This week has been a roller-coaster of emotion here in the Hospital. One of the Cinder Babies from last week's update passed away, to great sorrow. Another healed up and got to go home, to great joy. The mails stopped for a couple of days, due to overwhelming volume of Christmas cheer, which was both a welcome bit of news, (people love us so much!) and frustrating (how is the volume of packages going to decrease if you are not delivering mail?) But that is the way when on deployments.
Christmas Eve was not my best day. I broke, well completely burned out, my computer in the morning. I was pretty annoyed by that. While I was trying to take it apart and fix it I sliced open one of my fingers, pretty cleanly, but very deep. Then, due to holiday cheer and the possibility of good food at the Chow Hall, the fellows in my tent staged a several hours long wrestling match outside my cubicle. With only a couple of hours sleep I therefore went into work very, very early. My shift starts at quarter to eleven; I got to work at quarter to 8. I got here and told the guy who is on before me that he could leave and then sat down to stew in the general misery of being here, not being home, (two different things, really) and what a rotten day it'd been.
My Boss, who is also my Boss in Bethesda and a hell of a guy, came over and we talked for a while. He could tell that I was down and told some stories from his life and it was ok. I started to feel better. Then my friend Cahill came back to the Ops Room and we all sat around talking. And then, after relating the story of my electrical mishap with my computer, I started to tell stories of stupid things I have done with electricity, which then evolved in generally stupid things I have done. (I have a surprising wealth of these stories.)
I told them about the time when, in Okinawa, I was trying to fix a label making machine. I had tried it with batteries and it didn't work. There were two separate AC adapters in the drawer with it and I tried both, but neither gave it juice. The indication at this point is that there was an electrical problem inside that machine, but before I just assumed that, (NEVER ASSUME!) I absent-mindedly licked one of the plugged in AC adapters. I think I wanted to be sure that there was current moving through it. Well, there was. I jumped about a foot in the air and my face went pale. My hands shook and my hair, usually gelled to a crisp concrete, stood on end. But there were other people in the room and I didn't want them to know I'd just done something that stupid, so I tried shaking the label maker and acted like nothing had happened. My buddy Kitchen, after about 15 seconds, turned to me and said, "Did you just lick that?" I got the grin that I get after I have done something truly stupid and said, "Yep, I think I need to sit down."
I told the story about when I was 9 or 10 and I was reading a book while absent-mindedly twisting the switch on an old lamp. The bulb had burned out and been thrown away, but I hadn't put a new one into the socket. After twisting the knob for a while I wondered, "Is it off or on now?" Then I kept reading and twisting till I thought, "How could I test which it is?" (And this, I think, is telling. I was a scientist, or Encyclopedia Brown, on a case. The Case of The Bulbless Lamp!) As I thought about it I got a wire hanger down out of the closet and unwound it, taking it in both hands, Sword in The Stone-style, I jammed it into the light socket. There was shower of sparks and I flew backwards and hit my head on the bunk beds. "I guess it's on." I thought. The thing about that story that most appeals to me is that I thought I was being really clever, while I was doing one of the stupidest things I have ever done. And even though it hurt, after I did it and realized how stupid it was, I couldn't tell anyone about it.
We just found out that the Marine didn't make it. They found part of him, but not even all. He is coming back, another Hero.
There is a story about Peter O'Toole, the British actor. Back in his day, he was quite a hell-raiser and a drunk. He was on a several day bender with a friend and at the end of it found himself in the audience of a popular play. He turned to his friend and said, "This next part is brilliant. In this next part I come out on stage and say… Uh oh."
That's kind of how the guys and I who work here feel. There is a play that is happening. It is one that we are supposed to be a part of, but we're somehow in the audience. In a lot of ways, that's good. The fellows who have been in combat are glad that, as they put it, there are not rounds coming down range at them. But even they would admit to a feeling that we are in a place of action, but are merely transcribing the action taking place. Tonight I am just glad that someone else told the Hero's unit commander that he had passed. I am not sure I could have done it.
At any rate, Christmas Day was swell. We everyone was in a cheerful mood, patrols were cancelled so that no one was in a lot of danger. Everyone got a present from the command, though it was mostly just nonsense that no one would want. (So much hard candy. I cannot fathom who is eating all of these boiled sweets.) But everyone was grateful. The Brits all wore Santa hats all day. There was a genuine air of festivity and joy. And that's the thing, out here, even in the midst of the strangeness and the sorrow, there is still a feeling of togetherness, there are still stories to make us laugh and even when the Heroes are coming in, the feeling that they are not just Heroes, but OUR Heroes.
Attached, please find the photograph of those deployed in my crew. Cahill is the fellow with the black hair, standing on the far left. I am invisible, behind my Boss, LCDR Santiesteban.
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