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
Thursday, January 31, 2008
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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