FIRST DAY

The 1^st day was a day of mixed feelings.  I was elated that I had survived the 4-day trip of broken airplanes, airport waiting rooms, and enduring jetlag.  I was eager to get started on this deployment, apprehensive to find if it would be as rewarding as the others, and sad to be leaving my family behind.  I travelled with a Colonel (Jim) from Norfolk to Afghanistan.  He was a guardsman from the Midwest and an Anesthesiologist.  He had had joined the guard 18 years ago and was on his last deployment, his final stint away from his full time practice and his close knit family.  He reminded of the Physician Assistant I deployed with in 2005, a Captain who signed up for the service on Sept 12, 2001.  Both were patriotic, practical, and clinical experts.  Jim has practiced more than 20 years, likely 10 more years than anyone in the combat hospital we were heading too.

            After a dizzying 2 hrs at the PAX terminal, we collected our bags and were waiting for our ride.  It helps to travel with a Colonel.  I would have waited another 3 hours otherwise.  The temperature was hot and the air dusty, more dusty even than Iraq.  Prefab buildings, rundown structures built by the Russians, and a large tents were everywhere.  It felt crowded and busy.  We pulled our 3 bags from the sea of 150 identical military green bags.  Our driver (who came for the Colonel, not me) took us to our living quarters first. 

The “b-huts” were next to the combat hospital.   B-huts are plywood shelters with aluminum roofs.  Approximately 4 to 8 individual rooms are in each of the buildings.  The rooms measure 10 x 8 feet, or about the size of my daughter’s closet.  While humbling, it could be worse – 30 strangers in a tent with a cot and with a cover.  After dropping our bags, we walked to the hospital.

The hospital building was “modern” compared to the green, floppy tents I had worked in for 11 months during previous deployments to Iraq.  The building in Afghanistan was similar to the Balad Hospital that was built in Iraq during my last deployment.  It was a sturdy, well-lit, spacious building.   After arriving, the superintendent took us through the building for a whirlwind tour.  We passed by and said to hello to people I don’t remember due to my jet-lagged state.  Over the next few months, I saw I was not the only one who arrives in that state of amnesia. 

In the emergency room I met some of the staff and was greeted by a few guys from my hospital in San Antonio, Wilford Hall.  It was good to see their familiar faces in a sea of strangers.  Leslie, a recent emergency medicine graduate, took over my tour from the Superintendent.  She introduced me to the other Emergency Department staff and to the physicians and surgeons from the other departments.  It turned out to be a mini class reunion.  Since leaving the USAF Academy, the few of us that went on to medical school (12-18 per year/1000 cadets) dispersed to different medical schools, residencies, fellowships, and then assignments across the world.  On occasion we bump in to each other at professional meetings or in a hospital setting.  But that day, I saw classmates I hadn’t seen in 15 years.  There were 4 grads from my class (30% of those that went to med school my year), 3 from the year prior, 2 from two years below me, and 3 others who were grads from other years.  In that room, I saw more USAFA grads than I had seen in the past 7 yrs and 2 deployments.  Again, it was good to see familiar faces.