How hot is it??

OK, the official temperature was 116°F today (Don’t ask how hot it is in the port-o-john)…  When you go to walk to the chow hall—why else would anyone go outside?—it is just like stepping into a giant clothes drier—only windier.  Maybe it is more like walking into a very large hairdryer set on stun…  Whichever, by the time you get to the chowhall, which is an 8 minute walk away (doing good time), the idea of food is just revolting…  But, it is too hot to walk back right away, and the chowhall is usually pretty well air conditioned, and they normally have almost cool drinks.  The drinks get taken out of the fridge so fast that they rarely have time to get truly cold—although there are occasions, when the planets have aligned just so, and I have gotten an ice cold diet coke—I think that has happened twice since I have been here—what a great day!!.

Anyway, you eat, drink, whatever…  then I have an ice cream—actually, it is an ice cream bar covered with Dark Chocolate—very similar to a Dove bar, the one with the nuts.  Quite tasty—very creamy, the milk products here don’t concern themselves with being low or non-fat.  For some reason the ice cream makes feel warm though—doesn’t really cool me off—very odd.  Now, time to gather the strength to amble back to work.  Even hotter than before—I always tell myself that I won’t go to lunch again—just too hot in the middle of the day.  Problem is, I go running in the morning (no other time is reasonable) and miss breakfast, so I just cannot seem to make it past the lunch hour without becoming a ravenous beast.

So, as Johnny Carson would have said:  “It was so hot in A.A. today”…….how hot was it? “It was so hot that if you ordered at Burger King, they said – if you want it your way, make it yourself”.

In fact, it was too hot to go to Burger King—which is on base.  This is another thing.  I am over here deployed.  I have no desire to go to Burger King, or Subway, or Pizza Hut—I rarely, if ever go to these things when I am home.  I don’t want the base to feel like home, maybe I like the drinks warm, maybe it’s a good thing when they run out of ice cream and I don’t get to have dessert.  I want it to be different.  That way I will want to go home.  If it gets too comfortable here, I might not want to leave…  So, for the same reason that I didn’t bring too many personal mementos along, I don’t really feel the need to go to an American fast food restaurant in the middle of Iraq—I want the deployment to be a bit rougher than everyday life—it reminds me that we are, in fact, in hostile territory—better not to get comfortable and complacent…  Did I mention it is hot here today??

Last Bathroom Post... Honest!

Because many have asked (believe it or not... you will never know the truth, so just believe--it is easier that way), I am posting some quality photos of the bathroom facilities here. Now, you can see for yourself, in full color, how things are in our little part of the world. The first image is of the inside head--the one that can only handle pure liquid--no square to spare here. Note the strategically placed plunger (AKA plumber's helper--I was once a plumber's helper for a summer--it was great fun... but that is another blog entirely, I think...)


OK, this is the hottest place on the entire base--right here in these port-o-lets at around 3PM... For some reason mys schedule has been off the last few days and this is where I end up right in the heat of the day--what a sweat box it is!! But, they are cleaned daily and aren't as dirty or disgusting as some of the port-o-potties you may have experienced in the past--note the hand cleanser dispensers (filled) on the outside--great stuff!!


This is the view of our lanai (we inhereted this from the previous team--Thanks, guys!) from the aforementioned port-o-let. Nothing like coming out of the port-o-john to an approving crowd lounging on the lanai! On the right, under the cammo netting is where the "jacuzzi" was (NOTE: the scheduled General did finally come by this very morning--he didn't see the jacuzzi--millions of fans have written in wondering about the outcome of the General and the Jacuuzi posting--now you know...).


And, the Coup de Grâce: The shower. Note the cleanish, yellow washrag hanging up on the wall--still haven't gotten a new one of those--but I haven't broken out in a rash, so I will probably be fine... This is the finest in indoor Iraqi plumbing--built by the Yugoslavians only a few decades ago. The acoustics are great--I could sing in there all day long, except I would probably swallow some of the water, which is a Bad Idea. This water is pretty much straight out of the Euphrates (yes, the very same waters that bathed the Fertile Crescent and gave birth to civilisation; but is now causing diarrhea in those unfortunate enough to drink it regularly). So, we only use this water to bathe in. Drinking, cooking, and brushing of teeth are done with bottled or treated water.

Another Bathroom Story

Actually, this is a two-fer.  I really have no intention of letting this blog slip into the lower levels of bathroom humor and such; however, it is supposed to reflect life here in Iraq.  And, whenever you are deployed, going to the bathroom and showering are a big deal.  So, did I mention that it is hot here?  Damn hot.  Now, we do have two toilets in our building, but they are not of the Western style, and the sewer system is so degraded that anything that more than water going down the toilet results in a nasty clog—not even one square of toilet paper—no square to spare.  And, one of the toilets doesn’t have a tank for flushing.  That means we have one inside squat-toilet, and it is prone to backup (good thing Keenan isn’t here—he plugs up toilets just by looking at them).  The alternative is just outside—a nice blue-walled, plastic sauna of a port-o-let.  Actually, they aren’t bad most of the time—cleaned out on a daily basis and basically used by Preventive Medicine Professionals, so they are clean, and, as long as the lids are down and the doors closed, there are very few flies.  The problem is that they are located full on in the sun.  If it is 115F in the shade next to the building, it is about 135-140F in these things in the afternoon.  They are cleaned every morning around 10am.  So, the ideal time to go is early in the morning while it is still cool or right after the cleaning.  The wrong time to go, as I found out yesterday, is around 3 o’clock in the afternoon—that was the most serious workout I’ve had in a long time.  I sweated more during that 5 minute grumper than I do on a ten mile run—seriously!

Speaking of running, I went for a nice long one this morning—run, not grump.  Anyway, I ran down the road to meet some folks at 7am for this run.  It was relatively cool, but the wind was whipping around like crazy—a little dust is now problem.  In fact, I have found that the dust mostly gets caught where it should, in your nose.  This makes for some of the most awesome snot-rockets while running.  Big solid aggregates of dirt fly out at top speed, pick up more speed with the whipping wind (aim well, and away from running partners) and sail across the road—very impressive.  And the bonus is that there is instant improvement in the breathing—overall, a very satisfying experience.

Anyway, I run for just short of two hours—not bad.  Nice, slow, steady pace.  I didn’t sweat near as much as I did in the porta-john yesterday…  But, I did sweat a lot, and I was ready for a shower after I cooled down (and hydrated—“hydrate or die” is a phrase we use around here constantly).  But, first, I needed a haircut.  For some reason my clippers weren’t cooperating—just a big nasty buzz—I am sure they were plugged into a 110V plug (this is another major issue around here—power).  So, I borrowed someone else’s and went to town on my hair—you know what it looks like, same bald head I have had for the last 20 years.  So, now I am sweaty, stinky, sticky, AND covered in little bits of hair.  Three guesses what happened next…

1. My wash rag was missing—No, it was right where it should be; although I still need to get a new one
2. The shower was busy because we only have two—No, the showers were empty
3. The water went out—absolutely correct!!!!

That’s right, I am in more dire need of a shower than any Preventive Medicine Practitioner in history—and the water goes out…  No reason to panic.  There are contingency plans for this.  There are bottles of water strategically placed outside to gain the benefits of the morning and afternoon sun—they are warm.  I grab two of these babies and have a truly field expedient shower.  Half of one bottle (1.5 liters each) to get wet.  Lather up.  One and a half bottles to rinse…  I had to drink three more (cold) bottles of water to get re-hydrated after the porta-john and running, but things are looking good now (nice clear urine and it is time for bed)…

Hopefully the water will be in the morning…

Dumpster Diving

So, why was I digging through the trash in the head (bathroom for you non-Navy types), buck-naked just a few minutes ago?

 

Well, let me tell you.  We are pretty lucky to have two showers in the building.  So, don’t think I am complaining for one second—I am not.  Even though the water only works some of the time.  Being dirty half the time is much better than being dirty all of the time!!

 

Anyway, I am minding my own business, as always, getting in the shower before bed this evening.  Water is on.  Just watched Dodgeball The Movie.  Got an e-mail from Peg that Zygote is moving so much the doctor cannot tell what’s down there, talk about healthy…  Things are good.  I turn on the water, and am about to get into the shower, when I notice that my washrag is conspicuously missing—it is yellow (weird how that color keeps coming up…  it isn’t even my favorite color).  Hmmm.  I immediately suspect something has happened, I just have no clue what.  Maybe there is a new policy about leaving your washrag hanging in the shower—but I never heard of it—I would think I might hear about something like that.  But, just in case, I meander over to the trash can.  Good thing the wash rag is yellow, because I spot it instantly about a third the way down the garbage pile.  The washrag is synthetic, so I have no qualms about rinsing it out a few times (with soap—I am not a complete savage) and going ahead with the shower as planned.  Although, I must admit, I spent some idle time in the shower wondering how the washrag had ended up in the trash.

 

Luckily, as I am leaving the head I run to the one person that would likely know:  Chief.  So, very casual, I ask, “Hey, Chief, is there some new rule about not leaving washrags hanging in the shower?”  Pretty smooth, I thought.

 

“No, Sir, no rule like that.  Why?  Did something happen to your washrag?”  See, I knew Chief would know something was up.

 

“Well, yeah.  I found it in the garbage!  But, I used it anyway.”  She made a face not unlike the one you are probably making right now…

 

“I will ask in the morning if anyone threw a washrag away—that’s just weird.”  A pregnant pause.  “It wasn’t yellow was it??”  Aha!  I am onto something big here!

 

“Why, yes, Chief it was yellow.”

“Oh…  I thought that was just a regular old cleaning rag.  I threw it out after I used it to clean out the cooler—that thing was disgusting!!  Maybe you should get a new washrag.”

 

“Thanks, Chief…  Goodnight…”

The Jacuzzi and The General

So, the other day, I am sitting at my desk minding my own business.  In fact, I am on the phone speaking with Norfolk (not the whole town—just one person inside of a cubicle inside an office in an old building on the Portsmouth Naval Hospital Grounds…)  Anyway, I am trying to get and give some information relevant to deployment and various other things in life (life pretty much is this deployment—not a helluva lot else to do here but work and think about NOT being deployed—and, as I prefer to be a bit more optimistic and positive, I end spending a lot of time working—not to say that I get a lot done, but that is another story… ).

 

So, I am having this conversation and the Chief opens the door to the outer office and mouths something that looks like “the general is here!”  What kind of cruel joke is this?  Something to trick me into getting off the phone—no!  Not 2 seconds after she gives this silent, mouthed warning but does the Big Cheese, the boss of my bosses (no matter which chain of command I am following that day), come strolling in like he owns the place—which isn’t too far from the truth—he is certainly responsible for the place.  Technically the Iraqi government, duly elected, owns the place.  This is very interesting—from across the room all I can see is that this is an Army general.  But, by the time I get up close enough to shake his hand, I have been able to read his nametag—thank God for those things!—and know who he is.  I must be living right, because not 10 minutes prior to him coming through the door I was going to put on my shorts and yellow “Hello, My Name Is Nancy” t-shirt—that would have been interesting!!  Anyway, I was basically presentable.  But my mind was not as quick as my appearance may have led him to believe…  He asked how things were going, if we needed anything…  Things are going well, but of course there ARE some things we need—I just couldn’t think of them right then.  All I could think to say was “blah, blah, blah, blah … everything is great!”  And, then he was gone—poof, like the wind.  I guess Generals are like that.

 

He was on a tight schedule—had a number of places on base to visit in only an hour or so…  He came to base to attend the memorial service of an Army medic that had died over the weekend.  She was in a vehicle heading out to treat the injured at the sight of an IED that hit a convoy.  A second IED took her Hummer out, killed her and the other Army medic with her is in critical condition.  Perhaps the General had other things on his mind than what we needed… I hope so.

 

Now, this General visit was a surprise.  But I would have thought I would have been more prepared, because another General is SUPPOSED to come visit us this week.  Although his aide has never called to schedule.  So, we may have gotten off the hook for the week.  But these guys don’t forget—and I am sure he will be visiting soon—and for more than a few minutes like the last one. Anyway, we have actually been preparing for a general’s visit.  And that brings us to the Jacuzzi.  The term Jacuzzi is actually pretty generous for what I am talking about.  A 3000 gallon water bladder, filled with water and algae, is sitting on our lanai.  We actually do have a lanai—more of a side porch—well, it is an area of asphalt that has some shade and chairs.  It is very pleasant in the evening—really…  Now, if we had a pump and kept the thing up, that would be one thing.  But no one has stepped up to take care of this thing—so, it needs to go—it is disgusting.  The point is, it really needs to go before the General that is scheduled to visit us actually does so!  Of course, it is kind of like trying to hide a gorilla—where do you put a 3000 gallon water bladder when you want it gone???  Don’t worry, we have a plan—and it is legal!

 

Anyway, the surprise General didn’t see the Jacuzzi and I hope the scheduled general doesn’t either…  wish us luck…

Mail from Home

Two rather largish boxes arrived, for me, with the mail-call yesterday. I knew Peg had sent me a box on the 6^th of July, and a couple of others a week or so later. So, I was very excited. I waited a while to open the first box. Sitting at my desk, answering phone calls and e-mails and the like—building up the anticipation. I open the first box—just like Christmas. All kinds of great things are coming out. Jumping from one wonderful bit of home to the next—what fun! I get to the bottom of the box, but I am not worried—I have an entire other box to open. I even wait a while to open the second box—a bit of a dalliance—makes the upcoming opening of the box so much the better. Actually, I was rudely interrupted by some actual work. So, it is an hour or so later when I start opening the second box and realize that it has a return address that doesn’t include the words “San Diego”--it slowly dawned on me that this box was something else entirely. That's right; it was 12 jump bags (big duffel bags) that were for the team that just left--to help them pack all their gear home. Disappointed!! However, the bags will come in quite handy when it is time for us to redeploy--although it is still a bit early for me to start talking about that!

But, anyway, there was the lovely box from home. Everything made it—sort of. The Almond Roca is a bit squidgy, but still good. Chocolate seems to be a hit or miss item. You take a chance sending it, but if it comes through OK, then what a major bonus!! Now, the Milano cookies didn't melt (or, if they did, they reannealed leaving no one the wiser about their temporary liquification). However, the Milanos did suffer a bit from being packed next to some big, heavy books. They are a bit broken up. That doesn't change the great taste though--and besides, Milano cookies are too big for a single bite anyway--this way they are in nice, bite-sized chunks--perfect!!

Everything else came through with flying colors—including the bottles of Extra Strenght Gold Bond Medicated Powder. There seems to be some truth to the old phrase "too much of a good thing". A bit of Extra Strength Gold Bond Medicated Powder feels like a cool breeze. A lot of Extra Strength Gold Bond Medicated Powder on semi-damp skin after a shower feels like an Arctic Wind is ripping frozen hunks of flesh from your body.

Forewarned is forearmed!

Another Purple Heart

Well, I have done it again. Actually, this is the tale of two tragic injuries to my left index finger in the span of a few hours--maybe less, it is all a bit blurry now.

The day starts off innocently enough--we are still cleaning various protions of our building here. The back store room being one of the last major spots--it is in need of some serious work--all kinds of stuff laying all over the place. Tools, equipment, consumable supplies, clothes from people that were deployed here over a year ago... You get the idea. There was one small shelf where cleaning supplies were located--that was nice. But Dusty (he's the microbiologist) and I decide that it is time to BUILD SOMETHING BIG and STURDY... Evidently, it is pretty easy to get some cuts of lumber around here, immpossible to get others. You guessed it--everyone wnats 2x4s, so those are hard to get. But 4.8 sheets of plywood and 4x4s and 2x6s and 2x10s were in ready supply--good for us. The next thing that everyone wants that you cannot get are screws for putting the lumber together--who builds with nails anymore--screws are sooo much better--well, they are only better if you have a powered screwdriver--we do.

So, we are cutting and nailing and screwing (we do have some screws, but the supply is limited and we use them very judiciously) the wood together.

About half way through this one of the guys comes back from a trip to the flight line looking hot and tired. He looks this way because the Hummer he took up there has a bad starter and wouldn't start... Had to wait and take the bus back--only about two miles away, but a much longer bus ride all around the base. Bummer. I tell him (again, I think) about the trick of moving the fan belt/fan/starter an inch or so to engage a different area of the starter--an area with some teeth that will engage the engine--works every time. This is a big strong guy--he goes out with another big strong guy (we have another vehicle--no bus ride) to retrieve the Hummer.

No luck. They couldn't get the fan belt assembly/starter to budge a millimeter. We finsih the section of shelving we are working on, and then I grab the other big strong guy, a screw driver and (just in case) a crow bar. We get to the stranded Hummer, I slip the screw driver down to a position of advantageous leverage and voila! The starer moves! I am so excited that the screw driver slips and using the leverage pinches my finger angaints the side of the pulley--what an idiot. But it isn't THAT bad, and I feel good because the Hummer starts up like it is meant to--beautiful. Only problem is that we don't have the key to unlock the steering wheel and drive it back. So, I clean the vehicle (two years worth of garbage are under the seats), try to stay hydrated--I did bring water, and maintian slight pressure on the finger.

Fast forward an hour. I am back hammering nails into shelving--it is beautiful--so much nice clean storage. Whack! Hit the exact same finger in the exact same spot with the hammer. I ignored it until someone pointed out that I was bleeding all over my pants. Really a small injury, but quite vascular, I guess. I had to do laundry anyway, so no big deal. The pants are clean, my finger works and the shelves are complete. If you had seen the area before, you wouldn't recognize it now. But I think I will get some more screws and make sure everyone else knows how to start the Hummer--it's probably safer that way...

Maillot Jaune

So, this is way cool. I paint my door yellow (see below). And, BAM, in the mail I get a bright yellow shirt that says, "Hello, my name is Nancy" What a great thing to get in the mail! I guess the Maroccos went on a sudden to a Dave Matthews Band concert (damn the bad luck), sat way up front, AND got a free t-shirt. They really must be living right to have all of that happen. I guess this was just a week or so ago... Now the shirt does say "DMB02" on the sleeve--I don't think it means dumbo-two, but actually stands for Dave Matthews Band 2002. That means the shirt is a few years old. I guess if you have a warehouse full of yellow shirts that say your name is Nancy you don't have much choice but to give them away at a concert... But, the age of the shirt had done nothing totone down the bright yellowness of the thing--truly exceptional. For some reason, when Doug and Sandy saw a shirt that bright, they thought that I would like to have it (I must be living right too!). They were right--it looks great--I am thinking of hopping on the one bike we have working here and doing my own little Tour de Al Asad while wearing my maillot jaune (that really is French for yellwo jersey--I babelfished it and checked the official TDF site). Anyway, here I am with all the color that exists in my life right now.

Yellow Door

So, it is VERY brown around here. The dirt, the buildings, the cars, the air--yes, even the air is brown--damn dusty. The walls of my office are brown. My desk is brown. The floor is brown. Dust brown everywhere... So, I need a bit of color in my life. Lo and behold, a can of bright yellow paint is sitting in the storage room along with a box full of those flimsy little foamy brushes. Oh, not everything is brown--my door is a big, hulking steel-grey thing. So the door is what I decided to paint--a nice big flat surface--no worries. Bright, cheery yellow...

I start painting. The paint has a bit of a film over the top--no good tools or sticks to remove it, but I press on with the foamy brush. This is a whimpy bruch for this super thick, rich, Iraqi oil-based paint. This paint is going on like butter--wow is it thick. Pretty soon I realize that it really smells too--smells like a gasoline spill in my office, and in the office next door, and in all the berthing areas down the hall. I have single-handedly done the impossible--I made the air in this place worse!!!

But the door looks great! Actually, it needs another coat, but I cannot bring myself to open the can again...

The big picture...

“A corps of Medical officers was not established solely for the purpose of attending the wounded and sick; the proper treatment of these sufferers is certainly a matter of very great importance, and is an imperative duty, but the labors of Medical officers cover a more extended field.  The leading idea, which should be constantly kept in view, is to strengthen the hands of the Commanding General by keeping his army in the most vigorous health, thus rendering it, in the highest degree, efficient for enduring fatigue and privation, and for fighting.”

 

                        -Jonathan Letterman, 1866, Medical Director, Army of the Potomac

 

A quote from a very smart guy who lived long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away…

Purple Heart??

So, I arrive in Iraq unscathed. I go on a convoy, and return--once again, unscathed. Then we go to the range and fire M-16s--still unscathed. But, look at what happens when you reach over a HOT 220V lamp (with a broken rheostat) to turn down the music on your iPOD!!

A quick trip to stamp out disease and save lives...

We had to ride in the back of this 7 ton truck for about an hour. It is hot in the middle of the desert. It is hotter in the back of one of these trucks...

When we got back from that trip, we got to have a little ceremony for the official "transfer of authority". Very exciting...


Did I mention that we got to hang out with some tank guys during th aforementioned trip??

Welcome to my world for the next 6 months or so...

This is the first entry in my deployment blog...

Just a little something to pass the time and let folks know what I am doing...