Epilogue

The Post-Deployment Baby (and our first!): Harley James Thompson, born 11:43a on 12/08/08 @ 9.2lbs/21.7in!

The End

Sorry to end with no really exciting conclusion. I could have kept you informed about my post-deployment goings-ons... But I just felt that it would not be about SGT Dock's Holiday anymore. The Holiday is over. Now back to the grind of my real life.

As an Active-Duty soldier, my life revolved around the Army. That was "The Grind". As a National Guardster, my real life is the existence beyond the ACU-Digital-Camo world. It is not meant to be a slight to anyone who serves. I've never believed for a minute that one person's struggle is more or less important because of your branch of service or military-occupational-skill. Every cog in the war-machine is vital. But now I'm out. Now the real life is the boring day-to-day exchanges with my wife or with the people I deal with as a Paramedic.

Almost 3/4ths of a year back and there are only a few things worth noting:

Our kittens all found homes. Our cat is doing well... even with the addition of a 100lbs Rottweiler. We own a modest home in Saint Paul. And last, but not least, we celebrated our 2nd actual (although, 1st real) wedding anniversary by returning back to New Orleans. (See http://sgtdock.blogspot.com/2006_03_01_archive.html ). It was nice to see that our tree has continued to thrive and looks healthier than it's 6-Months-Post-Katrina state. I'm optimistic that it will be a metaphor for our marriage.

Thanks to anyone who has read my ramblings.

Wes "Doc" Thompson

NREMT-Paramedic

Houseguests

A while before I left Iraq, I recieved an e-mail from The Wife that said that I needed to call her "as soon as possible". I did not like the sound of this as you could well imagine. But I called that day and found out that my wife had been driving home listening to NPR talk about homeless pets. OK, no big deal. Then when she got home to our apartment, she had a cat run right out to her from under the dumpster. The urgency for her was to figure out if I'd let her keep the cat (see, I usually get pretty itchy around most felines, so this was not a unusual concern).

I had no problem as long as the cat was healthy and homeless. She took the cat to the vet to check for the micro-chip ID and it was confirmed that the cat was homeless. The cat seemed to be doing very well.

When I came home from the De-mobilization, I was greeted by a very friendly meow and no itching. The Wife was still concerned that I would not let her keep the cat. I am a "dog-person" and while I do not hate cats, I generally would pick one over the other. But the cat seemed attached and I was not having the normal allergic itch.

Then the cat seemed to be gaining weight. (Keep in mind that I've only been here for a week as I post this.) So The Wife put the cat on diet food; she still grew. "Why is she still gaining weight?", The Wife pondered. "Maybe it's a parasite... Or maybe she is pregnant.", I quipped.

Sure enough.

Pregnant.

This morning she started popping out kittens at 7am and stopped after the fifth around 10.

Home.

Home now. More to follow soon.

SGT Dock Unmasked!

SGT Rose & I after one of my last patients.

This was one of those situations that drove me nuts. An Iraqi had come in hit by gunfire twice in a drive-by. The bullets had created a 1cm-wide x 10cm long furrow across the top/center of his head. The skull had been pushed into his brain and I could see the brain matter easily. He was only reactive to the pain of moving him. I was able to put in an airway adjunct without much reaction (which was a pretty bad sign). I had Rose helping me out and he asked me if we wanted to wait for the transport ambulance or if we should just cart him to the hospital in ours.

This is where/why I became irate.

A little history: Political in-fighting and the need to justify jobs led to the creation of an ambulance service on post. This was great in many ways and dreadful in a few. I was not allowed to transport my own patients anymore. I was given direction by my medical-director to take patients to the hospital if they would not survive the 5-10 minute arrival of the 911-service. My medical-director issued this order verbally and it was generally not recognized by the officer-staff of the Cav-Troop for which I worked.

I decided to transport this patient with exposed brain-matter and tanking vital signs to the hospital. The Officer In Charge ordered my driver to stop and await the 911-ambulance. My driver was confused and did not follow my orders to him to continue on. So our ambulance came to a rest and the 911 ambulance pulled in behind me. We wasted 5 minutes of this guys life transporting a patient from an equipped ambulance with one medic to another similarly equipped ambulance with another medic. What was the point?

The patient made it to the ER and survived the first few hours. (I was informed that his condition deteriorated after the OR.) If he had deep vascular injuries, as opposed to the single gunshot to the arm and the gash across his head (which did not bleed much), there is no doubt in my mind that the OIC would have cost that guy his life.

When I confronted the OIC, he shrugged it off and said, "I have my orders".

Let me make this clear to anyone who might have any confusion. This guy knows Tanks.... He is a Cavalry officer. He gets his orders from another Cavalry officer. When someone comes in injured or ill, I give don't give a damn about his orders.

ugh. I hate bureaucracies.

Boredom Strikes Again.

This Christopher Walken Creepy-Mask was the latest (and last; nudge) "random-act-of-boredom" that I've been able to work up.

Revelations

I was just about to get off of my 12-hour shift when the call came out that we had an injured Iraqi. I drove my ambulance up and was met by a small truck with a teenage male slumped over in the passenger seat. This kid got shot in a drive-by on the field where he was farming. (There has been a lot of tension between the Sunni and Shia in the area, as of late.)

I started my assessment and found only this entrance wound in the right flank. I was really worried that the lung had been punctured, but there was equal movement and clear lung sounds. I put an Asherman Chest seal over the hole anyway and then I stabilized it in place with an emergency dressing. When I tightened the the dressing, blood gushed out in an impressive spurt.

I'd like to think that I did not show any surprise, but I know for a fact that I got wide-eyed when I saw that happen.

The kid was rushed the hospital. It turned out that his kidney and liver had the most damage. I wish I'd been able to see him through to the OR. It was the end of my shift, though, so I decided to get a move-on. I grabbed some litters to replace the one I used and to plus up the gate. I was getting pretty tired and was going to drop off the litters later, but I decided against it and drove right back.

I came back to the gate to find Doc Luscious driving our other ambulance with his aid bag still on the hood. This was not a good sign. So I followed and found four more Iraqi males with serious gunshot wounds! We both took a patient each and had our most qualified CLS start treating the others while we waited for more medical backup. I had an Iraqi adult with a gunshot that entered at the bottom of one of his lungs. I sealed up the hole as best I could and then I got to do one of the funnest things I've done this deployment... A needle-chest decompression (I stuck a 14-gauge needle into his chest to equalize the pressure). I actually heard the "hiss" of air. I was so excited!

About this time we had all of our support show up and start to move all of the patients to the hospital. I backed off of my patient as more medics arrived and then I started to direct the patient flow to the ambulances. It was (and is) a truly strange feeling. It gave me a sense of value to be in charge of the situation and not drop the ball.

For most of the deployment I've sat idle; growing more and more disenchanted with my small cog in the big machine of this war. Only in the chaos of our mass-casualty situations have I found peace. After all was said and done, I was talking to Luscious and we were both confirming each other's feelings on the matter... It sounds awful, but we are not happy at work any more unless someone is in need of medical attention. We pray for work and tell ourselves that we don't want harm to come to anyone, but it is a lie.

We are getting bloodthirsty for patients with trauma... Or maybe we always were and now we are just admitting it to each other.

Hard at Work!!

Yes. Your tax dollars-hard at work.

(Note: I'm actually not even talking to anyone)