing me for being some kind of fucking hero, and the people I want to hear from, are silent.

I used to ask "is jodi fucking my girl" now I wonder if she thinks about me at all sans my e-mails. It is just too damm easy to forget. And i feel myself walking alone again. The long dusty trail, devoid of anything but the ruck on my back and the unknown ahead. It is sad, depressingly so, and worse i have only myself, a decidly flawed person to face the varrious hurdles ahead.

Worst of all, those men with familes. . . I sit there and watch them. They have people that are eager to talk to them, wives that plan their whole day around when their husbands might call. Of children who squeal with delight at the approach of "daddy" of all the myriad of stories from home. Stories of humor, stories of love. I look at these men and deep down I feel the worst sort of loathing. I envy them. Their lives, flawed though they may be. That empty cube i call a room in the barraks is all that awaits me. No woman, not even my so recenly ex girlfirend will be there, and so in the worst way this world, cold unfeeling has simply forgotten me, and it is the lonliest feeling i have ever known.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Another night in Iraq

It started off like any other night, and like many other nights in the dead of night we got attacked. It was slightly impressive because it came from two directions.; Still it was easy at first to put off the *crack* but for their intensity. they were definatly shooting at us. then the RPG hit. well you just can't take that lying down. So I doing what every good soldier does, got my crap on and prepaired to throw some hot lead down range. The 240 B opened up. And i always love it when those fuckers light off. But to see tracers goin g both ways, then seeing the entire mortar platoon open up from the roof, well it's weird but it's amazing how something so destructive and deadly can be so pretty.

I sat there enthralled by the destruction being loosed by our side, to the relitivly inept Iraqi attack. Still it nowhere near approached the pure orgy of destruction when the last raid was on. We had .50 cals, Mk 19's, 240 B's, 249's, m-4's and a few 203's. Baisically every weapon system short of AT-4's. The shher mass of fire was overwhelming, and there i sat in the middle laughing. As if this were some grand old adventure. But it was deadly serious.

I suppose that there are some things in life that can not be explained. But it was as if i were surounded by trigger happy fools, and i was just as trigger happy. to revle in the destruction, the sheer destructive potential, daring Hajj, Come, Come to me you little bastards. Come and meet your death. Until you are the cause of that kind of onslaught, you can not appriciate the feeling. people might say "how callous" or "that's horrible" but to be on the rising tide of destruction, you can not help but smile. I am power, I am the sword, and where i swing limbs will fall away, buildings will fall, and i will still stand stong and silent.

It was not until after it was over that i realized how keyed up i was. Weather it was from nerves, or sheer adrenalin, i was shaking all over. I didn't feel fear. I felt a child like wonder, followed by a need to know if anyone was injured, and hoping that they were iraqi. The saddest part about this is that there is a feeling that well if this shit is really lost (as the democrats would say) then we should at least rack up a respectible body count.

I wonder at times, did they feel like this in Vietnam? did they revle so in the destruction of the enemy, has it always been like this. Once the fear leaves and you have only the mission you have to complete before they'll let you go home.

Friday, August 24, 2007

Gaurding Idiots from stupidity

It has often been said that that one of the greatest woes in the Iraqi theater is that the iraqis, are just plain stupid. Now i don't think the society as a whole is stupid but there are times that really make you scratch your head. You always see it on CNN, some soldiers treating iraqis shall we say roughly. What you do not often see is the other side, from the soldeir's end. Often times it is much like dealing with a bunch of children. Having to tell a 30 year old man to shut up and act like a man often gets tiring.

Now we are gaurding a gas station. I think this is by far the worst detail I have yet been on. It makes me honestly wonder, what is better, getting blown up or gaurding the gas station. The sad part is i do not know. That we have to watch the IPs and Oil Protection acgency gaurds (baisically rent-a-cops) actually do their jobs is tiresome. Telling the attendants time and again that they are only supposed to give out a certain amount of gas. even going to the extreme method of having them count it out on their fingers, only to have the attendants do it again ten seconds later, and then look at us guiltily.

Worse, the "jerry cans". eveybody comes through with these cans trying to fill them up. It is hard for these people to understand "NO". after they are thrown out by the Oil Protection guys, these idiots tryo to go and pick them up. On more than one occasion they turn and point to us, again making us the bad guys. So we've gone from policing the streets trying (although not suceeding if the release rate is any indication) to provide security, to policing a gas station trying to make sure that the money goes to the right pockets. More than ever I feel like a pawn in a game that no one really wants to win.

No mission up till now with one or two extreamly notable exceptions have taken almost 12 hours (I will not for securtiy reasons say the exact time we come and go, but the point is somewhat moot because we're pretty predictable in our timing sadly). Worse yet we sit there, do absolutly nothing. You could put a brain dead vegtable in the same spot and the same thing would happen. I routinly do anything i can to "zone out" but having little in the way of AC does not help. Taking a piss is a bit of an adventure too. It's a sniper's paradice. A predictable target with two-three story buildings all around. Do i feel much entheusaim about the mission? in a word no.

Perhapes the funniest (though sadly predictable) part of recent news, is that my parent brigade lied about combat strength to get out here. so now there is an investigation underway. It kind of makes sense in a sick sort of way. They put TRADOC people in key leadership positions (CSM) and a cdr that keeps getting in trouble. This Bn, is fucked. How sad is it that we bust our asses only to find that the fruits of our labor, are sadly like old rotten apples. that first bite is enough to make anyone sick. It's alright in a strange sort of way. Even though I know my efforts under this chain of command will be useless, I know this is where i belong. laughing about how badly we're getting screwed i felt a sense of belonging i havn't come close to in a LONG time.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Paying for your misatakes

The hardest part of life is admitting you screwed up. To myself as well as to others, admitting i screwed up is hard. I screwed up big time asking for a break. I had the rather niave view that people here could be professional in nature. That past grudges would not boil over. I was wrong. That was made oh so evidant this morning. I also made a mistake with Lisa, I was a fool to believe Cassy. Worse I was a fool to not see sooner that my anger was misplaced.

Faith, not so much religious faith, but faith in almost all other things feels broken. The Med Platoon, seems intent on their little games, and i want no part of it, even though i seem to be a key figure, or perhaps it's just paranoia that makes me say that. The more i try to pull away and distance myself from them, the more they try to pull me in, and honestly i am sick of it. How can anyone WANT to live this way? i used to belive that people would do what was right, that they would always aim for the common good, and not stoop to petty bickering. I was wrong.

This morning was a perfect example of the petty nature of the med platoon. I had NO idea there would be a weapons inspection, so of course i didn't clean my weapon, hell, even if I had known, i wouldn't have busted my ass, because my weapon is a bravo weapon, and thus not technically under their control. I was wrong to assume such a thing. He asks was i told, no i say, he asks Dollins, not the brighted bulb in the basket, and he says yes he di, askes correy, and he says yes (a whole 1/2 hour before). Am i calling them liars he says. . . i was close to punching him right there. If he had been clost to me i would have. Then of all things he tells me i better toe the line!!! are you fucking serous. if that ain't some baisic training shit i don't know what is.

Clean it, he says. Clean it i do. Cosmeticly it is as clean as it's been in a long time. dust on the outside of an M-4 is not nearly as worrysome as dust on the inside. Clean it was. I brought it back to him and he pulled some more baisic training shit. The dude serously called "inspecion arms" are you fucking kidding me?!?! he notes there is dust in the nooks and cranies. he says report tomorrow and any faults will be paid for in pushups. I'm sorry but no. I WILL NOT DO PUSHUPS FOR THIS POG MOTHERFUCKER!!! Shrek can kiss my hairy ass.

Add to that that i also have to go to mental health tomorow, and talk about how i fucking feel, well since the comand is going to get it, i'll tell them everything! I am furrious. Last night the PA was in true form. Throwing me off a table and calling me a shitbag (in essence if not words) , And acting like it's a first time doing an art line. starting it, then getting befuddled, and having to get someone else to do it, what a fool. I want to rip those damm nose hairs out, they are always stickig out and pissing me off everytime i look at him. He is such a POG that i want to beat his ass for acting the fool. Tell me he counts Harrelson and Craig as a loss will he. did he FUCKING KNOW THEM?!?!

My tirade about the hospital, long in coming seems improperly vented now. I feel the real venting should be directed with all due effort to breaking everything in sight. My anger only made worse because i asked for this. How then, is it that i cam to this point in life. Hating everything, and wishing that if it is to end that they would hurry up and get it over with. No i won't kill myself, but if Haji is going to do it i sure as hell hope he'd get his act together. No thoughts of glory enter my mind, only this long poinless struggle. What bother is it to wash blod from your hands, and know it is not from a villian but a saint! what cruel evil is this that good men are spent so!

finally my ex. Well i was a damm fool for listening to Cassy, there is no way around that. I took lack of comunication to mean that she was no longer interested. To be fair i wasn't taking much time to get online when i was in AIT, but i let my doubts and fears get the better of me and i pissed away something good. I don't believe in second chances. not anymore. Craig didn't get one and Harrelson certainly didn't. I am so angry at myself over that, that i can no longer see reason. That all the advise given was in essence "dump her". I bounce around feeling streched like a bad ruberband. For weeks i cursed all things femine, now i curse love for abandoning me, and leaving me at the mercy of war.

Lisa was good to me, better than most, and she understood me. That i was so blatently fooled by a woman that has no scruples, that i knew lied before, that i knew was not the best person in the world, that i listened to whisper in my ear makes me want to scream with rage and despair. I can not repair the damage that has been done, and it makes me weep for what is lost. In the end all i can do is move on. It's all I'm able to do. this is the price you pay for mistakes. I ask only what crime i have commited to earn this punishment.

Saturday, August 11, 2007

POGs Just don't get it

Far be it for me to say that Things should be a certain way. I mean after all these high strung dolts like their world to be full of shouting and screaming. I am just so pissed that they have this feeling of "us and them" which they make worse EVERY TIME THEY SPEAK!!! You rip a guys ass that has been up since 0400 about not shaving? what kind of shit is that? the dude JUST got out of sector. So yea. that was all assed up.

Second, when you got a trauma, CALM THE FUCK DOWN. Getting all hot headed and trying to do everything like speedy gonzalez just ain't going to work. You have to manage the stress and adrenalin. My vaunted PA is such that he is so high strung in normal situations, in a trauma, if he weren't a PA and my boss. . . i would have told HIM to step aside, as it was he IS my boss and he told ME to step aside. It's enought to make a medic throw up his hands and say "screw you guys i'm going home"

Thursday, August 9, 2007

The Fine Print

So the Loose cannons rolled out today. Without me. It was a bit of a shock to me to find that i had been command refered to Mental health. I really don't care, but still i thought i was past this. that's OK, really. But the fine print of "taking a break". In essence there IS. . . NO. . . SUCH . . . THING!!! i would have thought that there'd be a little leeway given to me, after all it is not bullshit details that stress me, but life limb and eyesight.

I was wrong. Dead wrong. Apparently they see it as a 1 for 1 swap and I should resume the duties of the man that assumed mine. Um. . . sorry bro, but i really needed rest and relaxation NOT MORE FREAKING stress. So for one week i will in essence be in close proximity with a group of people that while lothe might be a bit strong, let's just say whenever i have a choice i give them a wide berth.

I will be in EXTREAMLY close proximity with Captain Brock, which if anything makes this whole situation WORSE. I also had to listen on company net as my own guys did a raid without me. It was one of the worst feelings i've had in a LONG time. Worst of all, my mental stability in question i have this sinking feeling this may become far more perment than i had anticipated. This though fills me with dread. Indead, it fills me with a near panic. I am terrified of that morbid, petty existance i have tried time and again to escape. MEDCOM is full of these environments, sadly most of the people in the medical feild do not have enough line time to appriciate this.

How ironic, since i found out that they deem me arrogant that i now, of all times, feel haughty. I AM supperior to them. Though their lives are filled with boring slaveish work they do not know the same fear, mortal dread i know. Before they begin to judge my quality they should bare that in mind. Worst of all, i am treated like i carry some unplesent disease. Often kept at arms length, worse i feel the people around me are two faced. Not at all like the line. The PA has lied to me, in my face, and worse, he has comented on my lack of balls. I had an urge to slug him for his presumption. but i sat there choking on humble pie as always. Taking in his dressing down, and telling me i'm a fool. Right in my face, he baisically threw this.

For one week. . . I feel the urge to go postal already. FUCKING POGS!!!

F*** me SIDWAYS!

I asked for atime off. maybe one part of a rotation. What i did not expect is the HUGE deal it would become. For the record i am stressed. Not hyperstressed fearful for my life, well ok myabe a little, I am not depressed, and i am not a babbling idiot. But apparently i have raised eyebrows. If i am showing signs of an adverse stress reaction, guess what i am adversly stressed.

The low down. . . i got command refered to Mental health. I was perfectly fine taking 1SG down there and signing a release, and all that jazz, but really, i do not think I need to be seen, it's not like i'm drink screaming the ranger creed at 0300 (again). It's ok, it gives me time to catch up on some tings, like my room (ug) or the sleep i've been lacking, ahhh sweet sleep.

while i do not think it's quite fair, i will of course comply. It always makes me wonder though. When i feel normal people see things in me i REALLY don't see in myself. If i try to say "i love you" in a creative way, people are like "wow that was amazing" and not always the target of my affections, though sometimes, they say that too. If i feel fine, people think I'm depressed or pissed off. If my face is nuetral (that is i am not using ANY facial muscles) i'm somehow pissed off. I really don't get it.

I'd like to think that this is just going to be another, show up answer stupid questions, and walk away, but i somehow know this isn't going to be good. Oh AND i have to study for morphine. I'm not going to go into how stupid i think this is, that's a horse that is more like pulp now. But needless to say, while i am aprehensive about my platoon going out without me, I do look forward to a break. which i'm not ungreatful for.

Soon i'll write about the day Harrelson dies, but, my last post really drained me emotionally. I don't think i could write another one too soon. well take care.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

My side.

Here is my account of 25 June 2007, and the events that happened to me that day. I have to put it out there because people have to know. please understand these events are painful for me to recount.

It was a normal day like any other. We were all excited to be getting back, but i was exuasted having pulled a 4 hour gaurd shift right before getting off. We all sat around and joked. I could hear people laughing about the game "company of heroes" that Craig and WillieBo had played. They'd gone for 5 hours only to get their asses kickedby the germans. I was fretting over Jubi. I was a little upset, because he was supposed to have been evaced the night before for (what i would find out later) a slipped disk. I had given him morphine right before i thought he was going to go, he didn't and i was bracing for the ass reeming i was going to get. I had spent all night fretting about a patient, and in the end i was pretty damm tired, everyone else on the otherhand were lively in a way only the loose cannons can be.

Like always we had details to do, and things that needed to get done. Clean the pisser, sweep and mop, make the "gym" look pretty, Mop the mats, sweep the sleeping bay, and of course pick up cigarette buts. we did these, with the usual amount of bitching complaining and griping. It came time to load up and off we went.

I am sorry to say that i was pretty tired. It is not unusual for me to sneak a short minute or two nap, but of course i never stay out long. I still try to watch for IEDs (but i have since learned that it is nearly impossible to spot them) but on this day, as we were nearing our old COP i was fully awake. I remember taking these same streets through our old AO many times and the street corner itself was well known. I saw a dirt mound on the right and "grandpa time" as we call him, was pointing it out. Lewis called out a white chair just after the mound. Sgt Johnson the TC, and reently come down from s-3 asked for an explination, and lewis was telling him about the intel we got about white chairs being used to mark IEDs. and then . . . BOOOM

the vehicle behind us got hit with an EFP. "SHIT" while there were asking for confused reports on the radio, i screamed "SGT Johnson get me back there" and then we heard "Craig is dead" over the raidio "FUCK" i remeber screaming out the curse in pure frusteration. We continued to roll. for another hundred meters we rolled.

"get doc back here"

"craig is KIA"

"he's breathing"

"alright dismount"

I need no further incentive. I remember throwing the aidbag on and running full tilt to 2-7. the back of the turrent was destroyed. and the doors were all open. I saw imediatly that the crew was moving around, except for craig. I saw him crumpled, sitting on the radio mount. It is not the first time i saw this pose. Doubtless it will not be the last. His left leg was bent bak behindhim in a pose that, had he been at all responsive to pain would have jared him a little bit. but he was unconcious. At that moment extractaion was thr priority. I went to grab under the armpits, and his right arm cam flying out, or what was left of it. The bloody nub of his severed right arm almost smaked me in the face, it was severed right abovethe elbow. I was trying to pull him out of the TC side dismount door, when i saw Bishop on the other side.

"GET HIS CAT(tournaqet)" i screamed.

I ordered bishop to get Craig's legs strait, and then had Fig help me pull him out. Once on the ground, the CAT was in my hand before i had to ask. i put it on his arm and started to really examine him. His jaw was obviously broken, and deformed, his chin resting almost on his trachea. Every breath sounded like a wet slobbery snore. He was choking on his own blood.

It seemed like an eternity. I called for a backboard, and littersrtaps, when they didn't have any i called for a tallon (collapsable litter) Fig was holding Craig, and crying. I did not have that luxury, yet. I gut the rest of his gear off and began to bandage his arm with kirlex. the litter arived and i screamed "get him on." fig moved to the legs and we counted together 1,2,3! we lifted craig's lipm body onto the stretcher. I called for 2-3 to come up, and to their credit, they drove right up. We had trouble getting the streher to fit. and in the end we had to jusy right something. I was stancing on the TC side dismount huddled over Craig, baisically holding on to him, as he spattered blood all over the driver's seat. I was aksed if i was in, and i said "yea go" then they slammed he door on my foot.

The ride to loyalty was quick, and it was terrifying. Leo was lighing the way with his 240, andat first we thought we were being shot at. I remember holding on to Craig. Holding onto his chest. Willie BO was gunning and relaying for me. About the time we got to loyalty his breathing got really bad. i tried to relay that they needed advaned airway ready, and that they needed an assload of suction. From time to time i would look up, and see nothing but brown, as we twisted and turned. how Aeti got us there without crashing is a mystery to me.

We pulled up to the aid station, litter barers ready. They came to my door, and i screamed "no the other side" they didn't ask they just ran over there. I remeber they asked me if i gave anything, and i replied no time. i walked with them all the way to the doors of the aidstation. Once he was out of my hands i walked around and as if i had to catch my breath i took two deep breathes before i collapsed into tears in the corner. I really don't want to talk about (here) some of the things that happened in the time he was at the aid station. But i knew the prognosis wasn't good.

When the bird landed they took Jonny out. andasked the bird to wait for craig. The chaplin held me. There wasthis eery build up and i remeber a sense of dread comming upon me. when he rolled out, they were doing CPR on him. I would have collapsed right there if the chaplin had not caught me. we were gathered up, told it was "very serous" and eventually we got ready to go. The ride back to Rusty was a quiet one. No one spoke.

When we got there LT was waiting for us. he toldus to gather around.

"I want to thank you for all your hard work, but unfortunatly Craig's injuries were too severe, he didn't make it"

Bishop screamed, March cried, LT barely got that sentance out. I couldn't see anymore after that, because of the tears in my eyes. Everyone hugged me, many expressed that if ever they were hurt they wanted me working on them. still bloddy, i went into my room dropped my gear ans simply cried my eyes out.

we were told to gather round the CQ desk, told to getour heads right. It was at this point that the BC was ordering a ham sandwich on battalion net. It felt like a slap in the face, but then the whole day had. I couldn't really deal with it all, but i had work to do. I went up to the hospital, blood still all over my ACUs, despite people telling me to take a shower. i gave my report on Jubi, and walked away beaten and battered. I can not begin to describe how empty i felt. Right then i wished i had never re-enlisted, and wished Lisa were there. I wished everything, simply if i could not be there. But eventually (2 hours later) i went and took a shower. You know it is truly amazing how a hot shower can makeyou feel.

I want to end on this note. I felt Craig's death was my fault and that i failed him. The irony is that after Harrelson died i began to accept that it wasn't my fault and that it was simply "his time" from impact to loyalty was 7 minuets. that's unheard of. i did eveything humanly possible for him. In the endthe chaplin told me simply (but firmly) "you are NOT God, you CAN'T save everyone, and eventually EVERYONE dies. a lot of medical people have this messiah complex, and itmakes them good at their jobs, but you won't always save them" I will not be able to save them all. I didn't have a chance to even touch Harrelson. Four soldiers have died under my care. It makes me realize how precious life is, at any moment it could be your last. I will "live it up" as much as i can.

Sunday, August 5, 2007

Bullshit from higher

I can not say for certain where my fotrunes take me from here, but i have begun to accept that i AM talented. I have begun to accept that perhaps i am more than i always put myself down as, baisically nothing special. I am a good medic. I am told time and again that I am the best my guys have seen. I am told time and again that they trust me. It makes the nonstop ass raping i get from Cpt Brock more bareable. These men see me as one of them. Even though technically, and on every book you look at officially I am not.

Once again i was sent out on rotation WITHOUT morphine. Once again I am angered by the games that are being played. I do not like the fact that time and again I am treated like either an upstart, or a child. I am told they see me as arrogant. Even though at every opertunity i have practically choked myself on humble pie. I feel that i am being punished for personality differances, and it plainly sucks. I sometimes feel that the political games being played are more important to them than treatment of patients. Of course such an acusation is serous indeed. At this point it is more of a vauge feeling. But despite theat there is obvious mistrust between both Docs and the line medics.

I am marveling (on the inside) at the amazing bullshit factor. I can not believe that people could be so interested in political games in and around battallion headquarters, while soldiers are getting blown up and shot at on a regular baisis. It happens time and again. In some quarters there is a feeling of "they don't give two shits and a handshake". When i get treated like this, I have to admit, I feel the same way. I have taken that damn test three times again. Each time it's gotten progressivly stupider what they want. 100%, which in my book baisically means i have to learn telepathy some time soon (which, might help me out SO much)

If the medical aspect weren't madening enough, I am confronted with a terrible propisition of facing even MORE IEDs and EFPs. MORE indirect fire, and possibly even some ambushes. The Bn cdr, and CSM, have been nicknamed "eyepro (eye protection ie ballistic glasses) 6, and knee pad 7" Baisically saying that having soldiers wear their assorted ppe is more important to them than the soldiers, the missions preformed and the casualties. The CSM doesn't even leave the wire anymore, the LTC, well he insists on things some people feel is sheer insanity. Worse, The comments made by him at both Craig and Harrelson's memorial service ilistrated to us that he didn't get it.

So here i sit. Literally in mortal danger, far more than any of the FOBbits (people who never leave the FOB) i've lost two soldiers under my care, and I feel like the people above me just do not care. If this makes me seem arrogant when trying to explain my situation, so be it. I am the one who's ass is on the line. I am the one they send out set up for failure. It is only my guys that keep me going. I do not care what the command thinks, if i get promoted or even if i get any awards this time around. a shiny peice of metal isn't going to change how i feel. I know what i've done. If they think that makes me proud and stuck up. . . to hell with them.

But, maybe my anger at my chain of command isn't what I should end on. I have been helping my PSG with his wedding vows. No he is not marrying someone new, he is remarrying his wife of 11 years. Finally giving her the ceremony she so desires. He has a good heart but his way is action, not words so much. He kind of chuckled and said to me that I should go work for Halmark. I think that's pretty funny. Maybe my poetic tallents are more than i had thought. Maybe there is more to me than i gave myself credit. I am starting to accept who i am as a person and what i can do. I have begun to accept who I am. Perhaps that won't lead to a more peaceful life, for conflict is part of my nature, but maybe it will make it easier.

Friday, August 3, 2007

Passing out

It is rare that a medic should need to b e treated, far more often it is the medic doing the treatment. Last night, was a different story for me. I had done three LONG missions that day, and finally waiting for EOD on a possible IED site i just lost it, got real dizzy and next thing i know SSG D is over me trying to wake me up. So how did it happen? Well here's how

1) it's on average 120 F in Baghdad.

2) The vehicles we work in have no a/c, although the new Uparmored humvees were designed with a/c sadly they are broken. Seeing as the armor baisically retains heat, it's hotter INSIDE than outside.

3) sometinmes the mission come first. so yea. nuff said there

The ride back was if anything worse than anything else. I realize now that i was REALLY out of it. I was about to flip out when i saw the tall grass flying by my window. At one point i became coherent enough to notice a petrolium smell. I rather stupidly said "gas I smell gas" I saw something sloshing, and then dripping down from the turrent. SSG D was like it's only CLP. Well it was good to know it wasn't gas but CLP. Why gas would have splashed all over me from the turrent is one of those questions you don't ask the delerious.

I also remember SSG D's face was REALLY fuzzy. In between the cramps and everything else, when i tried to focus on him it was like i was drunk and i couldn't see strait. NOT GOOD. In the end, when i made it back, Stern hooked me up and all was well. Almost. I got dragged in, they didn't even try to let me walk. But at that point i was both lathargic and delerious. It took my mind a long time to work out things. when asked what day it was it took a few seconds to answer "the 2nd?" well 3 IV bags later i felt a little better, but i wasn't really out of the woods yet. I had to agressivly orally rehydrate before i just finally crashed out.

Recovery is a bitch. I don't care what you are recovering from. A simple cold, surgery, Gunshot wounds, dehydration. Recovery is sometimes worse than the actual injury or illness. I didn't take too long to recover, BUT it took too long. i felt like shit the whole time. Not much to do there but sit it out. But guzzling water like an ethopian, really not fun. Good news, i'm all better.