First Night Home

It was 3 a.m. when I woke up.

It took me a few minutes to realize I was home, in my own bed … after living in a 10-foot by 10-foot metal box for the last year, the largeness of the room, illuminated by the streetlights, seemed overwhelming.

Slowly, I took account of my limbs, rubbing the top of one foot, then the other, flexing my ankles, bending my knees. I stretched my body out flat, and then rubbed by right hipbone still bruised from where my 9mm rubbed against it the last year, before sliding my right hand across by belly … twisting slightly on to my left side. My left arm was asleep, my shoulder pinned under his head. I curled against him, the anger from the past weeks threatening my peace.

The bad evaluation, the letter of reprimand … the barriers broke and my mind was flooded with the anger that I had repressed over the last year – eking out just enough to make it home – to collapse here in this bed.

Only hours early my best friend had found me freshly showered and propped up by an army of pillows … the letters next to me on the nightstand. We had joked about them … the sheer stupidity of it all … the Slumlord Bigot from Mississippi, the Tower of Jello, Col. Kynikos … the barriers still strong.

Now in the darkness, I tried not to wake him as my body shook, the rage rippling through it. I wanted so badly to be an officer; I wanted to serve my country – I believed in citizenship and service. I had wanted my father, the Master Chief, to be proud of me, to love me. I had sacrificed so much and worked so hard to become an officer in the U.S. Army and now … .

Sacrificing my career to save him, to get him out of Iraq was worth it – I knew I had done the right thing, the just thing. Burying my face in his neck, wrapping my arm around him and pulling him closer to me, a tiny laugh escaped as I exhaling – I knew I would do it all again.

The truth under it all

FORT DIX, N.J. - One of many questions I asked women was what type of sock, underwear, bra, etc., they found most comfortable while deployed. It was a question that most found hard to answer.

My alter ego, the mousy Jewish reporter, prefers Body by Victoria. However, I'm almost positive that Victoria has never been to a war zone. And at nearly $40 each I wasn't the one to take her there.

One thing all the women agreed on is that any clothes that I took with me had to be sturdy. On most Forward Operating Bases contractors are in charge of doing our laundry, and they weren't going to get out the Woolite and hand wash my delicates.

So, I had a mission: to find a bra that was comfortable, sturdy and cost effective.

First I tried a sports bra from Walmart. It was cotton, its cups were formed and sturdy, the bottom band was made of elastic and easy to pull on over my head. However, the cotton bra would become water logged under my body armor and leave a raw red ring around my rib cage. And I couldn't wear it for more than 8 hours. I know this wouldn't usually be an issue for most women, but female soldiers are not most women. We live and work in extreme conditions often wearing our boots, uniforms and gear for 15 or more hours. They also didn't wear well, after several washes and wears the elastic and fabric stretched out.

I decided to try a sports bra from Target next. It was similar in it was a pullover bra. Let's face it; the bra hooks stab and hurt when you're wearing nearly 100 lbs of body armor and equipment at times.

The two Champion brand bras, one with built in cups, are made of more than 80 percent polyester or nylon and around 10 percent spandex material so it would stay relatively dry against my skin. And I could wear this bra for more than 24 hours before it started to irritate my skin. I found a winner.

Ironically it was similar to the sports bra, Kaos - 90 percent tactile nylon and 10 percent spandex - the Army is now issuing women when they deploy. The problem is the Army only issues us 2 bras.

The underwear was a little harder. See, I'm not a fan. I can't tell you why. It was never discussed in my family, but I never remember wearing underwear as a child. Over the years, usually brought on by communal living, I've tried on and off to start but usually by the middle of the day I'm hiding in a bathroom somewhere trying to free myself from these medieval and uncomfortable torture devices.

In basic, my newly ACU-clad uber-self tried boxer shorts and didn't like those either. The more feminine were either dental floss or would be by the end of the day. Yes, even the infamous granny panties didn't like me. I came to the conclusion that underwear was just not built for my body.

The cotton ones didn't work for the obvious reasons. Who wants to sit around in soggy underpants? First I tried a pair that I found at Walgreens of all places. They were 100 percent nylon, thin and fairly comfortable. It was like wearing a nylon stocking and stayed in place. However, the material wasn't good for my skin, and I ended up with a heat rash - not so comfortable or attractive.

I had almost given up when I found some Under Armour underwear in the PX. I tried the boy shorts and the panty styles. Both are made out of wicking material: 92 percent nylon and 8 percent elastic. I could barely feel them; that says a lot for someone who has almost never worn underwear. The boy shorts are a little more comfortable, and the great thing was I could finally cut out the built-in underwear in my PT shorts and wear them.

I've never pretended to understand the Army. In my experience, the Army usually goes with the most illogical choice. And issuing soldiers wool socks for the desert - not particularly logical. But hey, I tried several of the wicking-material style socks.

The Thorlos anti-fatigue brand was 82 percent Thor-Lon© Acrylic, 9 percent nylon, 5 percent spandex, and 4 percent X-Static. At first the socks are comfortable, but as the day goes on and the temperature rises, my feet start to sweat. The thick tan socks are not exactly comfortable when mixed with suede boots and heat. At $10.95 a pair they should massage my feet and give me a pedicure.

I found a pair of generic ACU-sea foam green boot socks at Military Clothing Sales, 82.5 percent cotton, 10 percent nylon and 5 percent spandex and 2.5 percent nylon, which I really liked, and you couldn’t beat the price of 3 for $5.

However, my father found the best socks. The socks look like men's black dress socks and are mostly cotton with a small percentage of Nylon and Spandex. They are thinner than the ACU-green socks and allow my feet some breathing room. And you can’t beat the price - free courtesy of the Daddy.

So, if you are deploying you now have an idea of what to buy or ask for in the mail. Let me know what brands have worked for you.

Blood and Guts

FORT DIX - N.J. It was hard to turn away from the grotesque photo. We'd heard the story several times before - an instructor here at Fort Dix bit down on the blasting cap of a claymore mine. Urban legend? A tale one weaves around the campfire to scare young soldiers?

Here was proof projected before us in all its gory glory.

He looked like a primordial squid. His face had been blown open - no nose, no teeth, no chin, no cheeks - just the redness that was his facial muscle exposed. The ends had torn, rippled almost, resembling tentacles. His blue eyes a stark contrast to the broken blood vessels in his eyes peeked from behind the peeled back flesh.

He survived, the instructor at the Fort Dix School of Combat Medicine told us, long enough to commit suicide.

The instructors on the Lanes training gave a little more detail as we practiced laying our claymores. They told us the man was despondent, afraid that no one would ever love the disfigured him.

I fixated on the photo - I wondered why he decided to bite down on the cap that day? Did he think it was a classroom prop? Was he trying to scare his students, make them laugh?

He survived; however, the instructor reminds us again and again that most do not.

Most combat deaths are inevitable; during ground combat up to 90 percent of casualties die before reaching a medical treatment facility.

However, there is some hope. During his classes one of our instructors, Jimmie Woodard, quotes Col. Ron Bellamy, an Army surgeon - "During battle if we could put on a tourniquet and perform needle chest decompressions we can save in between 70 and 90 percent of preventable deaths."

While that simple technique can save 70 to 90 percent of preventable deaths not all deaths are preventable. During the lesson we are told that if we come to a wounded soldier who is not breathing and unresponsive or will not survive their wounds to move on to the next casualty.

They tried to ease our discomfort by assuring us that we have to treat the people who can be saved.

While many wounds; massive trauma, massive head injuries, surgically uncorrectable torso trauma cannot be treated others can like tension pneumothorax and amputation of a limb, or hemorrhaging from an arm or leg.

Many of our instructors, veterans themselves, tell us that 2,500 soldiers died in Viet Nam from wounds to the arm or leg. These Soldiers had no other wounds; they simply bled out.

By learning to apply a tourniquet or perform needle chest decompressions we can reduce battlefield deaths by 70 to 90 percent, said Jimmie Woodard, the lead instructor.

Another important skill we are taught is to insert an 18-gauge IV catheter/needle unit and administer 250 ml of crystalloids.

Let me just put it out there. I hate needles. But I made a commitment to this country and more importantly the people who are serving next to me to learn everything I can that might help save their lives; becoming a Combat Livesaver is part of that commitment. So, I bore down, stuck out my arm, and held my breath.

Master Sgt. Schiff, a former Cavalry Soldier, now Public Affairs, and I team up. Although manly and gruff - he is one of the few people I'd trust in a battle between a sharp object and my skin.

I decide to go first, be stuck first anyway. While he is laying out his gear and checking the IV bag and line - I waffle back and forth - will I watch or won't I?

He feels for a vein before tying the constricting band two inches above the crook in my arm and tells me to pump my fist. A large vein pops up on the outside of the crook.

In a circular motion that gets larger and larger he cleans the inside of my arm with iodine. Then with one long sweeping motion he cleans the insertion site with an alcohol pad. Schiff takes the needle between his thumb and index finger, angles it at 20 degrees before pushing it in - only then do I decide to watch.

I hold my breath, but there is no flash, no blood. He digs in deeper, moves a little left; I gasp and grab the underside of the table with my free hand. My face contorts as I try not to move the arm he is working on. I mouth curse words and suck in breath - finally he finds gold. He pushes the catheter forward and removes the needle. Bright red blood, my blood, runs down my arm on to the table pad. Quickly he inserts the IV connection into the catheter.

He drops the bag below my arm - my blood flows into the IV line. It's a good connection.

The instructor, Marlum Lipsey, decides to improv a lesson while I'm still hocked up. Lipsey tells Schiff to hang the bag upside down to create an air bubble in the line then close the roller clap to stop the air from getting into my veins. Schiff then drops the bag below my arm again then opens the roller clap to allow the blood to push the air back into the IV bag. This technique pushes air out of the line. The line becomes warm as my blood flows into it, down my arm, around my thumb and begins to climb towards the bag. Then he lifts the bag to allow my blood to flow back into my veins with the IV fluid. He then squeezes to bolus the remainder of the fluid in to my arm.

For more information visit - www.cs.amedd.army.mil/clsp/