By the end of the day I was exhausted, mentally and physically. We had a meal, waited for the sun to go down, and loaded the trucks again to travel to the site of the following day’s MedCap. We traveled for about an hour and a half, which seemed like eternity. Every several feet along the way there was a detail that walked alongside our vehicles scanning the sides of the road with metal detectors and bomb dogs in search of IEDs. It seemed that we would never arrive at the next compound. I was struggling the whole journey to keep my eyes open, but I knew I had to stay awake to scan the terrain.
Once we arrived, we hung the parachute hammocks we made between two vehicles, I was profoundly grateful Chad helped me make mine.
“Not too shabby huh?” Chad smiled as he helped me hang mine.
“Thank you again for helping me,” I said. He smiled and nodded.
“Yep, these things are a must-have out here.” Travis said as he walked by, “I’ve slept on the ground before and believe me, this is much better.” My vision of the large camel spider crawling in my sleeping bag with me returned. I smiled and we resumed our preparation to rest overnight.
Shortly thereafter I did a quick baby wipe bath and went to sleep. All through the night we heard roosters crowing, dogs barking, and donkeys moaning. The team guys alternated every hour for security duty and each time they changed personnel I heard the previous guy wake up his relief. I got three to four hours of interrupted sleep at the most.
When I awoke, I had to go to the bathroom, only to find there was no “bathroom” for me to go to. There was no door to close or shelter to retreat to; there wasn’t even a tree to squat under. Megan and I, being the only females, had to “improvise”. We took a piece of the parachute we’d used the night before and took turns holding it over each other while we handled our business.
When we returned to the vehicles, I tried to brush my hair and wipe down with baby wipes again. I was absolutely covered in dirt; “dusty” was an understatement. I couldn’t even get a comb through my hair; it was completely filled with dirt. I decided the best option was to tie it up in the scarf I had been using to keep the dirt out of my mouth when we traveled. As we took in our surroundings, and became accustomed to our treatment area, we realized we had no building to see patients in and in anticipation of the hot midday sun we improvised by draping parachute material over the compound wall, securing it to the trucks for shade. After this experience I had a whole new respect for the parachute and its many uses….hammock, canopy of shade, and most importantly, a bathroom door.
If my “camping trip” wasn’t enough, today was Father’s Day and I couldn’t get Greg out of my mind. I wanted to talk to him so badly and Don must have sensed my feelings because, without saying a word, he brought me a satellite phone.
“Here, call your husband.”
“Wow, I don’t know what to say…thank you,” I said in disbelief. He handed me the phone and walked away. I found a quiet spot and dialed the phone number. As soon as I heard his voice I felt the lump forming in my throat. I missed him so much. I couldn’t tell him what I was doing or where I was. He had no idea I had just traveled through a very dangerous part of the country in the back of a HMMWV, loaded a fourteen year old girl onto a helicopter knowing her chances of survival were slim to none, witnessed a mother turn down care for her dying baby because she was scared for her own life, or that I spent the night in the field.
I knew eventually I would tell him what I did, but it was not going to be anytime soon. I had never kept anything from him and it was tearing me apart.
“Happy Father’s Day sweetie,” I knew he was missing little Griffen terribly.
“Thanks Nej, I wish you were here, I miss you so much. How are things going?” he asked.
“Oh, you know…the typical deployment stuff…just another day,” I lied. I fought to hold back the tears as I put up the charade to spare him from worry.
“Well, you are a ‘Medic Warrior’ after all, so try to stay out of trouble while you take on the bad guys,” he said with what I imagine as a shit eating grin on his face. Greg could always make me smile. Hearing him joke innocently helped me to feel the sense of home I needed. It gave me the energy I needed to start the day. We talked for a few more short minutes and then it was back to reality.
The morning was filled with patients, but not nearly as many as the first day. I saw two more really sick babies who were twins. I was successful in arranging transportation for them to the Dutch hospital nearby for treatment and later talked to the accepting physician who informed me one had a case of meningitis and the other was severely dehydrated.
The patient that stood out the most to me the second day was a boy I estimated to be around the age of fourteen or fifteen. He was different from the other locals. While all the other patients were filthy and wearing rags and sandals that showed worn and leathered feet from endless hours in the fields, he was neatly groomed, with nice, clean feet, soft hands and brand new appearing black clothes. It was evident he came from money and the fact that he was dressed in all black and appeared the way he did made us all highly suspicious he was involved with the Taliban in one way or another. The Captain instantly honed in on this and separated him from the rest of the people for further questioning. Unfortunately we didn’t get much information from him, other than an admission that if he had to choose between fighting with the ANA and Coalition forces or the Taliban, he would fight with the latter, because they were Muslim and we weren’t. It sickened me that we had to let him go, especially seeing it written all over his face, and in his smirk, that he was one of them. I was somewhat reassured in knowing that at least we had a way of identifying him in the future if need be.
The morning quickly passed, and before we knew it, it was lunchtime. As we were all beginning to take note of our bodies reminding us of our hunger; we saw an elderly man with a long white beard with resolute eyes dressed in all white slowly approaching us. The Captain saw him and they instantly embraced in a friendly hug. The man proceeded to shake all of our hands…apparently he was an ANA commander for the troops in that region. As we sat and listened to him and the Captain talk, we learned he was a man who had an internal hatred for the Taliban and what they did to his family. Several of his cousins and brothers had been imprisoned for years for resisting them. He had accomplished much in the war against the Taliban and we discovered by listening to him talk, what a great asset he was to the Coalition forces. He brought us all lunch and was very receptive to everyone. It was an interesting and memorable encounter; I was impressed with his candor and support for us. He took pride in his people and the country he loved before the Taliban regime.
After we ate, we loaded up the rest of our gear and began our journey back to the base. It was broad daylight and as we pulled out of the compound it became very apparent to me how “on edge” I was about being in a daylight convoy. As we traveled through several small villages, I saw children running up to the street to wave as we passed by. Many held out their hands hoping for food or anything we might throw. I later found out that was a tactic the Taliban often used to distract the people in a convoy; while they were paying attention to the children on one side of the road, they would ambush from the opposite. It was intense traveling through each village, but there were some that were more unnerving than others. The narrow streets and crowds of people surrounded us, forcing our convey to move at an uncomfortably slow pace. High cliffs and buildings on both sides of the road were ideal staging locations for an ambush. We had no place to go; we were sitting ducks. Vance was on high alert as he manned the .50 cal.
At one point he saw a man on the corner of the street with a cell phone which could have easily been a remote detonator for an IED. Vance quickly pointed his weapon at him.
“Someone tell me differently, because I am about two seconds from opening fire on this guy!” he screamed into the radio.
“Stand down! Stand down! Stand down!” the Captain responded, “He’s with us! He’s ANP! I repeat, h
e’s with us.”
“Roger that,” Vance replied and eased off the weapon.
I felt nauseous with fear and came very close to throwing up. I tried not to think about what would have happened if he had fired, but the thoughts remained.
As we were leaving the last village before we arrived at the river, I looked back at the people and noticed several men dressed in all black with black turbans staring back at us with pure hatred in their eyes. They had no idea I was a woman due to my helmet, sunglasses and the scarf over my face to keep the dust out of my nose and mouth. I looked at the men with an unease that was indescribable. About three or four of them stopped walking and gathered in the middle of the street standing and watching. I felt those eyes staring directly at me, wanting me dead. As the distance between us became larger, I couldn’t look away, watching them as they watched us.
After two days of being covered from head to toe in dirt, traveling in 125 degree weather in our full body armor, and utterly exhausted, we were in a unique state of mind. Once we got to the river, we decided it was absolutely necessary to take a quick dip. I would have never gotten in that water before, but I was so hot and so dirty I couldn’t wait to jump in. As soon as I did, I dipped my head in the water and got my hair wet which felt incredible. Something so simple was such a big deal at that point, I was refreshed and happy. However, as I came up from under the water I looked up and saw a large piece of human feces float right by me. Me in my right mind would have likely screamed in disgust and raced to get out of the water and promptly dry heaved on the riverbank, but after what we had been exposed to over the last two days, that part of me was long gone. Out of desperation we all remained in the cool water and for thirty minutes we played like children in the dirtiest river I had ever seen. It certainly made me appreciate the old cliché’; “Desperate times call for desperate measures”. As I continued to enjoy the cool water, I made a mental note to make sure I took a hefty dose of an antibiotic when I got back to the base.
After we had enough, we loaded up and finished the rest of the trip back. I couldn’t have been happier to see that American flag flying high as we approached base and as we entered the gate I breathed a deep sigh of relief.
CHAPTER 15
Day 49
Happy Anniversary
17 June 2008
Two years ago was the happiest day of my life. It was the day I married my best friend. I could hardly believe the time had passed as quickly as it had; it seemed like yesterday I was walking down the aisle to the man I loved with all of my heart. As I sat and reminisced, I found myself saddened I couldn’t be with Greg on our day. When people are together every day, we lose sight of how special it is to be together. The little things that seemed so annoying about each other were what I missed the most. I couldn’t stand this thing he did with his pinky toe or how he had to have his Harley Davidson t-shirts washed a special way. I drove him crazy by never screwing on lids tightly and always losing my keys and ID card. I missed singing to each other on the phone, or in the shower, our silly little games, holding hands, playing cards….I missed everything about him.
He sent me an anniversary card that I read over and over. We had been apart before, and we did just fine, but that didn’t make it any easier to be away. I am not “that person” who can leave for months and months at a time, over and over again, for the job—my life is my family and I didn’t want to leave him again. I knew that wherever he was on that day, and whatever he was doing, he was carrying a piece of me with him and I carried him with me. My Gerg was the reason I became the person I was; he made me want to be better.
To my Gerg, from 7,000 miles away…Happy Anniversary, I love you with all that I am.
CHAPTER 16
Days 53-57
Working with the FST
21-25 June 2008
I left the team I was with, along with Don, Megan and Vance and flew back to KAF on June 18th, and I found myself alone. I had formed some friendships through the experience of the MedCap and was sad to part ways, but eager to reunite with Becky. I was supposed to catch a ring flight (which was a weekly itinerary flown by a Chinook to the firebases) to my firebase on the 20th. I got all of my belongings packed and on the pallet as directed. I waited on the flight line to board the Chinook in my body armor, gloves, helmet, weapons and eye protection, ready to face whatever was in store for me at my new home. After what I had just experienced, the thought of another ride in a Chinook in Afghanistan was not nearly as intimidating.
As I waited I looked up and I saw the flight line NCO walking toward me shaking his head and I knew it was not a good situation. He informed me I was not going to be able to get on the bird because one of the two Chinooks that were going to be making the journey was broken down and the other was filled with pallets; therefore, there was no room. Filled with pallets? Wait a second…my stuff is on one of those pallets. Luckily I had a backpack with all of my necessary items on my person. The majority of my things would be arriving long before me since the ring flights only go out to the firebases once a week. I was so disappointed, I wanted to get to where I was going and get settled. I also was not looking forward to spending another week in Kandahar.
As I was walking back to the truck I noticed I was not alone; there were about five other people in the same boat. As we shared in our disappointment, I began to talk to a guy named Jay, who just so happened to be one of the SF guys who was based out of TK (Tarin Kowt), which is the first stop on the ring flight. He offered to get me on a fixed wing flight the next morning that was going to TK, and even though he couldn’t promise me a flight out of there, it was still a no-brainer. I could sit at KAF for another week doing nothing, or I could go to TK and see something new. In addition to getting me out of KAF, it would also give me a chance to work with the Forward Surgical Team (FST) whom I had met at BAF while I waited for the next ring flight. I quickly thanked him and accepted the invitation, and at 0500 hours on the morning of the 21st I was on my way to TK.
Once I arrived, I was greeted by the airfield crew who grabbed my bag and helped me to a room that Jay was nice enough to have arranged for my stay. And it was not just any room, but nothing less than the VIP room in the SF section of the camp; I was very grateful. Once I got my things secured, I went over to the FST clinic to say hello. I was happy to see them all again and even though I only met them briefly at BAF, they seemed like a good group of people.
My early assessment was accurate. As soon as I walked in, they greeted me with friendly hellos and were more than happy to let me jump in and get my hands dirty. They had been very busy, doing over forty-five surgeries in the two weeks they had been there. So they didn’t get burned-out, they switched off with the Dutch camp on receiving trauma patients every other week. When not doing trauma cases in the Operating Room (OR) they would see Sick Call for the local nationals. The clinic was always full of patients who were there for follow-up care, sent from other firebases nearby, or people who just came on their own accord.
When I was there they had a lot of pediatric cases, which were all related to orthopedic injuries and were often bone infections and fractures due to “falling out of trees” or some other excuse. Some patients were also there for gunshot wounds. The team had just operated on a lady the day before who had a cesarean section at the local hospital that turned out to be a makeshift hysterectomy. The “surgeon” left half of her uterus and cervix, cut her ureters and slashed her bladder in three places. Luckily the FST was able to put her back together, but she had a long recovery ahead of her. That was just one example of the type of medical care local nationals received by their fellow countrymen.
One little girl that came in had pus draining from her hip for several months and her father finally decided to bring her in for treatment. When I saw her, I thought she was no more than four years old, but I was told she was at least ten; it was like looking at a skeleton with skin. She also had a severe scolotic curve of her thoracic spine that was bent forward 100°. It was
amazing she didn’t have any respiratory difficulty due to the deformity. Her hip x-ray revealed the femoral head was almost completely gone due to the chronic infection eating it away. The only thing we could do for her was take her to surgery every day and irrigate her bone extensively and keep her on antibiotics. I felt so bad for her. She was the patient I dealt with the most and luckily by the time I left she was doing much better, but still not out of the woods.
I also met a very interesting nurse and interpreter, who worked for the Coalition Forces, named Suraya. She was born in Afghanistan and moved to the United States in 1980 before Russia and the Taliban moved in to the country. I had several conversations with her and found her to be quite fascinating. I asked her opinion about what had happened to her country; specifically the women. She replied, “I am absolutely disgusted.” She went on to tell me about how happy her life was when she was growing up.
“Jennifer, I never wore a burka. I was educated; I had a profession and respect.” She showed me pictures of her in high school on a volleyball team, photos from her wedding and various other stages in her life. I was amazed to see the images which reflected how the culture of this country had so drastically changed from that to what it was now. It was heartbreaking. I couldn’t imagine how I would feel if the same shift happened in America. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for her to return to a place she once called a happy home that was now filled with such hatred and poverty. As we talked further, I discovered she lived in Santa Cruz, California, the same city my Aunt Jane had lived in for many years. I exchanged emails with her and promised to put her in touch with Jane. I wished she could travel with me to the firebase, but I was happy to have had the short time with her that I did, she offered a rare perspective.
166 Days: My Journey Through The Darkness Page 9