Purpose

We were contacted in early January by a corpsman from the 26th MEU (Marine Expeditionary Units consisting of nearly 2200 personnel). Apparently, they had deployed almost two months earlier than expect back in August leaving many of the Marines without their required eye protection or extra glasses. In the months that followed several had also lost or broken the set that they had. While floating in the middle of the ocean, this was not as big of a deal. But the 26th MEU was being tasked to go forward. These Marines needed to be able to see and to have their eyes protected in order to carry out their new mission.

With the help of their corpsmen, we were able to pull the majority of prescriptions out of their medical records to facilitate the ordering of their glasses and inserts. However, nearly 100 Marines did not have an exam or refraction in their record. For two and a half days we evaluated and refracted all of these Marines. We fabricated glasses for all but two (their prescriptions exceeded any lenses we had. Luckily both of them had a set of spectacles to get them by until their new ones arrived). In total, we ordered or fabricated 644 sets of spectacles and inserts.

I want to thank HM2 Cruz, our optometry tech, HM3 Hickey, our 0000 (a 0000 is a general corpsman), and IT3 Castaneda (IT is Information Technology), who made this evolution as smooth as possible. They did an outstanding job working up the patients and fabricating the glasses ensuring the patient left with their spectacle that same day (the Marines were located at a Camp about 2 hours away). It was truly an example of perfected teamwork working towards a common goal—making sure we were taking care of our Marines.

I also want to thank the NOSTRA team (NOSTRA is the fabrication lab for the Department of Defense). HM2 Cruz coordinated with CDR Andre to make our orders a priority. We began receiving completed orders less than a week after they were entered.

The Marines have already left for their next destination. And they left with their required eyewear in hand. It was an honor and a privilege serving the warfighters going to the pointiest tip of the spear.

R&R

I never thought I would be excited to do absolutely nothing. Generally speaking, I like to be active and have something to do. Boredom is not my friend. However, in the last day or two I have come to appreciate “nothing”.

I am on R&R (Rest and Recuperation), a four day pass given to those who have deployed for greater than 180 days (our deployment is around 235). Because I am not here a full year, I am not allowed to go home. Our only option for R&R is in Qatar.

Our journey began on Monday by going to another base to catch a flight to Qatar. The first flight out was on Tuesday which gave us about 24 hours to get through before the next leg of our trip. We are one of the last groups to go on R&R so we had heard many horror stories about the travel and how long it took to get places and all about the “hurry up and wait”. Although my type “A” personality would usually buy right into the annoyance of multiple delays, this time I was determined to make the most out of my down time.

I spent 24 hours playing on the computer, uploading pictures, reading a book, listening to music, watching a movie, and sleeping. It was glorious. I can’t remember the last time I have had the luxury of doing absolutely nothing of real importance. If I have any “extra” time, I fill it with completing records, doing laundry, working on collateral duties, and if I’m lucky, I might work in an escape to the wood shop.

Now I am a little more recharged and I’m ready to tackle Qatar and all it has to offer. I have no doubt R&R will accomplish what it is intended to do….provide rest and relaxation. ..and a little bit of nothing.

I believe

I am 39 years old, and I believe in Santa Claus.

Ever since as long as I can remember, Santa ALWAYS came to visit me at Christmas…or at least he left or sent me presents. I have never had a Christmas when I didn’t have something to open from Santa. All of these years, I assumed my Dad (and sometimes my Mom) was Santa’s little helper.

This year, my Dad and Joanne and my Mom sent me lovely Christmas packages. But there wasn’t anything in it wrapped and signed “from Santa”. This is understandable since most post offices advise senders not to wrap packages going overseas. I did receive a “secret Santa” gift from someone who works here at the hospital. It was a wonderful gift. But it wasn’t REALLY from Santa or “his little helper”, I knew this because I, too, had given a “secret Santa” gift.

I really thought that this was going to be my first Christmas without Santa finding me.

Christmas started relatively uneventful. I had gone to Mass on Christmas Eve. There wasn’t any Mass on Christmas day at our Camp because the Priest had gone to another to celebrate Christmas Mass. So instead, I went to work at the wood shop and then went for a haircut.

The hair stylist asked if I would be interested in a facial. I figured I had nothing better to do and I needed to kill at least another hour before I could reach anyone in the States due to the time difference. She said it would take about 40 minutes. Perfect.

I dozed in and out as she applied scrubs and lotions and masks and peels. It was very relaxing. Just what I needed.

When she was finished, I slowly mustered the energy to get up and go pay my bill. The cashier just smiled at me and said, “No charge.” Excuse me. No charge. As in free? But I haven’t paid yet. My groggy mind was having a difficult time wrapping itself around this concept. She then said that the gentleman that had just left paid for everyone. I asked her for his name so I could thank him. But she just smiled and said that he asked to remain anonymous. That he did not want our thanks but to tell us he just wanted us to have a Merry Christmas.

As I walked back to our living area, I got a little teary. It seemed Santa found me after all. Maybe it wasn’t the jolly ol’ elf that we take our children to see, and maybe it wasn’t Santa’s helper in the form of my Dad. But it was the spirit and goodness of Christmas…the giving of gifts with no expectation of a present in return or even a thank you. And if in my mind that is what Santa represents, then yes, I am 39 years old and I believe in Santa Claus. And I hope to continue to believe always.

The other side

A few weeks ago, I hit a low. I was grumpy, I will admit. I think when you are on a deployment there is this point in the middle that is just not a very good place to be. At the beginning, everything is new. You are trying to learn your job, expectations, how to navigate in your new surroundings, etc. But once all of these tasks are mastered, each day is the same as the one before. Ground Hogs Day.

The problem with these trough days is that you really can only see as far as the next 24 hours. Or maybe to the next Sunday. Sunday is our only day of rest here. I use “day of rest” very loosely. Sunday is the day to catch up on sleep (I average about 5-6 hours per night during the week…and I’m usually an 8 hours per night kind of gal), do laundry, run errands, go to the cleaners, go to Mass, etc. Sundays go by WAY to fast. But I digress…

My point is that when you are in the middle, the end is too far away to even try to grasp. To think about it, to hope for it, to plan for it, is an impossibility. You are so stuck in your mundane existence looking down at your feet to see the next step that you can’t look up towards the horizon in search of the finish line. In marathon terms, you hit the wall.

But we are now 2/3 of the way through. The end is not in sight…yet. But I know that it is out there, and I can start to look towards the horizon. Our replacements should be here in less than two months. I’m beginning to catch my second wind. And just as when running a marathon, endurance will outlast the pain.

I am so grateful to my husband and children for waiting for me and cheering me on just as they have so many times over the years. I will cross that finish line, thankful for the experience, but thrilled to be going home with them at last.

I cannot wait!

Refined Latrines

Warning, this is one of the odd observation posts I mentioned might occur at some point. But it just struck me as a bit unique, so I thought I'd share.

Our base recently acquired “classy” porta-potties near the DFAC (Dining Facility). On the outside, it looks like a regular-ol’ Johnnie-on-the-spot. You know the type, hard green plastic outer shell with a door that swings open and a spring that slams it shut. On the inside, it has a typical urinal attached to the left-hand side and a wall mounted hand-sanitizer unit. But instead of a wooden base with a hole and a seat cover, it has a porcelain commode that actually flushes. I don’t quite understand how the process works. I didn’t see a single pipe leading away from the structure…yet, the contents disappeared. It’s like magic. AND best of all, it doesn’t smell. ..which in my book is BETTER than magic!

Navy beats Army!

It was Friday night. The crowd started gathering about 15 minute before game time. The bleachers were filling quickly, at least on our side of the field. This game was not a championship round, but it was the game that needed to be won. EMF-K: Kilo Detachment (Navy) playing 3rd MDSC (Army).

3rd MDSC is the command over us; they are our “boss” over here. Bragging rights were at stake. The smack talk had started days in advance. This was the match-up that mattered. This was a must win.

The game: flag football. And it was going to get ugly.

Picture it. Two teams lined up across the middle of the field, each side with matching gym shirts to designate their respective team affiliation. The lights shining brightly down onto the field. The ground, hard and dusty, not a blade of grass to be found. A slight breeze wafting through the air. Silence in anticipation of the start of this epic meeting. And then, the whistle blew.

On the side lines, there was an explosion of excitement as the Kilo cheerleaders danced and chanted with their shredded paper pom-poms and home-made signs. The crowd, in matching t-shirts specifically bought for the occasion doing the wave and yelling the chants as directed by the cheerleaders, watched the show before them—the game and the divas. The atmosphere was that of a small-town football game…a combination of pride and nothing better to do on a Friday night.

The first play ended with the mighty Navy running in for their first of many touchdowns. Although the “mercy” rule was never enforced…it should have been. Final score…Navy 33, Army 7.

The “real” Navy/Army Football game will take place in a few weeks. But here in Kuwait, the one that matters has already been played...and won.

Navy beats Army…oh yeah!!

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Apple pie anyone?

Last weekend, Anna and I were on our way to an afternoon lecture. We were standing in line at the coffee shop to get some much needed motivation for the stimulating topics to be covered during training. Suddenly, someone behind us said “Hey, you know the guy from American Pie? He’s right over there!”

We glanced in the direction the gentleman was pointing, and sure enough, there was Jason Biggs. There had been no announcement that he would be visiting, but there was no doubt he was who he was…he looked just like you would expect.

We immediately got out of line to go over and greet him. (Remember, we were in line for coffee, so voluntarily stepping aside without coffee in hand emphasizes the importance of the meeting.) He shook our hand and thanked us for our service. Chatted for a moment and then was told by his handlers that they were running late and that he needed to go. He shook our hand again and headed for the door.

I was SO bummed I didn’t have my camera! And then I spotted it, a glorious picture taking device in the hands of young soldier. “Please, please, please Mr. Soldier-guy, please take our picture.” He reluctantly agreed. I don’t really think his reluctance was in taking the picture, it was more in the running through the Exchange, out the door, and through the parking lot to chase down the already departed Mr. Biggs. But just as before, Jason was gracious and almost flattered that we had gone through so much trouble to have proof of our meeting.

Thank you, Mr. Biggs, for humoring us. And thank you, Mr. Soldier-guy, for capturing and providing the evidence.