That's Entertainment!

Kandahar, Afghanistan

Somewhere between rocket attacks and trauma victims landing in our trauma bay, one must find time to distract oneself.  Failing to do so can be dangerous to one's mental health.

It can be a bit schizophrenic around here sometimes.  Virtually every day one has the opportunity to see the violence of war and its tragic consequences.  In spite of that, or perhaps because of it, there is an air of silliness, giddiness, or at least attempts at such, to fill the gaps between the badness.  Don't get me wrong, there is no laugh track here, no Hotlips Hoolihan, no Hawkeye Pierces or gin stills.  At least none that I am aware of.  But we do find - or invent - opportunities to blow off steam, or at least temporarily forget what came into the trauma bay, the OR, or the ICU an hour ago.

                  Survivor: Kandahar Edition

Last week we experienced one of our more creative diversions - a pool party put together by one of our senior surgeons.  He supplied the blow up pool and the precious water to put inside of it (under the auspices of "training" - specifically on how to decontaminate a chemical warfare victim).  Everyone else just ran with it.  There were Polynesian grass skirts, coconut bikini tops which thankfully no-one put on, Hawaiian leis, and so forth.  There was the obligatory "baptism" of some allegedly surprised victims.  And of course more NA beer than you could ever hope to drink.

The day before that we had a huge cookout commemorating the Navy Hospital Corpsman birthday.  A photographer representing the Getty Collection or something similarly named was there to cover the event, and his photos were published online.  Anytime you can eat something barbequed, even a military issue hotdog whose juices could be used for embalming purposes, it's OK.  Drink an NA beer, close your eyes for a brief second and pretend you're 8000 miles away at a beach party.



A birthday I will not soon forget - with my colleagues at Mamma Mia's

I celebrated a birthday nearly two weeks ago.  I was feted by my ICU and surgery colleagues at the local pizza joint, Mama Mia's.  Never mind that Mama's is about 80 yards away from where a set of rockets landed a few weeks ago.  Fo'gedabout it.  It is pizza.  And even if it challenges the notion that there is no such thing as bad sex or bad pizza, it's OK.  Just close your eyes for a brief second... I'll say this about my Kandahar birthday - it's not one I will soon forget.  Can you remember your last birthday?

Sharing some yuks at the Canadian BBQ

Last Thursday we were invited to the Canadian monthly barbeque.  This was special in that not only was the food pretty good, but we even got to watch people drink beer or wine, like voyeurs.  The Canadians are allowed two beers or a half bottle of wine per month.  I even smelled a real beer and it was heavenly.  We toasted several people and organizations and one clever fellow managed to toast the Taliban - for not rocketing us tonight so we can enjoy our beer in peace!  Not 30 minutes later I was chewing dust under the picnic table with 60 of my new best friends thanks to that evening's rocket attack.  That's entertainment!