Never thought it would actually happen, but I was able to visit one of my dearest friends, J, on her base in Baghdad today. J is my old college roommate who has allowed me to reprint her letters home on this blog to show the evolution of a military mom on her first deployment as a medic in Iraq. (The latest installments -- 10, 11, 12 -- are at the bottom of this entry, making for a much longer post than normal.)

My drivers dropped me off at the FOB (forward operating base) at 1 p.m. The FOBs I'm used to are sprawling, air-conditioned American villages with commissaries that look like miniature Wal-Marts, except with an inordinate supply of chewing tobacco and beef jerky. J's FOB, however, is a dusty little outpost sandwiched by forbidding Iraqi installations. Can't say much more about the location, I'm afraid, because my visit was not sanctioned by the military's media coordinators.

My escort truck pulled up with a white South African driver and a uniformed U.S. soldier with sunglasses on in the passenger seat. It took me a moment to realize that the soldier was female. Another moment to recognize her as J, a woman I know better in boot-cut jeans and cute tops that show off her dolphin tattoo. I wanted to leap at her, to pull her close and give thanks for this firsthand proof that she was safe. But I could not. There were too many Iraqi police of uncertain loyalties around, and it would have been dangerous for me (and my drivers) if they saw me embrace "an occupier."

I got a visitor's badge and J showed me to her room, a concrete square with chipped paint on the walls and a huge mass of body armor on the floor. Pictures of J's beautiful 2-year-old daughter hung on a metal locker. Starburst candy and Big Red gum were on top of a file cabinet. Her journal was open on a desk; it's where she writes the letters that eventually end up here.

Alone, we hugged for an eternity, then laughed at how freakin' surreal this whole encounter was. I asked her where we both went wrong in life to end up together in this sun-baked war zone, seemingly a million miles from everything familiar. There was no good answer.

Lounging on her cot, we were just girlfriends again, each of us in our uniforms -- hers camouflage, mine the long skirt and modest blouse I wear in an attempt to "blend in" among Iraqis. We sounded so strange and grown-up, discussing how the Mahdi Army had infiltrated the security forces or sharing stories about Sadr City. She said she wanted so badly to forge friendships with her Iraqi comrades, but there was always an insurmountable barrier of mistrust on both sides.

We talked a lot about her marvelous husband, who is doing yeoman's work in the struggle to hold it all together back home, the workaday drudge coupled with round-the-clock, single-parent care of their daughter. I've seen on countless occasions the way this war has ripped apart Iraqi families. When J's eyes grew watery as she described how much she misses her loved ones, I saw for the first time the mirror effect on the families of American troops.

Iraq was new and exciting for her, she said, and the novelty helps the time pass. But what clock is her husband on? How slowly and painfully his days must unfold. J's military stint is almost up and she faces the momentous decision of whether to re-up. The Army is dangling a bonus of $15,000 -- tax-free -- if she renews her contract. J and her husband could use the money, but their daughter could use a mother even more.

We lightened things up by heading over to the chow hall. A kind manager allowed me in even though I was violating the dress code by wearing open-toed shoes. Taco salad! Pecan pie! Sweetened ice tea! Then a walking tour of the base: the latrine where one stall is reserved for Iraqis, the recreation center with an old-timey popcorn machine and a foosball table, barracks where a tongue-in-cheek list was taped to a door under the title "What We're Fighting For." The list included McDonald's, Starbucks, Valium, Republicans, Democrats...

And, finally, with the clock running down too quickly, we returned to her room for one last heart-to-heart. The previous occupants had painted a grinning skull on the door, but J's fellow troops decided the old decor wasn't exactly appropriate for a medic. Someone in her unit had dug up a vintage poster of a wartime nurse and stuck it on her door. The caption is: The Comforter.

              ---------------

Below are the latest of J's letters home, which cover everything from good-natured fun with the lonely Iraqi police who approach her with fake stomachaches to J dealing with her rage and fear as she conducts a physical on a suspected insurgent before his interrogation. You can see her trying to make sense of this foreign culture, viewing it through all-American eyes.

I found some of her writings in this installment disturbing, particularly when it comes to torture as an interrogation practice. Doesn't sound like the J I know who volunteered in Haiti. I wonder if this war already has hardened her. But then, in the next sentence, she'll be talking about watching Iraqi children play, or how she wishes she could spend just one day in an Iraqi marketplace. Stereotypes are busted through dialogue and the mingling of peoples. But there's so little of that in this city of fiefdoms divided by nationality or sect.

As usual, only identifying details have been changed. Thanks for your patience with the looong Sunday read.

Ch10- Differences                                                                             May 26, 2008

Hello All,

     I know I’m still like a month behind in my writings, but hopefully this week I can get caught up.

     It’s starting to really get warm here, but I know it’s not even close to what it will get to in july and august.  I did another traffic circle mission on may 22^nd but this time I stayed in the vehicle for all of but maybe 1 ½ hours of a 12 hour mission.  I passed out some stuffed animals today and some candy.  What amazed me most today is how young the little boys here start womanizing.  Boys that seemed only about 9 yrs old would give you a little flirtatious smirk and stare into your eyes until you looked away.  They would also smile and give a quick raise of their eyebrows which seems to be quite the popular gesture of flirting here for men and boys of all ages.  I know boys start getting interested in females around that age or so, but in America they are not that openly flirtatious so young.  I couldn’t help but laugh.  You will also get the “I’m undressing you with my eyes right now” look by most of the men that pass by and it’s a little creepy.  You feel like you are up for sale at a market or something.  One of the Iraqi Army guys even asked one of the guys I was with if he wanted to take me up stairs and do “freaky-freaky”, but he wanted to watch.  He also asked how much for me and 10 of his guys.  I mean seriously!!!  They offered up 4 camels for another female in a different platoon of ours.  The blond hair blue eyes are worth a little more here.  So anyway, that was a little disturbing. 

     I visited with my little shop owner friend (Abu Wissam) and we talked about the differences in our cultures… here, if necessary, a son may live in his parent’s home along with his wife and children, forever.  The daughter will move out with her new husband.  He also found it odd that women work outside the home in America and that sometimes the men stay at home.  He gasped at this and said here, that would be a total disgrace of a man to stay home with the children. 

     He also said that Baghdad used to be a very beautiful place to live.  But now you can’t go out at night because it is too dangerous.  He said when Saddam ran things you didn’t have a voice, but it was safe and you could go to the casinos at night or out to eat.  Now you have a voice, but it’s too dangerous with all the militia, criminals, etc.  Men here can have up to 4 wives, but he said that it is difficult to have that many unless you have a lot of money.  He also asked where I was from and I explained to him our type of weather.  He said this weather right now (100-105) was spring to him, but july and august are almost intolerable.  If the locals can’t even stand it, how are we supposed to?

     Next, he asked if there are Indians where I live, like the ones he’s seen in the movies with big feathers and stuff.  And he said, “You know, the ones that go “hiyah, hiyah” (and he put his hand up to his mouth).  I thought that was so cute.  But I had to break it to him that they don’t live in teepees anymore.  I told him that they live in regular houses, dress like us and drive cars.  He looked very intrigued by this and almost disappointed.  I tried to explain that I was part Indian, but I don’t think he grasped it. 

     May25th-We had a mass casualty drill today on the FOB.  This is where they simulate a mortar coming in or something like that and have a bunch of pretend injuries.  So when the sirens went off, all of the medical personnel ran to the aid station and started “working” on patients and evacuating them by helicopter.  It was a good experience and things get really hectic and loud when you have 30 patients at one time show up.  I can only imagine how much worse it would be if it was real.  We did actually have 2 real life injuries though.  A ceiling fan flew off and hit a girl in the head (cutting it open) and a guy right under the nose (he had to have stitches and there was blood everywhere).  That added a little excitement to the night.

     The other day while one of my medics was on mission, a convoy stopped and a sergeant major walked over to where they were standing.  This particular medic doesn’t like to follow many rules and so he was not wearing his gloves or eye protection.  He is also Korean.  So, the SGM walks up looks at him and then goes over to our other guys and asks if that guy, V, is our interpreter.  They said no, he’s part of our company.  Then the SGM walks over to him and ask why the hell he isn’t wearing all of his gear.  Sooooo, V, being offended and being the smart ass he is says “Me no speaka English”.  Too freakin hillarious!!!  Needless to say he got his ass chewed, but I still have to give him credit for being so ballzy. 

     Gotta cruise for now, sorry this one is kind of short.

Love and miss you all,

J

Ch 11- Congratulations, it’s a girl!!                                                May 26, 2008

     Today was my first time out to an Iraqi police station.  Most of our squads are in charge of certain police stations and go out everyday to make sure they are doing their job, show them how to do certain things, and fix any problems they might have.  Some police stations are better than others, of course, and some of them are mostly infiltrated by the militia so you really can’t trust anyone here.

     The Iraqi General of this station likes to have his blood pressure checked everyday and also his blood sugar (likes it’s going to make a difference, they don’t do anything about it anyway), but anyway we do this to appease them.  Win their hearts and minds.  That’s what the slogan for the war is now.  I am the first female to be at this station, so of course I get the stare down and all the eyebrow raises I could want.  No one knew I was the medic, because once they know that, it would be all over for me. 

     It was fairly nice in there.  Nice and air-conditioned, we were able to sit on nice comfortable faux leather couches, and were served tea.  All tea over here, no matter what the flavor, is called chai.  So I just sat there and watched TV while the squad leaders did their normal routine of finding out if there’s been any crime in the last 24 hours, if everyone is showing up for work, if the vehicles are getting fixed, if the weapons work, if they are wearing their uniforms, etc. (again just babysitting them).  So after an hour or so we went upstairs to the general’s office.  The squad leaders did their thing and then they told him I was there to do his BP and blood sugar.  I did what I had to do, we had some more tea, and then were supposed to go home.  Just as we were leaving they received info that 2 different people could be served warrants today for possibly being involved with aiding an escapee from a hospital that was wanted for murder.  So we went out with the IP squad and snuck up on two different houses and got the people we needed.  Almost everyone stayed in their vehicles, only a few dismounted.  I unfortunately couldn’t even see anything because they put the medic in the safest vehicle (ASV) and you are way in the back with a window about 8x3inches.  I had to count on the gunner to give me a play by play.  So anyway, we took the 2 detainees back to the station and then headed back home. 

     The next day we went back to the same station.  We sat there, drank tea, chit-chatted (this totally beats sitting in the humvee all cramped up by the way) and then I did the usual on the general.  My commander then had me look at a little boy (kids can come to work with their parents sometimes) that was complaining of pain below the knee, worse in the morning and got better throughout the day.  There was no swelling or injury associated with it so I’m assuming it was Osgood Schlotters, but couldn’t be sure so just gave them some children’s aspirin and told them he would probably outgrow it, but to see a doc if it gets worse.  At this point the word started to spread that I was a medic,   although here they just call you doctor.    

     Turns out the woman that was detained yesterday was breast feeding so she had to bring her baby with her to jail.  Interesting.  There was also another woman in there along with her husband.  Her father had them arrested because they got married without his approval of the man.  She was going to be released later that day because I guess they worked things out.  What a crappy way of life for a woman over here.  I’m so thankful for all of the women in the past that worked so hard to get equality for women. 

     I then was asked to look at a detainee who was stabbed and had stitches.  While doing this, all the other detainees gathered around and stared at me like I was a zoo animal.  A little weird at first, but then I got used to it.  It looked fine, but possibly getting a little infected on one edge so I just gave him some ointment and rewrapped it for him.  However, before doing this, I thought I might have a little fun with them.  So I told the class clown IP of the station to tell him in Arabic that it’s not good, we’re going to have to cut it off.  The IP tried not to smile, so he must have known I was joking, he told the guy (whose eyes got really big) and then the IP said to me, “ you are just joking right”   I said yes, and then he told him truth and they all started to laugh and the detainee looked very relieved.  I know, a little evil, but fun.  At this point I knew there was no turning back.  They all knew now for sure I was the medic, so I knew it was only a matter of time before the fake sicknesses began.

      Well, sure enough, about 10 minutes later the one IP came and got me because I need to look at capt. Mohammed.  I was told he is not feeling well (even though I saw him perfectly fine just awhile ago).  So I walk in to the room (which is filled with about 6 other IP’s watching) and he is lying on his bed, holding his stomach, and is trying to look like he is in great pain.  He is a horrible actor by the way.  So I humored him and did a quick set of vitals and an overall assessment.  He said he had stomach pains and diarrhea.  I told the terp (interpreter) to tell him that I think he is pregnant.  The terp said “do you really want me to tell him that”, and I said ofcourse!  So he told him in Arabic that he was going to have a baby and the room erupted in laughter.  Than N (the goofball of the bunch who can also speak English very well) shouted, “Congratulations! It’s a girl!”  The IP’s got a kick out of this too and everyone was laughing.  I then gave mohammed some Rolaids just to settle his stomach if he really was having issues and N chimes in again and says “I know what those are for.  Those are for his period.”  At this point capt mohammed was not living this episode down and everyone was stopping in to see what the laughter was all about.  It was a good time.  It was great to see that they have a sense of humor just like us and that we are all not so different from one another. 

     Before I left the room one of the younger IP’s stopped me and said, with a smile on his face, “We are all sick here”.  “I’m sure you are”, I replied.  I really enjoyed going to this station.  It’s way better than being out on a traffic control point where you don’t really get to interact with very many people.  Also, its nice because this particular station is really clean compared to most, that’s what they tell me anyway.  Even the detainee cell (which I was expecting to look like a Mexican prison cell or my first room) was clean and the detainees even looked unusually upbeat for being in jail.  I saw a few women walk by and asked about them.  I was told that they now hire a few female police to search and also take care of the female detainees. 

     For lunch we ate some Iraqi bread called samun and had a cheese spread with it called jibbin.  It was sooo good.  It’s a good thing I don’t come here everyday because the warm fresh bread and cheese on top could really do some damage to all the running I’ve been doing.  Well, I think  I think I’ve rambled on enough for now.  Much love to you all.

Love,

J

Ch 12-  Deep Into the Eyes of the Enemy                                         may 29^th, 2008

     On May 29^th I got a call on my radio saying I needed to come to the main office ASAP.  I immediately did an overview trying to think of what I had and had not done that day and the days prior that might have gotten me in trouble.  I couldn’t think of anything, but sometimes in this unit it doesn’t matter.

     So, with my heart racing, I hurry to the office to find my platoon sergeant standing there with a warrant officer that I did not know. I walk up and my sgt. says “you need to grab your medic bag right away and go with him.”  The relief of knowing I wasn’t in trouble was replaced with the curiosity of what was happening.  I was told they would explain on the way.   

     I returned with my medic bag, threw it in the back of a truck and hopped in with 4 other males.  They finally tell me that we are going to a nearby prison because one of the prisoners is going to be interrogated.  It is military procedure to medically assess the prisoner before and after interrogation to make sure that there has been no torture involved.  The man we were going to see was captured in November for connection in transporting 2 US soldiers that have yet to be found.  At the point of arrest he admitted that he was the driver, he went to prison and from then on they have been trying to get info on where he took them.  Since then he has tried to change his story saying he was not involved at all and knows nothing.  However, a fellow inmate said that this guy has been bragging about knowing something, so they were going to try one last time to get the story out of him.  My immediate thought after hearing this was who in the hell cares if he’s tortured.  Shit I’ll do it!!

     I’m kind of getting a little nervous at this point.  Everyone in the truck was so quiet.  I suppose they were getting in the mind set they needed to be in in order to do their job.  We get to the prison and are escorted to a small room with two tables, two chairs and a locker.  They had me take off my name tags and rank so he couldn’t tell who I was and then I set up my things that I needed.  I was to do vitals, overall assessment, check his body for any markings and ask him if he is being treated well (again, who cares!).  It would be just me, the terp, and the prisoner in the room. FREAKY!!  They showed me pictures of the man and then told me he is also a member of al Qaida, EXTRA FREAKY!!

     OK, now my heart is really about ready to pound out of my chest.  I was preparing myself for this horrible monster to walk through the door with a look of hatred and eyes that said, “I want to kill you.”  Through the window I saw him get out of the vehicle.  He was smaller than I expected and was of coursed hand cuffed and was wearing goggles that had been covered with duct tape as to block his vision.  They led him into the room, uncuffed him and then (scary movie music goes here)…. his goggles were taken off (music stops).  What I saw instead was a decent looking middle aged man whose eyes looked tired and almost pitiful and surprisingly warm. 

     We said our hellos in Arabic and then I started my exam.  I took his blood pressure, temp, etc. and while stooping down in front of him I was thinking he could, if well trained, reach over and just snap my neck in an instant and there would be nothing the terp could do.  We were allowed no weapons in the room, so all the defense we had really, was ourselves.  Ok, now I know I learned some new moves in Ft Dix, but let’s get serious here, man vs. woman, I am the weakest link! 

     I had him take off his top to look for any bruises, etc. and asked him if he was feeling well.  For a moment you are focused medically, wanting to see if there is anything wrong and then wanting to fix whatever is wrong.  When I did his eye exam we looked directly into each others eyes.  This is what threw me back into reality and it hit me that I was staring into the eyes of someone who had killed my fellow comrades or at the very least played a part in their death and probably several innocent civilians.

     He said he had a toothache and a headache and that he help been telling the guard for a few days.  I wanted to say something to him so bad, but I didn’t know what.  Like I would have made the difference in him seeing that we are not bad people.  How dare he think we are good enough to help his aches and pains, but yet his group he follows kills Americans.  He said thank you when I left and it seemed actually sincere.  When I walked out I told the interrogators that I did not take his pants down so if they had some type of anal torture they used, we should be good there. 

     I came back hours later to do the final assessment.  He was fine and seemed as calm and pitiful as before.  He said thank you again, they cuffed him up, put the goggles on and walked him to the vehicle.  I found out on the ride back to the FOB that the interrogation was unsuccessful.  He gave no information or at least anything that was useful.  They must not have taken my advice. 

Love you,

J