I'm fixin' to write me a blog

20 days and London Bound. 6 days and back to KAF. Lots going on there, but I will not be participating. Stuff I started but have to cover here so, you're on own, Kandahar.
Everyone loves Dwyer. It's quiet. But quiet also equals boring. Nothing to do. But eat. And eat I am. So I hang out in the clinic until about 10:00 watching a movie and then off to my tent and bed. Being better about slamming the door. Have to hike just a little to the shower. I do miss my CHU and private internet and bathroom right next door. But no Poo Pond or rocket attacks here. The clinic is small but very nice. I have an office in the back. I get along with the Medics and we laugh a lot. They are all from the South and are trying to convert my California ways. I have to say "sumbitch" at least once a day. And "fixin to." E will not know who I am.
It has been chilly here and has snowed at some of the FOBs. I'm so glad that I brought a real jacket with me.
My latest project has to write evaluations on Medics. I had to stop because I got an email asking me why I was writing evaluations on people. "Um because you asked me to?" So I stopped. Then I created a form to use as a yearly skills check off sheets for the Medics. I was told that this was to be my top priority. We are trying to pass a JCAH inspection and I had to create a form that would pass their inspection. I think that it will. I asked about how many more we needed. The response I got said that I need to write evaluations on these people. I thought that I was doing skills check sheets. You told me to stop, so I did. No, we need evals. Sumbitch.
Then I got a list of 20 people that need skills check lists on. So I did them on those people. Then I got an email asking where their evals were. But you told me...oh, never mind.
Listen you sumbitches, I'm fixin to open a can of woop-ass on your ass. You all. Sorry, y'all.
So, what to do? Eat.
Rootbeer floats...yum.

Mrs. Caplin, we have bad news, your son's a dumbass.Oh, you knew that already...

With the car bomb attack at KAF and some other stuff going on, we are a little on edge. Not bad, you kind of get used to it. Being a KAF'er I am well trained when it come to the rocket attack alarm. It went off here. Nobody did anything. We just figured that it was a test. And it was, kind of. Accidental alarm button push. The one thing you shouldn't do is go outside and see if it is a real attack. Like running outside during an earthquake. So, that's exactly what we did. "Nope, no attack." We looked around, saw no running Marines or things going boom, so went back about our business.
I did almost get killed though. I came out of the bathroom, turned right and almost got killed by the poop truck. Wasn't expecting it to be driving through the LSA. That's what we call living areas. Just the irony alone was almost worth getting killed for.  If you're gonne die, die funny, that's my attitude. "Yeah the dumbass came out of the bathroom and got tagged by the poop truck. Shitty way to die. {mass laughter}." Actually, I was saved by the ground guide. Actually he told me to stop after I had stared death in the face. Or grill in this case. Um guys, just a note, maybe you should warn us before we're hit by the truck. I'm just sayin....

I see London, I see France...

Well in 25 days, anyway. 10 more at Camp Dwyer. Where the food is criminally good. I mentioned that having some fries to watch a movie with would be a treat and a ton of french fries arrived at the clinic. Seriously? I am surrendering to my inner fat contractor. I can't hep' it. There's nothing else to do here. There is  a Green Beans Coffee shop, our version of Starbucks, which doesn't help 'cause I am , as we all know, a tea drinker. They offered to put me back in the VIP tent but I'll just stay in a regular guy tent. Has a better bed. I got yelled at for slamming the door. Didn't really slam it but there are water bottle counter weights that keep the door closed and I didn't pay attention and it slammed, a little. Really, only a little but I did get yelled at. THAT would never happen in the VIP tent. Man it's tough when you have to go slummin'. I am the king of emergencies. The EMS depatment was never so busy before I arrived. Which is fine with them, keeps their stats up.
There was a car bomb at KAF that blew up at the front gate. The details are online if you need details. I'm at Dwyer, what do I know? {wink}
There really is nothing to do here but eat. I guess that's why the food is so good. I have been to the CSH, the Army's version of the Role 3 (it's technically a Role 2) and they treat me like a real PA. Guess I should start thinking like one. Everyone asks what I'm going to do next. No idea. I was looking for a job when I found this one. Maybe some sailing. I have been lowered to "tier 3" on the disaster team. Which means if no one else can go then they'll send me. Not feeling the love. But when you haven't done any training or stood inspection in a year, your stock is bound to drop. I feel like I have been on a deployment for a year so going somewhere ain't gonna be a problem. Just need to polish my boots and get inspected. Ok, I'll pay someone to polish my boots ala "Officer and a Gentleman." But I will pass my inspection. If I could just remember where I put all of my stuff. A.I.A you know, a cousin to C.R.S. Afghanistan Induced Alzheimer's...

VIP? Not so much...

I have been here at Dwyer a week. I have about two weeks left here then back to KAF for two weeks, then London, then home. I have been kicked out of my VIP room in the tent and placed in a smaller room with the Riff Raff. Which is fine, it is a room that one of the medics had who isn't here used. It's quieter and has a better mattress. I left a carpet that I bought and a chair from the clinic in the other room. I want the chair back. They can have the carpet. "They" being the "muckily muk" (as Karki says) that needed my room. Like most of the Medics at a fob I spend most of my time in the clinic. There is no Internet in my room or a desk so movie watching happens on my computer after hours in the clinic. Room is just for sleeping. The gate was open to the CHUs so I snuck in. There are not a lot of them. There is a ton of room for more rooms next door but getting them here is a challenge. I  noticed that one of the "guest" rooms was open so I walked in. Turns out someone was staying in it. Oops, sorry. Luckily I kind of new the guy. He asked me if I needed him for something. What I wanted to say was ,"yes, I need you to move out of this CHU." But instead I mumbled something about being lost and beat a hasty retreat.
We had a serious thunderstorm come through here. Amazingly strong winds and rain. Our clinic is a tent also and it stood up to the forces of nature pretty well. The front door kept blowing open because it is attached to a string to a bottle of water as the counter weight. There's no window so in order to look outside you have to go outside. I kicked into full sailor mode and tried to lash down the string to something but there was nothing to tie it to so I just hung on for dear life until I figured out that there is a lock that I could jimmy rig from the inside. I forgot that we had sent a patient to the bathroom to give us a urine sample. Couldn't hear her knocking, nay, pounding on the door to get back in. Sorry about that, Chief. I did eventually hear her and opened the door. Th storm went on for quite awhile and it was interesting to hear it and not see it. At one on the FOBs a tent blew loose and ended up upside down on top of the clinic. He said that he now has a second story.
I woke up at 2 am last night. I was wondering why I was up that early and then realized that the Niners were playing live in San Francisco, so I donned my full surgical resident outfit of blue scrubs, blue Crocs and blue sweatshirt ( not exactly Niners colors)  and headed to the clinic where we have a TV. I took my computer over to the desk and plugged it in so I could se if anyone else was watching the game. One of the Medics at KAF is a fan and sure enough, he was up and on Skype. I had ordered two vintage Forty Niner caps from Amazon and had given him one. Mine is still at KAF but is being delivered here for the next game. So I was sending Skype messages, Facebook messages and was posting on Facebook. I am so Mr. 21st century. It was very cool seeing live shots of the city and I talked to E for the last quarter. Now I feel like a VIP. I had a cup of tea instead of a beer, but life was still pretty good. And they won. I figure it must of been the hats..

Hello, my name is Mark and I am a fat contractor...

All people talk about when they come from Dwyer to KAF is the food. "The food is so good at Dwyer, blah, blah, blah." Well, I'm here to set the record straight. It is. Seriously. Baked salmon. Yum. Yakisoba. Yum. Apple pie alamode with whipped cream and Carmel sauce. Seriously? Yum. It is so easy to eat three meals a day here. And gain 40 pounds. I have to be a lean, mean, life saving machine so I am skipping dinner again. Of course, that's when they bring out the "good stuff." I don't care. I have to maintain my girlish figure. Don't want "contrator belly." They all must have small penises, 'cause nothing grows in the shade, honey.{sound of E cringing}
This was supposed to be a break for me. I have been busy since I got here. Two emergencies in a row. The crew went to dinner and left me here. I jokingly said, "I hope no sick people come in because all I know how to do is send emails." What a dumbass. I tempted the Gods. The phone rang. There is an emergency at the DFAC. I picked up my trusty radio to call EMS. They don't hear me, so I call them on the phone, and give them the info. The patient has left and is coming to your clinic, the dispatcher calls back to tell me. I look outside. Nope, nada. A few minutes later I see two people carrying a third. They have accidently spilled boiling water on his leg. Ouch. Second degree burns to his leg and foot. My Medics had heard my radio traffic and came back to the clinic. God love 'em. We cool his burns, put our special burn dressing on them and call EMS back to transport him to the Combat Support hospital (CSH, we pronounce it "Cash") Next day, same thing, this time pneumonia. I drive this one to the CSH.
Meanwhile, one of the Medics at the Fire Department is "not acting right." She fell, hit her head and has been dizzy ever since. "Take her to the CSH", I say. I drive down and meet them there. She starts talking to me, then just stops talking and gets dizzy, then talks some more. Laying down. Not good. They CT her head. All normal. The Doc says that she needs a neuro work up. No shit, Sherlock. OK, that was mean. He was very nice. I send out all the notifications, worked on getting her to KAF and then Dubai and a neurologist. I book a hotel room for her next to the hospital and we arrange for our female medic to stay with her at night.
Meanwhile, I am still doing three jobs. Dennis is supposed to be back to take his job back. He comes back but is exhausted by the trip and will have a nap and talk to me tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes. Politics and craziness ensues. This will all be in the book. Book title,"You can't make this shit up."  Chapters:
1. My crazy country manager
2. Stop sexually harrassing EVERYONE
3. General order One, principals, applications, and pun-tang.
4. How to be sent home without really trying.
5. Afghanistan induced Alzheimers (AIH)
General order One, by the way, says that you can't have sex with the military. Or anyone else. Two providers apparently have not read that G.O. So we are now down two providers. Leaving me to do 4 jobs. Oh yeah, and there are two medevacs in the country. One doesn't have insurance, and is bleeding to death. So no one will take him. But, not my problem. I am at Dwyer. Those are handled at KAF and I am the Dwyer provider.
Maybe I'll go get something to eat...

Here today, gone to Dwyer.

I am on the road again. I am doing another R and R coverage at Camp Dwyer, another Marine base. All anyone talks about, besides R and R, is how great Dwyer is. People rave about the food. And it is warranted. The talk about how quiet it is. And it is but I was expecting dead silence. Not so much. The clinic is in a tent but it's so built up that you don't realize it. I have a large office in the back, and that's pretty cool. No big deal for the flight, flew up North first over some mountains that had a smatering of snow. Then we landed at Dwyer, early, so there was no one to meet me. No big deal, I rode the bus. Arrived at the LSA (living area), checked in and was assigned a tent. With 6 of my closest friends, right in the bed next to me. Hmm, not what I was promised. So I schlepped my stuff back to the billeting office. "Call the Medics, please," I said. They arrived and explained that there was a room already arraigned for me. "Nope," came the answer. He's t-d-y."  I was imagining sleeping in a transient tent for 2 weeks. Yes, I'm spoiled. Can't do 11 months in a room then take a step down. Too old, too grumpy. Time to negotiate my own deal. Which I did. Now in VIP tent Charlie 2 Bravo. And they just put in internet and a phone. Went to the PX and bought a rug. Farting thru silk. Only problem is that the tent is next to the generator and the whole tent vibrates. Good thing I have ear plugs. Also, the clinic starts later and goes later. I wake up at 5 for a 7:00 clinic. Life is one adjustment after another. And in Afghanistan, it's on steroids. Sleep late, hmm, I'll try but I'll be in the clinic Skyping. Could do it from my room now but don't want to disturb my neighbors. Most of them are on R and R but I'll just get in the habit of walking to the clinic, make my tea and skype. We'll just call it my "morning routine." 36 days and a wake up and I'll be in London. So, I'm here for two weeks then back to KAF. Of course, KAF is calling to fix problems there as well. That's my lfe. For 36 more days anyway...

39 days, a wake up and a side trip.

I am up at 0400 to do a time study for the PEC. They want us to do a 100 patients a day in our new physical exam tent. We are 8000 patients in the hole. So I am going to follow one around to see how long it takes to get through. Way scientific, no? Probably not, but it's all I can think of. Is my tea ready yet?

Saturday I am off to Camp Dwyer for two weeks of R and R coverage. All people talk about around here is going on R and R and how "great Dwyer is." "The food is better, blah blah blah."
So we shall see. It's a break from the craziness of KAF. Karki is not happy. The clinic is being left in the care of doctors. Doctors without borders, or, in some cases, a clue.

We had a New Years barbeque. Ok, it was on the third. That's when the food arrived. I invited the Role 3 crew over and the XO and Command Master Chief showed up. We marinated a brisket for a day and had chicken, hamburgers and hot dogs. It was yummy. I had the clinic scrubbed from stem to stern. Thank God that I did, everyone wanted a tour. The staff said that I did "mother in law cleaning." Apparently they have not met my mother. It was a big hit and has cemented the relationship with the them even more. Of course, they are rotating out in February as well, so we'll have to do it again in March. I'll be in an Francisco, let me know how it goes.

I though that I was allergic to the soap in my sheets. I was waking up with welts and taking benadryl to sleep. I washed them in clear (for KAF) water and it still happened. I realized that it was the fragrance in the soap that I bought, so I am back to good old fashion Zest.

Ok, my tea is ready, time to shave, shower and shove off. Who's dumb idea was this, anyway? Oh, that's right it was mine. I am a dumb ass.

"Radar, change the numbers on that..defibrillator??"

Anyone who has been in the military understands the concept of "scrounging." It is the ability to find stuff. Sometimes other people's stuff. Let's just leave it at that. So we have started our physical exam center, or, as we call it, the PEC. It is in a tent with shoddily built walls. Whatever. At least we have it. We were supposed to have exam tables built but it was hard enough getting walls built with our current wood shortage. But we had some hand me down portable exam tables that the military was going to throw away, so we "rescued" them. We have been given a whole two rooms, one for exam and one for EKGs. The bed is way too low. We needed more gurneys so I has an idea. A particular country has departed and left their clinic to be remodeled. I wondered if they had left anything (read exam table) behind that they no longer needed. Off I went and checked the place out. There were Bosnian carpenters working to remodel the place. I asked who was in charge and was answered,"US ARMY." Hmm no Us Army around, so I'll just take a little look around. And there it was, a hospital gurney. A real live, no shit, gurney. I casually walked out of the door and swooped back to the clinic to get "Consuela" our aging pick up truck. And an accomplice.  Gurneys are heavy you know. The plan was to walk in like we were supposed to be there and just roll the gurney out, put it in the truck and speed away. At 20kph. We showed up, walked in and just rolled the prize out the door and into our get away vehicle. My partner in crime went back in. He had spied other medical equipment that we were desperate for. He came back with more loot and we sped away. "Fly, Consuela, fly." and please don't die in the intersection. She has a stick shift with a bad clutch, you know. Back at the clinic we unloaded our booty. I won't fit through the door. Shit. No worries, turn it on its side, a little manipulation and viola! In business. I went outside only to find my coconspirator asking to go back. Apparently there was more loot that we needed. I thought tempting fate twice may be a little bit much but, as my mom says "in for a penny, in for a pound." So back we went. Apparently there were rolling stools to be had. We walked in like we owned the place and rolled out. No one even blinked an eye. Who says crime doesn't pay? Well we didn't steal anything, we just transferred assets.
Later that day a Nurse from the Air Traffic Control Role 1 asked me if I had a defibrillator trainer. I have 7 of them. Come and down and I'll give you one. So he did. Earlier I received an email from the area commander's office asking if I knew where to get a real defibrillator. Even in Afghanistan, I am Mr. Defib. Yes Major I have some, do you need one?  The Army is working on getting one for their Gyms but it will be "awhile" so if I could loan them one that would be great. "no worries, I wrote back." This morning I got another email. A soldier had collapsed in a gym at another base. Cardiac arrest. No AED. I immediately walked down to the gym on base. I asked if they had a AED. "A what?" They said. "A defibrillator," I said. I was faced with puzzled looks. "Where's the boss?" I asked. I was taken to his office. Turns out that he's one of my patients. I asked about the AED. He said no, they don't have one and he was very concerned. "I'll be right back, " I said. I zoomed to the clinic, got a brand new AED in a box and sped back. We went to the gym, put it together and put it in place. Nobody's dieing in a gym, if I can help it. Sometimes "scrounging" works both ways.
Oh by the way, when we turned the gurney on it's side, a flag fell out. I won't tell you the country, but they are famous for their bacon. And hockey. And Tom Greene. And their gurneys...

2012. Is the world going to end...again?

I partied like a rockstar last night. An old tired, cold, too lazy to get dressed and go outside, rock star. I had plans of finding bagpipes. I did go look. At noon. A flyer, or something. No luck. I had a quiet dinner with Karki. He is my best friend, right hand man and confidant here. I scream across the clinic, Karki, you Nepalese Bastard!" This is a vestige of my British imperlism. I am either calling him a sherpa or a Gerka. He is acting as a Regional Operations manager or ROM. So now I am calling him "Rom Doss Sherpa Karki." And we laugh and laugh.  A lot and loud. I probably shouldn't do it. But, like waiting until E is drinking milk so it comes out of her nose when I make her laugh, I can't help myself. He shouldn't laugh, it only encourages me. He really is my friend. I would not of made it this long without him. And he told me the same thing. If I will miss anything about this place it is my friend, Karki. You Nepalese bastard. He is a paramedic here but is the equivalent of a PA back in Nepal. Make no mistake, this is his clinic, I just work here. It was his birthday awhile ago and he was at another base. He had a pizza dinner and cake there. He came back and I wanted to buy him something special. He smokes like a fiend. Like everyone else here. So I found a very nice lighter that could be engraved. It had Achmed the dead terrorist on one side with "I kill you." And I had "you nepalese bastard" engraved on the other side. Karki said he will never use it to light a cigarette. He will just look at it and laugh. E finds this all quite appalling. I think that if Karki and I were in High School together, we would be spending a lot of time in the Principal's office. I feel that it is my job to teach him horrible american sayings. He loves,"muck muck." He says "muckily muck." So now I say "muckily muck." He also sings the first line of American songs. Over and over and over. Jingle bells was his last victim. Then he breaks into a dance. And we laugh. He loves catching me doing something stupid. Which is quite often. He comes in, sits in my chair and says, "Doc, how come you can't tell the difference between a man and a woman?" I checked the wrong box on a consult form.
So kill me. He says, "In my country we know the difference." I say,"in your country you eat Yak." And we laugh. Political correctness is not a high priority in our relationship.