As The Sparks Fly Upward

Today at around 1 PM, as I sat in my clinic typing up a note, I got a call from COL Gober, who works at the CSH. He is a Urologist, and the Chief of Surgery there, and recently took care of one of my soldiers who had a kidney stone. But this call was not about medicine; COL Gober had heard that I was Al Asad’s mad biker, and he wanted to ride the big loop with me. Today.

The problem was: I had already done the 14-mile loop around post at 5:30 this morning. And at 6:00 last night. If I agreed to go, this would be my third trip in the last 24 hours. But I did want to do something aerobic this afternoon, to work off some of the rice krispy treats which I scarfed last night (see below), so we made plans to meet at 4:30.

By sometime around 3 PM, I realized that agreeing to go was a mistake. I felt exhausted, dehydrated, and just downright pooped out. Too late to back out now, though, so at 4:15, I donned my gear (geeky spaceman goggles, geekier red bicycle helmet, and “Camelbak” water pouch), and headed out the door.

COL Gober is a gregarious man from northern Georgia. Like many urologists, and many southerners, he has a natural friendliness about him, which immediately disarms people. The very first time I met him (just a few weeks ago) he introduced himself and then immediately launched into a story about how he had once run for a local political office. “My campaign slogan,” he said, “was ‘If you’re sober, vote for Gober.’ I did not win that election. Now, what does that tell you about the American voter?” Good point.

We met by the CSH front gate, and started our journey around the loop, going slowly enough so that we could talk as we rode. I learned about how he started his practice many years ago in Tiger, Georgia, and now had seen 8000 different patients from that area. I also learned that this is COL Gober’s fifth deployment, and that he has been in just about every country in the middle east. At one point, a big truck passed us, and he stood up on his bike and rode after it like a crazy man, trying to keep up. The sight of this National Guard COL—dressed in full Army PT gear with legs skinnier and whiter than mine, pointing madly at a big fuel truck and trying to run it down on a bike—made me laugh out loud. And he laughed too. We cruised around the loop, and on the way home he took me by his canister to give me a replacement inner tube for the one I blew last week.

It was at the COL’s canister that I realized just how lucky I have been here. My can is 10 x 20 feet, is quite new and clean-appearing, has a remote-control air conditioner which can be made to recirculate during a dust storm, and is generally a decent, if none-too-glamorous place to live. COL Gober’s can was smaller (8 x 17, he tells me), old, dirty, and equipped with a standard window A/C, which clearly spewed a lot of dust into the room. Most of the doctors at the CSH have this same arrangement. Then and there, I vowed not to complain about my can again. As I sit in here now, I note that my trailer is clean, cozy, and very comfortable. Although I have no family here with me, I am nonetheless constantly surrounded by reminders of my kids, my sweet wife, my mom, dad, brother, sisters, and my friends out there who have sent me pictures, treats, magazines, books, DVDs. All of these things allow my humble abode to seem somewhat homey, which I’ve realized for me is crucial. I can get through just about any bad day (or days) if I know that at some point, I will be able to get into my own clean, private, well-lighted place, talk with the people I love, and sleep in a bed with cool, clean sheets.

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Rupard Mailbag

Over the past two days, I have received four packages, each one of them truly amazing. Barry and Ellen Rupard (of Shrewsbury, Mass) sent me two massive boxes, which included (but were not limited to) the following bounty:
- About 1000 drink mixes, Crystal Light style. These are absolutely essential out here, as the water varies a bit in its palatability, and one has to drink a lot of it if one is to stay upright in the heat.
- Ankle-high socks. Socks get destroyed out here pretty quickly, a result of constantly having sand in our boots, and the fact that we all sweat profusely in the heat.
- A bunch of issues of The Sporting News. I have read through all the baseball and football stuff in most of these, and my medics are now working through them.
- A magnesium light. Essential around here, as we are blacked out at night.
- A bunch of nacho cheese doritos and cheese-it packages. I am rationing these out to myself veerrrry sloooowly.

So a big thanks to Barry, Ellen, Molly, and Sam Rupard for your kindness.

Packages also came from Lorri and the kids: but parts of this I have not opened yet, as they are for Fathers Day. I did, however, dig into the chocolate chip cookies (homemade and survived the trip very well, I must say), and the Peanut Butter Rice Krispy Treats (hereafter PBRKTs). I scarfed down a good third of the PBRKTs within five minutes of opening the package—my first pig-out session in a long, long time, and boy, did I enjoy it. Thanks Lorri and kids! I’ll Skype you when I open the card and the rest of the stuff on Sunday.

A final package came from mom and dad. Mom had requested a list of items I wanted, and I sent her a long list, thinking she could send me a couple of those things. Instead, she sent all of them: Kudos bars, almond butter (I ate that tonight on some Ritz Crackers with just happened to come into the PX while I was shopping a few days ago), some of the salt-and-pepper micropop that I love so much, a big three-pound canister of jelly bellies (woo-hoo!) and two precious boxes of Propel strawberry-kiwi flavored drink mix. I’m enjoying some of that now, and all I can say is: “kiwi-licious.” Thanks mom and dad! Dad, you have a Father’s Day present coming from me, so put that under your Father’s Day tree until Sunday.