Warrior Transition Program

Camp Arifjan, Kuwait

We are decompressing.  That is the buzzword, decompressing, what we are told we should be doing.  Camp Arifjan is the pivot point out of theater.  We turn in our weapons, our seabags full of army accoutrements, and we receive a handful of lectures telling us how we might better re-integrate into the lives we left nearly eight months ago.

A lot has happened in those eight months.  I was just showing some photos to a colleague of mine who is stationed here in Kuwait.  It's hard to believe all that happened in Kandahar and Fort Lewis.

Checking the flight schedule: flights are assigned seemingly at random

The photos are difficult to look at for a variety of reasons:  I did document some grisly things, learning tools for those who will come to Kandahar after me.  I documented some enroute care missions, some mass casualties, and other photos of the frenetic day's events at the ROLE-3.  I took photos of many friends and colleagues, many who have already departed the Warrior Transition Program for points around the globe.  It still excites me to look at the photos, but I also get a pit in my stomach.  I think this is the crux of the challenge of returning home:  I am excited at the prospect of seeing my family and friends, but I will miss so much of what I left behind - the colleagues, friendships, excitement of the day to day rhythms of the ROLE-3.  Of course there are things I wish to never experience again as well.  The sight of mangled bodies and parentless children, the smell of an IED blast victim, the unsavory sight of flesh ripped off bone.  This bouillabaisse of emotion is apparently what plays tricks on the minds of folks returning home.

Playing Taboo in the 'Decompression Tent' -
yes it is really called that.

A friend told me recently that after he went through WTP after returning from Iraq on his last deployment, he was told that as long as the house was still standing or not in foreclosure, that he wasn't divorced, and that all his kids were healthy then it was a good deployment.  Who should care about anything else?  That is truly dumbing it down but the point is well taken.

My friend Chris donned his Afghan outfit for one of the briefs -
 we had been told that uniform regulations were relaxed
to accommodate our decompression after all.

After we turned in our weapons, holsters, chemical and biologic warfare gear, and so on, we were addressed by the command's chaplains.  We were told over and over that only a small handful of us could be identified as needing psychologic care now, but that in three to six months roughly 20% would need it in some capacity.  We were given pointers on how to reintegrate back into our families and jobs.   It was fairly basic information.   Don't kick the cat.  Don't 'take charge' of your family like your infantry platoon.  Expect weirdness in how you interact with your family - that is natural.  I have some insight into all this, having had a father who went on numerous deployments as a career Naval Surface Warfare Officer.  I remember him coming home to a hippy son - me - and telling me to get my butt to the the barber toute suite.  I remember thinking, who is this guy again?   My teenage self thought, I've been the man of the house for the past 6 months.  Fortunately I don't have any teens waiting for me at home, not yet anyway.

Our chaplain told us that a Vietnam vet once told him that his transition home was far too quick: that one day he was in the jungle and two days later he was sitting in his living room at home wondering what had just happened.  The chaplain reminded us that in WWII troops coming back from the Pacific would take roughly 50 days to get home, 50 days to absorb losses of their friends and to contemplate on what had just happened.  I do believe that WTP is designed for us to spend about five days doing nothing, so that we aren't like the Vietnam vet wondering what just hit us.

There are a few diversions here - a tent with video games, internet access, and a a movie theater.  On the other side of base there is a pool.  All water here on base is virtually scalding, to include the pool.  That's a slight exaggeration (although "cold" shower water at any time of day is far hotter than any water coming from a water heater).  We had a pool party the other night (still no beer here!) in which we refreshed in the 91 degree water.  It was a form of decompression, I recognized that.  It was fun albeit not so refreshing.

See you on the next deployment (?)

The last two days have been interrupted by our pack leaving, breaking up in ten to fifteen person increments.  Most of us are leaving by commercial airways, which disappoints me.  In my mind's eye I witnessed us being reunited as a group with our families at some DC airport.  I believe I will be arriving with a group of five or so, at midday tomorrow.  I am thrilled thinking about it, but the emotional cocktail still sticks in my throat.