Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Photos: Crossed Swords
These are photos from the Crossed Swords monument, Tomb of the Unknown Soldier monument, and Camp Prosperity; all are located within the IZ (International Zone) in Baghdad. These were taken during my trip in December.
Where I am
Today I *finally* had the opportunity to take a photo that I have been wanting since I arrived. For your viewing enjoyment:
What the heck is that?
It’s a good thing that products sold in this part of the world have the same packaging “look” as they do back in the states.
Wish list
My current crazy wish list:
Little Debbie chocolate creme-filled cupcakes
Terra chips
Fig Newtons
Sugar in the Raw packets
Hawaiian print scrub top (I didn't say this list made sense)
Ritz crackers
Tostidos cheese queso
Any kind of nut/fruit/snack blend from Central Market or Whole Foods
Container/dirt/seeds for flowers, grass, or whatever
It's strange. The things that I thought that I would miss....I don't, but I do miss certain really crazy random things. Like cupcakes. Ha!
Little Debbie chocolate creme-filled cupcakes
Terra chips
Fig Newtons
Sugar in the Raw packets
Hawaiian print scrub top (I didn't say this list made sense)
Ritz crackers
Tostidos cheese queso
Any kind of nut/fruit/snack blend from Central Market or Whole Foods
Container/dirt/seeds for flowers, grass, or whatever
It's strange. The things that I thought that I would miss....I don't, but I do miss certain really crazy random things. Like cupcakes. Ha!
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Egg-citing evening
All this talk about eggs, and now an evening filled with them. Or should I say, not filled with them. You see, eating any foods from out on the local economy (eggs included) is prohibited by the big, bad, mean all encompassing rule called General Order #1. The order on what you can and can not do includes rules on alcohol, who you can and can not have sex with (guys from Australia are allowed, but don’t hook up with a guy from Nepal), prohibiting photographing of dead Soldiers and body parts, etc. All the super big no-no’s are included. Since breaking General Order #1 could have some serious repercussions, even if it is something as little as eating an Iraqi chicken egg, I am not admitting to ANYTHING on this blog. So, in the spirit of all things Internet and fun, I will now share with you what I did not do this evening.
I did not look in the fridge at work to see a dozen beautiful, glowing fresh brown eggs looking back at me. I did not know of their origin from a local store. I did not do something naughty and selfish, such as sneaking one of the little treasures into the pocket of my uniform, ever so carefully as to not break the shell. I in no way brought the egg to my room, and pondered how I could cook the yummy yellow and white goodness inside.
I did not set up my hotpot, complete with copious amounts of bottled water, and gently lowered the egg inside with a spoon. I did not participate in the careful and tedious monitoring of the boiling water as the little brown oval of happiness bounced around inside. I completely deny cooking the egg for 10 minutes (just to be sure) and then letting it sit for half an hour in the hot water to complete the process. I also further deny that the cooked egg now rests in my apartment fridge, in a mug, ready to be cracked and eaten tomorrow evening with a touch of salt and pepper.
The best part of this whole deal, which never happened of course, is the actual cooking process. Let me explain about this Iraqi hot water pot contraption. It’s as simple as you can get- add water, plug in, water boils, unplug pot. Not even an on-off switch. The battle comes when trying to ‘not’ boil an egg. How do you maintain constant temperature for 10 minutes- when the only way to turn it off is to unplug it? Leaving it plugged in results in violently boiling water that could cause some serious flash-burns. So what I didn’t do was to sit next to my trusty hot pot and plug-in and unplug the cord every 10 seconds or so for the entire 10 minutes. It really is a wonder that I didn’t get electrocuted from my egg that I didn’t cook. Ha!
I decided to wait til tomorrow night to eat the egg that I don’t have, so I could enjoy it more. That sounds incredibly stupid, right? But by the time I was ‘not’ finished cooking the egg, it was time for my evening phone call with my boyfriend, and then my room mate was asleep. When you put this much time, effort, energy, and thought into ‘not’ cooking an egg, you really want to sit down and enjoy the sucker. At least 10 minutes of enjoyment- this may be the only egg I ‘don’t’ eat for another year.
I did not look in the fridge at work to see a dozen beautiful, glowing fresh brown eggs looking back at me. I did not know of their origin from a local store. I did not do something naughty and selfish, such as sneaking one of the little treasures into the pocket of my uniform, ever so carefully as to not break the shell. I in no way brought the egg to my room, and pondered how I could cook the yummy yellow and white goodness inside.
I did not set up my hotpot, complete with copious amounts of bottled water, and gently lowered the egg inside with a spoon. I did not participate in the careful and tedious monitoring of the boiling water as the little brown oval of happiness bounced around inside. I completely deny cooking the egg for 10 minutes (just to be sure) and then letting it sit for half an hour in the hot water to complete the process. I also further deny that the cooked egg now rests in my apartment fridge, in a mug, ready to be cracked and eaten tomorrow evening with a touch of salt and pepper.
The best part of this whole deal, which never happened of course, is the actual cooking process. Let me explain about this Iraqi hot water pot contraption. It’s as simple as you can get- add water, plug in, water boils, unplug pot. Not even an on-off switch. The battle comes when trying to ‘not’ boil an egg. How do you maintain constant temperature for 10 minutes- when the only way to turn it off is to unplug it? Leaving it plugged in results in violently boiling water that could cause some serious flash-burns. So what I didn’t do was to sit next to my trusty hot pot and plug-in and unplug the cord every 10 seconds or so for the entire 10 minutes. It really is a wonder that I didn’t get electrocuted from my egg that I didn’t cook. Ha!
I decided to wait til tomorrow night to eat the egg that I don’t have, so I could enjoy it more. That sounds incredibly stupid, right? But by the time I was ‘not’ finished cooking the egg, it was time for my evening phone call with my boyfriend, and then my room mate was asleep. When you put this much time, effort, energy, and thought into ‘not’ cooking an egg, you really want to sit down and enjoy the sucker. At least 10 minutes of enjoyment- this may be the only egg I ‘don’t’ eat for another year.
Below: A photo of an egg. Completely random photo from the internet, of course.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Saturday cleaning
After a much needed day off from work filled with sleeping in late, enjoying a cup of coffee instead of hurriedly slurping it down, and catching up on some paperwork, I set out to clean my room. When all you have is 6 feet by 10 feet of space, it can quickly get messy. Feeding into my OCD I organized, swept, and otherwise tidied up. Now to share with you the space that I live in (which you can tell by the photo of the shower rack that the space is occupied by some super girly-girls):
I also planted the second set of tulip bulbs that I received. The first batch has already begun to sprout, though it I a bit early for them. Then again, these bulbs are used to Holland, not Iraq.
It would be absolutely fantastic to grow other flowers or grass here. If anyone is willing to send over a pot, some dirt, and some seeds- I would love it. I promise to send photos in return. I can imagine it now- “yard work” once a week by trimming the grass with scissors. Ha!
I also planted the second set of tulip bulbs that I received. The first batch has already begun to sprout, though it I a bit early for them. Then again, these bulbs are used to Holland, not Iraq.
It would be absolutely fantastic to grow other flowers or grass here. If anyone is willing to send over a pot, some dirt, and some seeds- I would love it. I promise to send photos in return. I can imagine it now- “yard work” once a week by trimming the grass with scissors. Ha!
Friday, February 1, 2008
Egg-citing news
Great news- the ban on real eggs here in Iraq has been lifted! Yes! In another month or so we may actually get real eggs in our dining facilities. I can’t wait- I would love to have one hard boiled with a little pepper and salt. Or an omelet with real eggs…wow. This is great news! Now if they will get us fresh milk, it would really make my day.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Top ten things I miss
Top 10 things I miss:
10. Being able to cook in my kitchen
9. Flushing toilet paper (it clogs the pipes here)
8. Reading a newspaper other than the Stars and Stripes
7. More than 5 minutes of hot water in the showers
6. Cherry tomatoes and real eggs
5. My cat, Meatball
4. Squishy and soft carpet, and walking barefoot
3. Wearing clothing that isn’t gray, green, black, or khaki
2. Enjoying a glass of Chianti
1. Being able to call or see my friends whenever I wish
10. Being able to cook in my kitchen
9. Flushing toilet paper (it clogs the pipes here)
8. Reading a newspaper other than the Stars and Stripes
7. More than 5 minutes of hot water in the showers
6. Cherry tomatoes and real eggs
5. My cat, Meatball
4. Squishy and soft carpet, and walking barefoot
3. Wearing clothing that isn’t gray, green, black, or khaki
2. Enjoying a glass of Chianti
1. Being able to call or see my friends whenever I wish
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Sandstorm
Another day of the same. The sun has risen, flooded our world with light, and then set down into a pool of orange sky. The orange today was more than the norm, and signaled to all that the skies were not friendly tonight. A sandstorm, quickly approaching, was soon to cover our area with the dark thick air that sends all forms of life with legs scurrying for shelter. Sandstorms mean more than just weather difficulties- they severely hamper our way of life. With no flights able to come in or go out we are effectively shut down to air traffic. No new patients in, but no patients headed out either. The usually fairly empty hallways were instead this evening filled with American Soldiers wheeling around in their new wheelchairs, hobbling on crutches, or pushing IV poles around. The boredom was evident- but no one mentions it. The boredom…just…is. It is as normal to us as breathing.
I skipped a week or so of writing not because of lack of topic, but rather lack of interest in writing. Much has happened, but much can not be put into words without a bit of decompression and mental processing.
I encountered my first patient death. At least it felt like it was my first. It was my first like this. I remember setting up the room, preparing for the patient to be transported to us from the ICU. Room 4, bed B. When I chose the bed assignment for him, I thought that he would want to die next to the window- though I knew he was blind. I walked into room 4, and looked around. Such a shitty place to die. Stark walls, broken mini-blinds. Crappy hospital bed. I wanted to just kick it…or kick the wall. Instead I just folded the sheets neatly and waited for the patient to arrive. I didn’t know a name…or an age. Just a man, 70% body surface area burns, and no family to hold his hand as he passed on from this world.
Death spared no time- minutes, or perhaps seconds it seemed after arrival into what was to be his terminal bed, the Iraqi man passed away. I went to pull the sheet over his face, and felt tremendous fear. Why? I still don’t know why I was so chilled the way I was. Perhaps it was the fear of death that we all battle each day here. Perhaps it was his grotesque appearance- his face so badly burned that his lips were gone, revealing his stained teeth. I was immensely embarrassed as my hands shook reaching for his blanket. I could only hope that no one would be afraid of my body right after my death, but there was no controlling my emotions for that minute. I quickly exited the room.
I skipped a week or so of writing not because of lack of topic, but rather lack of interest in writing. Much has happened, but much can not be put into words without a bit of decompression and mental processing.
I encountered my first patient death. At least it felt like it was my first. It was my first like this. I remember setting up the room, preparing for the patient to be transported to us from the ICU. Room 4, bed B. When I chose the bed assignment for him, I thought that he would want to die next to the window- though I knew he was blind. I walked into room 4, and looked around. Such a shitty place to die. Stark walls, broken mini-blinds. Crappy hospital bed. I wanted to just kick it…or kick the wall. Instead I just folded the sheets neatly and waited for the patient to arrive. I didn’t know a name…or an age. Just a man, 70% body surface area burns, and no family to hold his hand as he passed on from this world.
Death spared no time- minutes, or perhaps seconds it seemed after arrival into what was to be his terminal bed, the Iraqi man passed away. I went to pull the sheet over his face, and felt tremendous fear. Why? I still don’t know why I was so chilled the way I was. Perhaps it was the fear of death that we all battle each day here. Perhaps it was his grotesque appearance- his face so badly burned that his lips were gone, revealing his stained teeth. I was immensely embarrassed as my hands shook reaching for his blanket. I could only hope that no one would be afraid of my body right after my death, but there was no controlling my emotions for that minute. I quickly exited the room.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Update and toe socks
Wow, time flies! It has been weeks since I last wrote anything…yet so much has happened. We found out the dates for our return back to the states, and it looks like it is about 6-7 weeks earlier than we originally anticipated. Yippee! No complaints from me.
The daily drudgery of treating combat wounds continues, but not without periodic glimpses of positive outcomes. One of our jobs here is to treat those that have been unfortunate and been accidentally wounded by military. I wish I could share more details-and one day I will- but for now I will just say that seeing some of the surgeon’s work here is amazing. Taking the seemingly impossible and making it a reality is the daily result of the combination of talent and skill that our staff possesses. It is a tragedy that we have to witness death and injury, but knowing that there are those that can and do recover from their maladies is a positive pull that keeps us moving forward.
Toe socks, anyone? Have you seen these crazy things? They are socks, but with individual little “fingers” for each of your toes to go into, like gloves. One of my patients had her brother bring me a pair as a gift, which I thought was incredibly sweet. As I was told, Iraqi’s hate white socks. In the past (not entirely sure about currently) part of the required school uniform were clean, white socks. In a country covered in sand and dirt where it is difficult to maintain a level of cleanliness on a good day, the difficulty of keeping children’s socks clean was an even greater challenge. In the direct words of one of the interpreters, “All Iraqi’s hate white socks. Never could keep them clean, we just got a new pair every few days.” After having this conversation with the interpreter (who I shall add was wearing black and red heart covered socks) and my patient (who was wearing pink, blue, and yellow striped socks), I revealed that I was wearing the dreaded white socks as part of my work uniform. This evidentially led to my gaining of a pair of Iraqi yellow and blue toe socks. I haven’t tried them on yet, so perhaps a review will follow.
The daily drudgery of treating combat wounds continues, but not without periodic glimpses of positive outcomes. One of our jobs here is to treat those that have been unfortunate and been accidentally wounded by military. I wish I could share more details-and one day I will- but for now I will just say that seeing some of the surgeon’s work here is amazing. Taking the seemingly impossible and making it a reality is the daily result of the combination of talent and skill that our staff possesses. It is a tragedy that we have to witness death and injury, but knowing that there are those that can and do recover from their maladies is a positive pull that keeps us moving forward.
Toe socks, anyone? Have you seen these crazy things? They are socks, but with individual little “fingers” for each of your toes to go into, like gloves. One of my patients had her brother bring me a pair as a gift, which I thought was incredibly sweet. As I was told, Iraqi’s hate white socks. In the past (not entirely sure about currently) part of the required school uniform were clean, white socks. In a country covered in sand and dirt where it is difficult to maintain a level of cleanliness on a good day, the difficulty of keeping children’s socks clean was an even greater challenge. In the direct words of one of the interpreters, “All Iraqi’s hate white socks. Never could keep them clean, we just got a new pair every few days.” After having this conversation with the interpreter (who I shall add was wearing black and red heart covered socks) and my patient (who was wearing pink, blue, and yellow striped socks), I revealed that I was wearing the dreaded white socks as part of my work uniform. This evidentially led to my gaining of a pair of Iraqi yellow and blue toe socks. I haven’t tried them on yet, so perhaps a review will follow.
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