My doctor dubbed me the Grim Reaper last night and to others, mentioned the name, Angel of Death. You know, that guy with the pale bony face who supposedly appears right before someone kicks the bucket? Not that anyone has kicked the bucket in my presence for a long time but because all of my injured Marines have been kind enough to do it when I happen to be taking pictures with my camera. Yes, I have caught every single accident with the mechanism of injury for all of the trips to the hospital. My last shot of each of these days is usually what ever it is that took them out.
Guess that's one of the strange perks of being a corpsman/unit photographer. For my last two patients I took over, I was there in the ER talking to the Doc on duty, telling them the story about what happened and the patient history. Towards the end of me passing on the info, a light would flare in my head and I would say "wait", pull out my camera and sure enough, there it is.
Sort of spooky, because when I see the injured Marine, my brain goes into crisis mode and the camera goes down into the bag and I forget that I even had it then at the hospital. Then the thought would rise up in my consciousness, was I filming or taking pictures when it happened? I never remember actually taking the picture and the actual memory of the event has always been different then the reality that my camera shows.
It's first hand proof for me that adrenalin does warp space and time.
Another thing that sinks afterwards is all of the aches and pains that comes from running on that adrenalin and manhandling people around. I'm getting old. I also didn't miss the waking up in the middle of the night trying to figure out how I could have done something different and second guessing myself. I'm not afraid of dying or getting blown up, what I'm afraid of is having those I'm responsible for get hurt and not being able to save them.
Just lying in my bed watching Juno and my roommate is across the way is watching wrestling which seems to be on out here every other night. I’m totally digging the movie and typing this at the same time which calls for much editing later. But got to write when the feeling calls.
We had a Bar-b-q for Easter Sunday, even though we’re at the edge of the world, our PX still carries frozen t-bones, hamburgers and chicken. Had a good turn out, 60’s music playing and horseshoes were making ting sound in the background. I donated a rice cooker full of sweet rice and everyone pitched in something, chips, soda, non alcoholic beer, ack, non alcoholic beer. For the moment, it was almost like we weren’t on the opposite side of the world from everything we love.The weather people say that there’s a sand storm on the way and I can feel the hairs on the back on my neck sticking up. Of course it all could be my imagination but I think it’s a big one is coming.
It’s late and I wonder how all of my people are doing back in the states. Lonely times and this movie makes me miss home.
Coping Cliques
We each find our way of coping with the distance. Being a Corpsman of Marines, it's turned me into a watcher of people and being tapped as the unit photographer, that gives me an unbiased license to see everything.
Humans are social beings, the interaction between people give me hours of enjoyment just observing. Lately my focus has been on the unconscious cliques people form to deal with the stress of deployment.
If you're watching us from the outside, the first people to catch your eyes are the PT Studs in all of their muscled glory. In some past life before they became Marines, they were probably jocks or someone who had dreamed of being a jock. Now they're deployed and are unencumbered by the social niceties of family and network television and have free reign to shape their bodies into an Arnold-like state of physical perfection. Back home, it’s rare to be able to fit a daily three-hour workout into your schedule. But here? Once work is completed, a distraction-free day provides optimal work-out conditions.
Another group is the Halo/Call of Duty/Unreal Tournament Super Virtual Soldiers, they're sort of an upstart group, only appearing in the last decade or so. These guys spend a good percentage of their deployed lives training their brains into becoming one with their warrior avatar till they find that cyber nirvana of being where they are able to last waste to that online countryside that the game produces and bask joyfully in the sound of curses and moans of the Marines whom they have fragged. In decades past, their ancestors were probably D&D players. The hardest task these guys have when returning to the states is remembering that they have responsibilities outside of the game.
No matter where you go or how primitive the environment is, you'll find a group of people who live to play cards. They spend hours each night practicing telepathy on each other, not that it works but watching from the outside, you expect to hear a eureka moment that never happens. They lie in wait with an empty chair at the table waiting for fresh meat to have a seat and when they lose to the outsider, their moans can be heard for weeks. The banter of card players has become the familiar drone that has laid the backdrop for every conflict for centuries and don't think it's going to stop anytime soon.
Myself? I follow more of the nerdy studious crowd. I walk around with a paperback in my cargo pocket and when I'm not reading, I spend a fair amount of time online catching up with email and talking to people around the world.
There are as many categories as there are people, I just named a few that stick out. The folks who end up having the problems out here are the ones who haven't developed a good method of spending their free time.
They spend hours dwelling about being in the middle of the war or feeling lonely, many of a clock ticking in their heads counting off the seconds to that date far off in the future when they get to go home.
These are the people I watch the closest and when I have to, intervene.
I've learned over the years, the more time you hold in your head, the less space you have to use for other things. The old adage of taking things "one day at a time" actually works.
I'm lucky in most respects, to sort of quote one of my SSgt's, "There's too many Frikkin happy people around here!" It's true. This trip I've deployed with a cheery bunch, every morning, I'm forced though a gauntlet of smiling Marines saying "Hi Doc!", "What's up Doc?", "Good morning Doc!" with high fives. You think I'm kidding? Nope. At least they like me and it makes it hard to be down for too long. Most days, it’s difficult to imagine these guys as lean mean fighting machines but I've seen them slip on their battle skins and then it's hard to believe that they were ever soft.
