She found us a few years ago. Kelly and I were dropping off food, after hours, at the animal shelter. Neither of us can go in and see all the animals in cages because we'd take them all home- so, we dropped off the food and came back to the car...and she entered our life. She meowed and rubbed all over our legs- she was sooo sweet and had been abandoned outside of the animal shelter. Kelly looked at me and just said, "Put her in the car".
Grizzy is what she was named. Grizzy was wonderful. She loved everyone. She would even let Peyton, the little girl across the street, come over and carry her around like a teddy bear...she would follow you up the street when you go for walks, she'd lay on her back and let you rub her tummy...she was beautiful.
This past Sunday, 2 mysterious dogs showed up in our yard. Kelly and I rounded them up and I put them in the garage. We put out fliers and alerts everywhere. We had their chips scanned- all a dead end. They are HUGE, white Akita/Husky mix.
Last night, it was supposed to be freezing. I put my dogs in the office and opened the back door to let the 2 dogs in and led them to the garage. Grizzy had been near the door of the garage. The male saw her. The garage door was cracked just enough for a cat to come inside if it were cold. The dog managed to squirm under the door. The female followed. I ran out into the cold after them. I was wearing my scrub pants, undershirt and socks. I ran across the street and into the wooded area. I heard my Grizzy screaming. The 2 dogs were attacking her. I jumped in the middle and grabbed her from them. She was limp in my hands and I raised her above my head. The dogs jumped at me and tugged at her fur. They clawed my arms and pushed me to the ground. I screamed and cried for help. Help never came. The dogs swarmed me on the ground and pulled my beautiful Grizzabella from my grasp.
Grizzy is dead.
I went to my house and got my 9mm.
The male dog is dead.
I called the cops and waited for them to come out. Chrissy and Laura came over and shoveled frozen earth for Grizzy's burial...now sleep Grizzy, sleep. I will never forget you. You were a wonderful cat.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Sinking in Fog
I am trying to join an online forum or chat for veterans with PTSD but I can't even make sense of the web pages. It just looks like jibberish to me- so I came back to this blog. It's clear and concise. I know how to use it and it allows me to get my thoughts out quickly- before I lose them again.
I am a combat Veteran and I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I am 80% disabled according to the Veterans' Administration, which means that I should still be able to hold down a job- and I am...mostly. What I know for sure, is that I'm getting worse. I only feel safe at home or with close friends. I can't be around people, crowds, loud noises or close quarters. I get anxious and then my mind turns into a foggy nothingness. It's strange. I can see, I can hear and I can somewhat make sense of things- but I can't think. I can't concentrate, focus or make decisions. It's like when something terrible has just happened and you can't get yourself to "snap out of it". Then, I'm completely dibilitated. I can't drive or function and usually have to go to bed. This is my life. I take 9 or more pills a day, so that I can be normal and make it to work, interact with people and then, hopefully, make it back home without having to pull over and nap. Yep, ....this is my life.
I don't know how much longer I will be able to keep this going. I'm exhausted. My mind is jello and I'm just going with the flow- following others around and trying to lay low so that I don't get in trouble at work. It takes every ounce of energy to wake up and do it all over again. There is a lot more to this than I am willing to write- only because my Grandmother reads this and I don't want her to worry. ...So this is me for now...we will see how tomorrow goes
I am a combat Veteran and I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I am 80% disabled according to the Veterans' Administration, which means that I should still be able to hold down a job- and I am...mostly. What I know for sure, is that I'm getting worse. I only feel safe at home or with close friends. I can't be around people, crowds, loud noises or close quarters. I get anxious and then my mind turns into a foggy nothingness. It's strange. I can see, I can hear and I can somewhat make sense of things- but I can't think. I can't concentrate, focus or make decisions. It's like when something terrible has just happened and you can't get yourself to "snap out of it". Then, I'm completely dibilitated. I can't drive or function and usually have to go to bed. This is my life. I take 9 or more pills a day, so that I can be normal and make it to work, interact with people and then, hopefully, make it back home without having to pull over and nap. Yep, ....this is my life.
I don't know how much longer I will be able to keep this going. I'm exhausted. My mind is jello and I'm just going with the flow- following others around and trying to lay low so that I don't get in trouble at work. It takes every ounce of energy to wake up and do it all over again. There is a lot more to this than I am willing to write- only because my Grandmother reads this and I don't want her to worry. ...So this is me for now...we will see how tomorrow goes
Thursday, September 2, 2010
My Time in Iraq: Part 8
Iraqi Men are Gross:
For anyone that doesn't know what I look like- picture a teenage boy with close cut brown hair and grey eyes. Now give him boobs and you've got me. This is an important fact to know because that is how I appeared to the Iraqi detainees also...and they loved young boys. Don't get me wrong- I'm not trying to say that every man that lives in Iraq is a disgusting closeted pedophile. I'm just telling you what I think based on observation.
Perverts
Medics worked rotating 12 hour shifts. It's usually boring work- morning meds, lunch meds, evening meds, insulin here, wound care there- basic stuff. We usually gave out all meds and conducted "sick-call" (Universal Health care for detainees) through the fence. Sometimes a patient required heart auscultation or a BP check. When this was needed, the patient (malingerer) would put their arm through the fencing and you would take their BP standing up (not the most accurate). Oh yea- I almost forgot to tell you- I was the only female medic. Soooo, every time I had to take some one's blood pressure, he would put his arm out and I'd wrap the cuff around it, listen to the pulses and write down the reading. But this is their interpretation:
OOhhh young boyish looking American girl is touching my arm. It's been so long since I've been touched this way. OOOOO I hope she keeps going. Maybe if I give her my other arm she'll stroke it too.
Every time I began taking a BP, 4 or more arms from different men would pop out towards me through the fence. Suddenly everyone was having chest pains.
Unsanitary
Preventive Medicine Specialists are the Health Inspectors of the Army. It was my responsibility to keep all foods safe to eat and make sure that water remained potable. The same held true for the detainees. I did weekly inspections of their "pens" to check for anything that could cause illnesses.This should have been an easy task. I mean- their food was prepared fresh and served 3 times a day, we gave them port-a-jons to do their business and each pen had its' own water spigot and showers. Well, obviously someone didn't do their cultural studies homework because Iraqis don't want any of that.
Their food- prepared by Muslim Pakistanis, consisted of white rice and meat twice a day, a soup of dal or other lentil, pita bread, fresh oranges (from Egypt- and they HATED Egypt so we had to peel off all the labels) and a creamy cheese and jam (I'm pretty sure it was Laughing Cow brand cheese) and Lastly- just to make sure they knew we weren't the bad guys, we gave them Chai tea, 5 gallons per pen per day. Okay, it wouldn't be fair to those guys if I didn't mention a few problems with the food/beverage. I did conduct one investigation of a "bug in my soup" complaint. The conclusion was that the Pakistani cooks were putting dead fruit flies in the Detainees' soup. Gross I know- but we stopped it. The other matter of great importance was the Chai. Can you imagine what Americans would do if suddenly the government banned caffeine? This is kinda what we did to the Detainees when they were naughty. We'd take away their Chai for the day- and man were they pissed off.
*as a side note- this same chai tea coupled with the intelligence of a structural engineer allowed a functional tunnel to be built all the way to desert freedom. The walls were like concrete...but they were a little late in using it because we found it first- too bad.
Anyway, the food. What I'm trying to say is that it was clean and good. It was served in clean containers. So what did they do? They like to eat it all mixed up and in communal bowls without any cutlery. Then, they'd take their milk and open it up, sit it outside, and let it slowly curd into a cheesy yogurt. It's okay though because they cleaned their own dishes with desert sand and Lister bag water.
Lister bag water-Ingenious! Iraqis do not like to get up and walk to a water faucet and drink fresh clean water. So, to solve this problem, they would take garbage bags and stuff them inside potato sacks. They fill the garbage bag with water and seal the top (with??). For the spigot, they'd take an empty toothpaste tube, cut it in half and stick it through the plastic in the bottom. Somehow, it was water tight. Routine water testing gave positive results for E.coli in almost every sample.
The Port-a-jons- I will keep this brief just in case anyone is eating or about to meet and greet an Iraqi for the first time. To them, toilet paper is disgusting. Why would anyone want to wipe their bum with a paper product when you can use your left hand and bottled water? And, just to top it off- sitting down on the toilet is completely foreign too. They liked to stand on top of the rim and just let it plop. So what if it missed- they weren't the ones cleaning it.
Homosexuality
It's very simple. Sex with a man is for recreation and sex with a woman is for procreation. BUT, being gay is a HUGE no no. So, make sure that after you have homosexual sex, you do NOT cuddle...because you might get raped. (happened often)
For anyone that doesn't know what I look like- picture a teenage boy with close cut brown hair and grey eyes. Now give him boobs and you've got me. This is an important fact to know because that is how I appeared to the Iraqi detainees also...and they loved young boys. Don't get me wrong- I'm not trying to say that every man that lives in Iraq is a disgusting closeted pedophile. I'm just telling you what I think based on observation.
Perverts
Medics worked rotating 12 hour shifts. It's usually boring work- morning meds, lunch meds, evening meds, insulin here, wound care there- basic stuff. We usually gave out all meds and conducted "sick-call" (Universal Health care for detainees) through the fence. Sometimes a patient required heart auscultation or a BP check. When this was needed, the patient (malingerer) would put their arm through the fencing and you would take their BP standing up (not the most accurate). Oh yea- I almost forgot to tell you- I was the only female medic. Soooo, every time I had to take some one's blood pressure, he would put his arm out and I'd wrap the cuff around it, listen to the pulses and write down the reading. But this is their interpretation:
OOhhh young boyish looking American girl is touching my arm
Every time I began taking a BP, 4 or more arms from different men would pop out towards me through the fence. Suddenly everyone was having chest pains.
Unsanitary
Preventive Medicine Specialists are the Health Inspectors of the Army. It was my responsibility to keep all foods safe to eat and make sure that water remained potable. The same held true for the detainees. I did weekly inspections of their "pens" to check for anything that could cause illnesses.This should have been an easy task. I mean- their food was prepared fresh and served 3 times a day, we gave them port-a-jons to do their business and each pen had its' own water spigot and showers. Well, obviously someone didn't do their cultural studies homework because Iraqis don't want any of that.
Their food- prepared by Muslim Pakistanis, consisted of white rice and meat twice a day, a soup of dal or other lentil, pita bread, fresh oranges (from Egypt- and they HATED Egypt so we had to peel off all the labels) and a creamy cheese and jam (I'm pretty sure it was Laughing Cow brand cheese) and Lastly- just to make sure they knew we weren't the bad guys, we gave them Chai tea, 5 gallons per pen per day. Okay, it wouldn't be fair to those guys if I didn't mention a few problems with the food/beverage. I did conduct one investigation of a "bug in my soup" complaint. The conclusion was that the Pakistani cooks were putting dead fruit flies in the Detainees' soup. Gross I know- but we stopped it. The other matter of great importance was the Chai. Can you imagine what Americans would do if suddenly the government banned caffeine? This is kinda what we did to the Detainees when they were naughty. We'd take away their Chai for the day- and man were they pissed off.
*as a side note- this same chai tea coupled with the intelligence of a structural engineer allowed a functional tunnel to be built all the way to desert freedom. The walls were like concrete...but they were a little late in using it because we found it first- too bad.
Anyway, the food. What I'm trying to say is that it was clean and good. It was served in clean containers. So what did they do? They like to eat it all mixed up and in communal bowls without any cutlery. Then, they'd take their milk and open it up, sit it outside, and let it slowly curd into a cheesy yogurt. It's okay though because they cleaned their own dishes with desert sand and Lister bag water.
Lister bag water-Ingenious! Iraqis do not like to get up and walk to a water faucet and drink fresh clean water. So, to solve this problem, they would take garbage bags and stuff them inside potato sacks. They fill the garbage bag with water and seal the top (with??). For the spigot, they'd take an empty toothpaste tube, cut it in half and stick it through the plastic in the bottom. Somehow, it was water tight. Routine water testing gave positive results for E.coli in almost every sample.
The Port-a-jons- I will keep this brief just in case anyone is eating or about to meet and greet an Iraqi for the first time. To them, toilet paper is disgusting. Why would anyone want to wipe their bum with a paper product when you can use your left hand and bottled water? And, just to top it off- sitting down on the toilet is completely foreign too. They liked to stand on top of the rim and just let it plop. So what if it missed- they weren't the ones cleaning it.
Homosexuality
It's very simple. Sex with a man is for recreation and sex with a woman is for procreation. BUT, being gay is a HUGE no no. So, make sure that after you have homosexual sex, you do NOT cuddle...because you might get raped. (happened often)
My Time in Iraq: Part 7
I Should Have Died:
Before our occupation, Camp Bucca was an Iraqi radio station and naval base. As with any radio station, you must have an extremely tall radio tower. The same was true at Bucca. Dead center in the middle of our camp was the tallest piece of criss crossed iron that I had ever seen. Although aesthetically displeasing, it served as a wonderful bullseye for any insurgent wanting to take their best shot at producing US casualties. Of course, after I left, higher command decided that it should come down. Also- have you ever been in a desert before? They are definitely hot and sandy, but more than that- at night, we had endless miles of darkness...except for the blinding lights of a non stop 24 hour U.S. Military Camp- plugged up to hundreds of diesel sucking generators. So yea, we were easy to find.
If you picture a large square patch of dirt, covered with gravel and projecting a phallic metal pole in its center, then you have Bucca. At one side of the square was the motor pool and storage. Near that was the MWR (Morale, Wellness, Rec) tent- that's where the computers and phones were...when they were working. If you work your way backwards from that side, you will run into a trailer park full of gun swinging Commando types- the male MPs. Keep walking a bit farther and you hit the PODs. They were set up in rows-kinda like an old folks community. To the far left of the PODs you have the DFAC and food storage buildings. Another large square sat beside our dwelling. It came complete with tents,towers,Constantine wire, guards and 6,000 alleged insurgents. It was just like home.
One night, no different from any other, I was about to rack for the night. I took off my ballistic helmet, my Flak vest, camel back and boots, and layed in bed. You know that moment when you are crossing the threshold into sleep- your body relaxes and your mind drifts. Everything is dark and peaceful then ZZZZIPPPPPPPPP BOOOMMMM!!! I jumped up from bed, put on my tennis shoes because they were easier, grabbed my rifle, flak and helmet then ran out the door. Everyone was running aimlessly. Some were wearing towels, naked underneath and suds still in their hair. Everywhere you looked you saw beams of flashlights and mismatched uniforms scurrying about in search of their leaders. I ran to the bunker nearest my POD and put the rest of my gear on. Then, the WHOOOOOP WHOOOOOOP sound of the Incoming alarm went off. A bit late, I remember thinking.
SGT Davis came looking for me. It was standard operating procedure for complete accountability after any event. All around me there were SGTs running about with rosters and walkie talkies. It was a total mess. Since my "team" was accounted for, SGT Davis and I decided to go get a closer look where the mortar round struck. It had torn through the male showers and blown a huge hole in a refrigeration unit. The shrapnel pieces had sliced their way through an iron dumpster. The casing of the rocket was littered about everywhere and there was an impact crater large enough to give a small dog a proper burial. We stood there amazed and silent. It turns out that there were a couple of guys in the shower but they happened to be in different stalls and the ceramic walls shielded them from most of the explosion. In fact, the only thing that died that night were several cases of Coca-Cola and some raw chicken breasts.
Our Quick Reaction Team came back thru the front gates with their report. The QRT's job was to immediately search and destroy any combatants in the event of an assault. Their news was disturbing. It turns out that there were 4 rockets aimed at us that night. The one that hit us was on the far left. The other 3 rockets were set at the same trajectory. My POD was perfectly aligned with the showers and storage, about 100 yards away. If the other 3 hadn't been duds, the 3rd rocket would have been mine.
Before our occupation, Camp Bucca was an Iraqi radio station and naval base. As with any radio station, you must have an extremely tall radio tower. The same was true at Bucca. Dead center in the middle of our camp was the tallest piece of criss crossed iron that I had ever seen. Although aesthetically displeasing, it served as a wonderful bullseye for any insurgent wanting to take their best shot at producing US casualties. Of course, after I left, higher command decided that it should come down. Also- have you ever been in a desert before? They are definitely hot and sandy, but more than that- at night, we had endless miles of darkness...except for the blinding lights of a non stop 24 hour U.S. Military Camp- plugged up to hundreds of diesel sucking generators. So yea, we were easy to find.
If you picture a large square patch of dirt, covered with gravel and projecting a phallic metal pole in its center, then you have Bucca. At one side of the square was the motor pool and storage. Near that was the MWR (Morale, Wellness, Rec) tent- that's where the computers and phones were...when they were working. If you work your way backwards from that side, you will run into a trailer park full of gun swinging Commando types- the male MPs. Keep walking a bit farther and you hit the PODs. They were set up in rows-kinda like an old folks community. To the far left of the PODs you have the DFAC and food storage buildings. Another large square sat beside our dwelling. It came complete with tents,towers,Constantine wire, guards and 6,000 alleged insurgents. It was just like home.
One night, no different from any other, I was about to rack for the night. I took off my ballistic helmet, my Flak vest, camel back and boots, and layed in bed. You know that moment when you are crossing the threshold into sleep- your body relaxes and your mind drifts. Everything is dark and peaceful then ZZZZIPPPPPPPPP BOOOMMMM!!! I jumped up from bed, put on my tennis shoes because they were easier, grabbed my rifle, flak and helmet then ran out the door. Everyone was running aimlessly. Some were wearing towels, naked underneath and suds still in their hair. Everywhere you looked you saw beams of flashlights and mismatched uniforms scurrying about in search of their leaders. I ran to the bunker nearest my POD and put the rest of my gear on. Then, the WHOOOOOP WHOOOOOOP sound of the Incoming alarm went off. A bit late, I remember thinking.
SGT Davis came looking for me. It was standard operating procedure for complete accountability after any event. All around me there were SGTs running about with rosters and walkie talkies. It was a total mess. Since my "team" was accounted for, SGT Davis and I decided to go get a closer look where the mortar round struck. It had torn through the male showers and blown a huge hole in a refrigeration unit. The shrapnel pieces had sliced their way through an iron dumpster. The casing of the rocket was littered about everywhere and there was an impact crater large enough to give a small dog a proper burial. We stood there amazed and silent. It turns out that there were a couple of guys in the shower but they happened to be in different stalls and the ceramic walls shielded them from most of the explosion. In fact, the only thing that died that night were several cases of Coca-Cola and some raw chicken breasts.
Our Quick Reaction Team came back thru the front gates with their report. The QRT's job was to immediately search and destroy any combatants in the event of an assault. Their news was disturbing. It turns out that there were 4 rockets aimed at us that night. The one that hit us was on the far left. The other 3 rockets were set at the same trajectory. My POD was perfectly aligned with the showers and storage, about 100 yards away. If the other 3 hadn't been duds, the 3rd rocket would have been mine.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
My Time in Iraq: Part 6
Vector Control:
One of my many jobs was vector control. Yes, pest extermination. My team (me and SGT Davis) were called over the walkie talkies (that we purchased) to come quickly to the med tents. After our scat inspection, we surmised that the tent had rodents. We set up our various traps and waited.
A short time later, we got the call. Our live trap caught a rat. Our orders mandated that all vectors be humanely destroyed. Usually, this meant one 5.56mm round to the head. We headed over in our Gator ATV, ready to do our duty.
The rat wasn't just a rat. Inside the cold metal wires a big eyed, round eared Kangaroo Rat looked up at us lovingly. "Awwww", I said with disregard for what my duty required. "He's so cute!". SGT. Davis looked at the other NCO and stated firmly, "We will take care of it. Don't worry". We left the hospital with our little gift and set off to complete our mission. At the edge of the camp, away from onlookers,SGT Davis looked at me and asked, "Are you ready?" I nodded and then gently opened the cage door.
We both waved and cooed goodbyes as our furry little guy scurried across the desert sands.
One of my many jobs was vector control. Yes, pest extermination. My team (me and SGT Davis) were called over the walkie talkies (that we purchased) to come quickly to the med tents. After our scat inspection, we surmised that the tent had rodents. We set up our various traps and waited.
A short time later, we got the call. Our live trap caught a rat. Our orders mandated that all vectors be humanely destroyed. Usually, this meant one 5.56mm round to the head. We headed over in our Gator ATV, ready to do our duty.
The rat wasn't just a rat. Inside the cold metal wires a big eyed, round eared Kangaroo Rat looked up at us lovingly. "Awwww", I said with disregard for what my duty required. "He's so cute!". SGT. Davis looked at the other NCO and stated firmly, "We will take care of it. Don't worry". We left the hospital with our little gift and set off to complete our mission. At the edge of the camp, away from onlookers,SGT Davis looked at me and asked, "Are you ready?" I nodded and then gently opened the cage door.
We both waved and cooed goodbyes as our furry little guy scurried across the desert sands.
My Time In Iraq: Part 5
Sonic and Bob:
Being a fill-in Preventive Medicine Specialist had some perks. Iraq was very lonely. I secretly envied the one MP that was assigned a K-9. He got to spend every second with a furry companion that he could touch and love. I wanted something to touch and love. Well, word had spread that the postal unit inside our compound had acquired a couple of hedgehogs. Of course, this was against the rules and immediate action was taken. SGT Davis and I headed the investigation. We went to the postal bldg. and asked to speak to the OIC (Officer in Charge). We got a SGT instead (again, lack of personnel) and we explained the violation and the need for immediate confiscation.
Sonic and Bob quickly adapted to their new home inside my room. They loved all types of vegetables and played with empty toilet paper rolls for hours. They were so entertaining and despite their spiny exteriors, they were really soft underneath. I have video footage of them somewhere. Oh, and btw- Bob was really Bobbie- because after I left, they had a baby. How cute!
Being a fill-in Preventive Medicine Specialist had some perks. Iraq was very lonely. I secretly envied the one MP that was assigned a K-9. He got to spend every second with a furry companion that he could touch and love. I wanted something to touch and love. Well, word had spread that the postal unit inside our compound had acquired a couple of hedgehogs. Of course, this was against the rules and immediate action was taken. SGT Davis and I headed the investigation. We went to the postal bldg. and asked to speak to the OIC (Officer in Charge). We got a SGT instead (again, lack of personnel) and we explained the violation and the need for immediate confiscation.
Sonic and Bob quickly adapted to their new home inside my room. They loved all types of vegetables and played with empty toilet paper rolls for hours. They were so entertaining and despite their spiny exteriors, they were really soft underneath. I have video footage of them somewhere. Oh, and btw- Bob was really Bobbie- because after I left, they had a baby. How cute!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)