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Whenever my three daughters saw me decked out in my Air Force Reserves uniform, they knew what to expect: I'd disappear for two weeks for training. I did it every year. But nothing had prepared them for the letter I received last spring, asking me to serve in Iraq.
My two youngest daughters didn't really understand when I told them I was going to serve overseas, but my 11-year-old daughter was suspicious. She had heard people talking about Iraq, and she thought there was a war there. I could tell she was worried. The three-month trip would be the longest amount of time I'd ever left my kids, so to help them comprehend exactly how long three months was, my wife sliced up strips of paper and made a long paper link chain, one link for every day I'd be gone. Before bed each night, the kids could take turns chopping a link off, and as it got shorter, they could see how long I had been gone, and how much longer until I would return.
Unlike most Americans who serve in Iraq, this wasn't my first time there. I grew up in Kuwait, in the Middle East, in a city called Ahmadi, which started out as a compound for foreigners that worked for the Kuwaiti Oil Company. My dad was a refinery engineer and my mom was a nurse. From what I recall, it was great and very hot. I do recall that life was good there, as the company my dad worked for provided most things for us and we left well before all the turmoil began. My first visit to Iraq was extremely brief, maybe two days, and I was all of 8 years old. I only remember that we were there during the rainy season and it was cold, wet and muddy.
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Although I hadn't been expecting to return to Iraq, I always knew the day would come for me to serve my country. Postponing my summer projects, I began preparing for my departure. Having never been to a war zone, I didn't know what to expect. I wasn't worried so much for my life as I was for my children, wife and parents. As a network designer in Children's Hospital Boston's Information Services Department, I had to transition my duties and responsibilities to my peers and staff here. At home, I sorted through what felt like endless accounts, from banks and credit cards to utilities and legal documents.
Finally it was time to leave. Seven plane hops and three days later, I arrived at the largest and busiest military airfield in the world: Joint Base Balad, located 45 miles north of Baghdad. I was in a daze after travelling for so long, but I quickly settled into a routine as a communications officer. My job wasn't much different than what an information technologist would do at Children's, although instead of being responsible for computers and networks, my work also included satellite communication, radar systems and information and records management. My workday was 7 a.m. to 7 p.m., but I would usually start early and leave late and the days of the week blended together, especially since there were no weekends or holidays off. I would look at the calendar and focus on the numbers because it didn't matter what day of the week it was. It had a Groundhog Day effect—despite the mortar attacks, which happened weekly.
To break up the cycle, I volunteered at the Air Force Theater Hospital, helping wounded American and Iraqi soldiers, police, civilians and insurgents. Having never seen serious injuries before, I was surprised at how unfazed I was by the serious and lethal injuries, ranging from simple on-the-job accidents to gunshot wounds, lacerations and severed limbs. Knowing I was helping fellow humans, regardless of nationality, gave me a sense of reward. As insignificant as my role was—I helped the injured on and off the Medevac aircraft from the landing pad to the Emergency Department (ED)—I knew I brought the injured one step closer to recovery. It was amazing to see first-hand triage in action. At first, the ED seemed like total chaos. But once my eye was trained, it appeared more like an ant colony, with each member having specific tasks and responsibilities, carried out with amazing speed and grace. Saving lives was the name of the game, regardless of whose life was at stake. Of course, it hit even closer to home when U.S. soldiers were admitted, wearing a similar, if not the same uniform as I did.
When I arrived back in America in the fall, there were seven links left on the paper-link chain, and four happy females waiting to hug me. After a short break, I returned to Children's. As I continue to adjust back to civilian life, I'm noticing how I have changed. For one, the wartime experience helped me learn to put things in perspective. I can recognize things that aren't as important and not worry about them like I used to, freeing me to concentrate on projects that can make an impact. My experience also gave me a greater appreciation for what we all do on a daily basis here at Children's, and a new, fresher view of my job. All I need to do is walk through the doors of the hospital to feel connected to this noble mission of helping children be well. I'm glad to have served my country, but even gladder to be back. I feel truly lucky to work for two world-class institutions: the United States Air Force and Children's.
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