Category Archives: afghanistan

Thanks for the Ride

While scrolling my Facebook newsfeed recently, I came across a post by an old friend that caught my eye and made me smile.  It said that it was seventeen years ago on that particular day that our army reserve unit left for Iraq.  I couldn’t believe it.  I had to count it out, using all my fingers and some of my toes.  It really had been seventeen years since we left Ft. Dix, New Jersey, headed for war.  Since I didn’t have Facebook when we left Ft. Dix in 2008, the event of going wheels up to cross the Atlantic Ocean doesn’t show up in my Facebook memories once a year like so many other things do.  To remedy this, I made a Facebook post referencing my friend’s post, that it had been seventeen years, and that I was making that post so it would show up in my memories.  I went on to mention that I had a bunch of pictures from that deployment and I would try to find them and post some on my Facebook page.

My post created somewhat of a mini-online reunion for many of my fellow soldiers from the 320th Military Police Battalion.  And when I started posting some of the 5,000 pictures I took while deployed, the reunions and stories and memories just kept coming.  On a side note, one of my “extra duties” while deployed was to be the battalion photographer and NCOIC (non-commissioned officer in charge) of the battalion newsletter.  Hence, the insane amount of pictures I took.  But to be honest, I likely would have taken most of the pictures anyway, without having that task added to my list of duties.  So many pictures!  And those pictures helped us relive plenty of stories and memories.

During our whole deployment, one of my fellow soldiers and I had kind of a little inside joke where when he saw me, he would annoyingly, almost angrily say, “You’re welcome!”  To which I would reply, “Thanks for the ride.”  Even recently while posting pictures from seventeen years ago, he made a comment on one of my Facebook posts, “You’re welcome for the ride, haha.”  There is a funny story as to why we would greet each other that way.  And it all started with the first time we met.  But before we get to all that, we have to go back to the start of that particular day, to about sixteen hours before we actually met.  To before I even made it to that unit and before I started taking all those pictures.

In the Army Reserves, it is not uncommon for soldiers to get cross-leveled into other units to fill a need in a unit that is preparing to deploy.  As a matter of fact, I was cross-leveled to a new unit for both my deployments, the first to Iraq, the second to Afghanistan.  For the Afghanistan deployment, not only was I cross-leveled to a new unit, but that new unit loaned me and some others to an active duty unit for the entire deployment.  And in the case of going to Iraq, I was transferred last-minute to a Military Police Battalion in Pennsylvania.  It was so last minute that I and about a dozen other soldiers had to do a few months’ worth of training in just a few weeks to catch up with the rest of the unit.  There was a lot to learn in a condensed time frame.  There were plenty of areas that each of us needed to be certified in to go on that deployment.  This made for long days.  But maybe none of them as long as the day I traveled to that new unit for the first time.

I remember it was the first day of the new school year for my kids here in Florida.  Right offhand I don’t remember the exact date, only that it was mid-August.  I dropped my kids off at their respective schools and then my wife dropped me off at the airport.  It was a nice, sunny day here in the panhandle of Florida.  But somewhere in the south or central part of the state there was a tropical storm or hurricane making waves.  All the flights in the southeast United States were affected.  And from where I was departing most of the flights go through Atlanta, where it ended up being a bottleneck of air traffic with endless delays.  My first flight was delayed long enough to where I would not make my connection, which in turn would prevent me from getting to the small-town airport somewhere in Pennsylvania before it closed for the day.  Unless I was to fly out the next day, the only option was to reroute into Philadelphia and have someone drive the 120-something miles (240-mile roundtrip) to get me and bring me back to the town where I was originally supposed to arrive.  And when I called the unit about the flight delays, arriving a day late was not an option.

I don’t remember a lot about the flights that day.  I don’t remember if I still flew through Atlanta or somewhere else.  But I remember finally arriving at Philadelphia International Airport around midnight and having no clue where to go to meet my ride that was supposedly coming.  I hadn’t spoken to anyone at my new unit since before I boarded the flight for Philly.  Somehow, and I don’t know how I got this lucky, I ended up going out the correct exit to find my ride.  But along the way from the baggage carousel to the exit, I found someone else that was going to the same unit as I was.  He was a young lieutenant that was looking to get a taxi for the more than two-hour drive.  But instead, we found the white passenger van with government tags and got on the road in the middle of the night.  I remember hearing my name called out and looking over to see someone waving me to come over.  After confirming that was my ride, I introduced the young lieutenant and the driver said something along the lines of, “Ok.  I wasn’t told about anyone else, but whatever.  Let’s go.”

We climbed into the van.  The young lieutenant went straight to the back row, stretched out on the seat, and went to sleep.  I sat in the row behind the front seats.  The passenger seat up front had a co-driver in it, but he was asleep, occasionally mumbling in his slumber during the trip.  The driver, focused on the mission, started the engine and we were on our way.  I made small talk with the driver, asking about the unit, the leadership, and a list of other topics.  It didn’t take long to realize he wasn’t happy about this 240-mile round-trip mission he was given.  He wasn’t rude.  He stayed professional.  But he wasn’t happy.  He had been pulled from a pre-deployment party, celebrating with his section and the families at an Outback Steakhouse, basically saying their goodbyes since we were leaving for Ft. Dix in a couple days. That would explain the almost lifeless body in the front passenger seat, ha-ha.  Turns out, I completely interrupted that party by needing a ride from halfway across the state.  Or we could blame the weather in South Florida. 

I probably thanked him over and over again for coming to get me.  Since he didn’t really want to be there in the middle of the night, driving us from the airport to the hotel, I wanted to make sure he knew that I appreciated him.  His response was, “You’re welcome!”  It was loud and forceful.  It wasn’t a normal “you’re welcome,” it was a frustrated “you’re welcome.”  But it was amusing and humorous for some reason and it kind of stuck with us.  From that point on that’s how he greeted me for the entire deployment.  It became a fun thing.  It was a weird circumstance that led to some camaraderie that still lives seventeen years later.

Aside from the travel delays on that day in August of 2008, another painful part of the adventure from that day happened when we arrived at the hotel where the unit was staying.  I think we got to the hotel around 2 am.  Maybe 3, it is all a blur.  The young lieutenant checked in at the front desk and got his room.  But for some reason when I tried to check in, they didn’t have my name on the list for a room.  It was a debacle.  I had no idea who in the unit to ask for and I didn’t have anyone’s cell phone number to call and ask.  And the driver of the van who might have had an answer already vanished as soon as we arrived.  Even if I wanted to pay for a room myself, there were no rooms left at the hotel.  Thankfully, the young lieutenant overheard and asked the clerk if his room had two beds.  It did.  I had a place to crash for two hours before we had to wake up and start the day.  That gesture by the lieutenant has never been forgotten.  It was the beginning of great friendship during deployment, another crazy circumstance that fostered camaraderie.

Throughout my time in the army, especially after I went back into service the second time, I met and served with some amazing people.  From different army schools for training, to the various reserve units I was part of, to the deployments I went on, there is a special bond I still feel with all those I served with.  I love every single one of them.  We might not have seen each other or spoken for more than 15 years, but we wouldn’t miss a beat if we chatted today.  That is evident in some of the messages and comments that resulted from all the pictures I recently posted on Facebook.  In some cases, we picked up like we had just spoken yesterday instead of “forever” ago.  There are few professions outside of the military where this happens on that deep of a level.  Being forced to trust each other with our lives tends to create some strong bonds.

Thanks again for the ride, Blake!  “You’re welcome!”  I appreciate you.  To all the others I served with, thank you for all the stories and memories.  Let’s catch up sometime.  And for everyone else that found your way to Story of My Life, thanks for stopping by today.  I hope you enjoyed this piece.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

Top: Mural of the 320th MP BN on a T-wall at Camp Bucca, Iraq, 2008.

Bottom: 320th MP BN Unit Ministry Team on mission to Umm Qsar, 2008.

What a Novel Idea

I’ve been getting the writing bug a little more lately.  Not as much for the blog as I have the novel I started in 2016.  I haven’t done much with it in a while.  Every once in a while, I’ll bring it up on the laptop and do a little editing or add some content.  Lately, I’ve been all about working on my book.  Although, I have given up the delusions of grandeur of getting published and selling a million copies, having it turned into a movie, and living happily ever after off the royalties in a tropical paradise.  Not really, I still fantasize about that.  LOL.

I’ve been looking at sites that writers use to serialize their novels, or release a work one chapter at a time.  Turns out many very well know authors have done this.  Charles Dickens, Steven King, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Alexandre Dumas just to name a few.  Serializing an author’s work was a common thing in Dickens’ time.  A piece would run in a local paper, usually one chapter of the book.  It gave people an opportunity to read the book without having to buy it, especially at a time when most people didn’t have extra money for luxuries like books.

I decided to submit a chapter to Moonquill, one of the sites I researched.  Well, it got accepted.  To say I’m excited is an understatement.  In reality, it’s not that big a deal, but to me it is.  There was a process to submit and get approval and I made it.  There’s little to no money in doing my novel this way, but it’s getting out there.  And it’s possible that one day this could lead to getting published in the more traditional sense.  I get to keep the copywrite, which was a big part of me choosing Moonquill.  If I want to publish later exclusively with a publisher, I will be able to.

I noticed on the site that most authors don’t use their real names.  I think that’s weird, so I’m using a variation of my name, deGeorge.  First and middle initial in lowercase and my last name, all as one word.  Well see how that goes, I can change it at any time.  There also seems to be a formatting flaw.  I copied and pasted my work, but not all the spaces after punctuation made it for some reason.  I’ll have to look into seeing if I can fix that. 

I have almost 50,000 words so far for the novel that I need to edit and divide into good chapters.  My chapters seemed a little long compared to the other writers on that site.  I have mixed feelings about that.  On one hand, I’m changing the work I’ve already done.  On the other hand, if my chapters are too long, people might not stay with it.  Basically, I’ve created a lot more work for myself by making the chapters shorter.  But, I’m ok with that. 

I’ll post the link to Chapter 1.  Please, please, please check it out.  It’s free, another reason I chose Moonquill.  My goal with this project is make it into the Top 20 on the site.  That’s a lofty goal considering what I’ve seen so far.  There’s a lot of writers and a lot of books to choose from. 

*****IMPORTANT UPDATE*****   While writing this blog post, my 18-year-old son messaged me with my grammatical errors in chapter 1.  I have corrected them on the site.  Thank you, Ben!!  If you are one of the very few I sent this to before I made it public, I have corrected the glaring mistakes.  I went over it twice before posting, how did I miss those?  Because it’s in my head the way I mean it to sound, so it’s harder to find mistakes.  That’s why having someone looking over your work before you publish is important. 

Also, thank you MSG Wilkens for letting me use that picture from Afghanistan as my book cover.

I’ll post chapter 2 in a few days.  I have my work cut out for me.  Wish me luck.  And please, please, please click on the link and check it out.  Thank you in advance.  Good day, God bless.  Thanks for stopping by today.

https://www.moonquill.com/book/battlefield

Dave

Fifty

I don’t make a big deal about my birthday.  I don’t usually tell people when it’s coming or take the day off from work.  It’s really just another day to me.  But this time is different.  This will be a landmark I really didn’t expect to make.  In a couple days I’ll be 50 years old.  50.  Fifty!  Half a hundred.  It’s not as old as it sounds, so I keep telling myself.  But it does feel old some days.

Actually, I feel pretty good overall.  I don’t look my age, so I’ve been told.  I certainly don’t act my age, and don’t plan on starting any time soon.  My body hurts with aches and pains now more than ever before, but I’m getting used to it.  Considering what I’ve put my body through in the first 49 years, I’m just thankful to be here.  My memory sucks.  Although I can remember song lyrics and movie lines from the 1980’s like I just finished hearing them.  But for some reason I can bring up Google on my phone and forget what I’m searching for at the same time.  Go figure.

It’s been a wild ride so far.  Many successes, many failures.  Way too many failures.  One thing I don’t think I’ve ever talked about in my blog is my past business ventures.  I’m 0-5 in business endeavors.  That’s probably why I haven’t mentioned it before.  LOL.  But one of my favorite failures in business is when my daughter and I opened a restaurant together.  It was short-lived, but it was a wonderful experience.  It was a huge success just getting it opened.  One of the 0-5 businesses includes starting a sub S corporation with a buddy of mine that we ended up doing nothing with.  Does that even count?  I still have the corporate seal and binders from that one.

I feel like I’ve worked a thousand different jobs in my life.  My first job where I received a W-2 was at a TCBY.  I made $3.35/hr.  My second job, before shipping off to Basic Training, was construction.  That lasted one day.  Since then I have had an eclectic variety of jobs.  I’ve worked in the food service industry in a number of different of capacities, including at a restaurant in an airport. I’ve driven produce delivery trucks, worked at different retail stores, served in the United States Army Reserves.  I tried sales jobs twice, not for me. And now I have a job I would have never guessed in a million years I would be doing.  I work for the sewer department for the city where I live.  It’s a shitty job (sewer humor), but I actually enjoy it.  Most of what we do is not nearly as bad as you might think.  But there are those days….

I’ve done some pretty cools stuff in my life.  I’ve been to over a dozen countries.  I’ve been inside the White House.  I’ve been inside the gates of Buckingham Palace to watch the Changing of the Guards up close.  Somewhere I still have the invitation from that incredible day.  I’ve climbed Mt. Fuji and ridden on the Bullet Train.  I had a 1967 Mustang for a while.  That was my favorite car of all the ones I’ve ever had.  I’ve surfed in the Pacific and swam in the Atlantic.  I’ve dipped my toe in the Bay of Bengal and I’ve caught a shark in the Gulf of Mexico. 

I’ve gone to war twice.  I received the Bronze Star at the end of my last deployment.  We traveled extensively while in Afghanistan.  And when we did, it always seemed like someone was trying to kill us.  We survived being shot at and enemy rocket attacks.  We could feel the explosions shake the buildings when we went to Kandahar and Bagram.  We flew on some helicopters that probably could have used some extra maintenance, but we survived that, too.  Of all the airplanes we boarded over there, the British C-130 was my favorite ride.  From take off to landing, it was like a rollercoaster on steroids.  I loved it. I’d go back for a day if they let me do that again. But they won’t. I got medically retired a couple years ago.

My life might seem like a completed bucket list for some, and I barely scratched the surface here.  But there is so much left to do.  What could possibly be left?  To just live.  That’s all.  Every day, just live and enjoy life.  I still fret over some of my failures, but I don’t let it consume me.  I still smile about the few things I’ve been successful in, but I know I’m not done, there’s more to come.  For example, later today, I plan on successfully taking a nap.  That might not seem like much, but sometimes it’s the little things that can make a whole day successful.  Don’t ever forget that.  So, Happy Birthday to me, I’m old now. And I’m grateful to still be rotating on this Earth and orbiting the sun.  Thanks for stopping by today and listening to me ramble on as I look back at my first 49 years. It’s really been a good run so far.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

Finally!!!!

I’ve written many times over the years about my struggles with the Department of Veterans Affairs.  Finally, one of my ongoing battles with the VA is coming to an end.  I’ve waited more than six years to get my foot fixed and it was operated on yesterday.  Better late than never I suppose.  But that was more than six years of extra pain to deal with.  Fighting with the VA about what you’ve earned and deserve can, and usually is, an exhausting undertaking. 

In 2013, I was in the belly of a plane loading bags for our trip to Ft Hood for pre-deployment training prior to heading to Afghanistan.  We were tossing bags to each other as they come up the conveyor ramp.  Toss, catch, turn, toss, turn, catch repeat.  As I went to catch one of the duffle bags, it hit my chest, slipped through my arms, and slammed my foot.  The Kevlar helmet that was packed in the top of the bag crushed my toe.  Turns out it wasn’t broken, but it was definitely not well.  It’s been swollen ever since.

After arriving at Ft Hood, “Doc” sent me to get it looked at.  X-rays showed it was not broken, but had in fact exacerbated an issue that I didn’t even know I had.  My foot had good days and bad days after the injury.  Sometimes it was bearable and sometimes it was excruciating.  And without a doubt, having to favor that foot created other issues.  Like when I injured my hip getting out of a helicopter and rocky ground. Now I was having to favor my right foot and left hip.  It was bad enough that the doctor at my little base wanted to send me to Germany for treatment then home.  I declined.  I wanted to finish what I started with my fellow Soldiers that we began the previous year.  But if I had taken the doctor’s advice, I wouldn’t have had to wait six years to get my foot fixed.  But I don’t regret my decision.

The hardest part in this battle with the VA had been getting them to acknowledge that my injury was service-connected.  Even with medical documents from the hospital at Ft Hood, the VA was denying that my injury was service-connected.  It wasn’t until 2018 that the VA sent me a letter saying (and I’m paraphrasing) “Oops, my bad, your foot is our problem.”  That’s what I’ve been telling you for years!  With the documentation I had, it really should have been an open and shut case.  But, being a reservist, sometimes we get swept under the rug.  And the Army didn’t do me any favors.  As we were out-processed at Ft Hood after coming back from Afghanistan, we were told that unless it’s a life-threatening injury we would be passed on to the VA.  I was examined before leaving Ft Hood and the doctor told me what needed to be done. He wrote it down.  It was in my records.  But the Army didn’t want to do it and the VA denied that it was their problem to fix.

Eventually I wasn’t able to get around like I used to.  Couldn’t run.  Couldn’t pass the Army physical fitness test.  I was eventually medically retired, which turned out to be a good thing.  But all the physical issues and poor self-image I developed from my physical decline only added to the downward spiral I was going through in life.  That led to a failed suicide attempt and being diagnosed with PTSD, major depression, and all the wonderful things that go along with that.  The deterioration of my body played a big role in my mental health.  The Army not fixing me and VA denying me made it feel like an insufferable weight.  I hit rock bottom.  Thankfully I failed and am still here today.

Yesterday, the doctor cut open my big toe, shaved some bone, took some bone out, sewed me back up.  Not only is my foot fixed and on its way to recovery to where I can hopefully fully function again, the VA hooked me up with a civilian doctor.  Turns out the Covid problem shut down all non-life-threatening surgeries being done by the VA when I started this process.  My VA pediatrist asked me if I would like them to see if a civilian doctor would do it.  For those of you that have dealt with military or VA doctors I don’t need to tell you how fast I jumped at that option.  I know I painted that last sentence with a wide brush, but there are more bad doctors than good ones at the VA so it’s easy to lump them all in the same group of being subpar. 

I’m off for at least the next three weeks from work.  I’ve been saving my vacation and sick leave for this.  I can’t drive until after my second follow-up appointment when the doctor will remove my stitches.  I’ll just be sitting on the couch eating snacks if you need me.  I have 150 channels or so on cable, a couple streaming sources, and more DVDs than anyone should own in 2020.  Who wants to bet I can’t find anything to watch?  LOL.  I’m getting around well on my crutches.  Last time I was on crutches they were made of wood.  I guess I’m old now.  The surgery shoe is not comfortable, but I have to leave it on until the stitches come out.  I’ll be sleeping on the couch because I don’t want to climb the stairs to the bedrooms for a few days. 

I want to thank my daughter for babysitting me yesterday, getting me to and from surgery, picking up my meds, making me lunch.  My girlfriend is also taking care of me and spoiling me.  I’ll be back to doing a few easy things around the house in a few days.  But I’m taking advantage of this downtime for the time being.  I will rest my body and let it heal.

Healing is important.  And it’s all tied together, both physical and mental.  I had to learn that a few years ago the hard way.  And I do much better now in my understanding that you must take care of both.  Each has its own time table which can be frustrating because physical and mental injuries can’t always heal at the same pace but they can have a huge impact on each other.  Take care of yourselves.  Take time to let yourself heal when needed.  And go easy on yourself when it seems overwhelming.

Thanks for stopping by today.  Good day, God Bless.

Dave

I’ll Do My Best

I finish many of my conversations by saying “I’ll do my best.” Usually when someone tells me to have a good day, sleep well, have fun, or some other well-wishing suggestion, I respond with, “I’ll do my best.” And I mean it. It is a misnomer of sorts, in that I can’t always achieve my best, but I try and that’s the point. Sometimes my best is pretty good and sometimes it falls way short. I think “my best” can be characterized as an ultraviolet light wave. It goes up and down; and depending on where I’m at in the wave cycle depends on what “my best” will be at any given time or circumstance. And, like the ultraviolet light waves, it’s invisible to the naked eye. Sometimes I don’t even know what “my best” will be until it’s time to find out.

Doing my best isn’t always easy. And sometimes I fake it, or I realize during an event that I need to not lose my cool and adjust to a situation. That happened a couple of times last month. First, I was rear-ended on the job. I stopped at a red light, the young lady behind me did not stop in time. It was very minor, barely worth mentioning, but since I was in a city truck for work, a police report had to be made. I watched in the rearview mirror as smoke rose from the road because she locked up her brakes and the tires screeched. I prepared for impact. It ended up being just enough of a jolt to shake my truck. I was momentarily enraged. I’ve written many times here that traffic and driving are a trigger for my PTSD. But by the time we pulled off the road I calmed myself and handled the situation well.

More recently, as I had laid down one night to go to bed, I heard a commotion outside in the parking lot of the condo complex I live at. After about five minutes of listening to the yelling, I decided to go outside and see what was going on. I wasn’t happy about this. When I got outside I saw a young man holding a baseball bat and two young ladies walking away from him. At that point I went from being not happy to thinking I might have to take the bat from that guy and beat him with it. And in my mind as I saw him, I had already disabled the threat. I walked straight up to the guy staring at him the whole time. Two steps away from him, he dropped the bat and put his hands up by his shoulders. He continued to yell until the cops arrived despite my suggestions that he shut up and go back to his condo. Right before the cops showed up he bent down to pick up the bat. I was very calm and clear, but firm and direct in both tone and language, when I told him what the consequences would be if he picked it back up. Fortunately, especially for him, it didn’t come to that.

In both of those instances I did my best. I had to work on it very hard in a very short amount of time. I had only a few seconds each time to realize where my mindset was going and change course. I did good for the most part. But here’s the side effects of doing my best sometimes when I’m not ready to. After the minor wreck and all the waiting and paperwork was over, I had a splitting headache the rest of the day. Forcing myself to calm down in that situation created a lot of stress and anxiety that I carried the rest of the day. I handled the event well, but the rest of my day was horrible. As far as the baseball bat incident goes, I kept my cool enough to not harm that guy even when he bent over to pick up the bat again. After the cops interviewed me about what I saw, I filled out a police report as requested, and was free to go back to bed. The problem was I couldn’t fall asleep. My adrenaline was still going until 1 a.m. I kept replaying it all in my mind, even the part about pulverizing the guy which never even happened. I only got about four hours of sleep before I had to be back at work.

I understand why I dealt with those two events the way I did and had “side effects” afterwards. That’s how I, and many others, dealt with things at war. Focus, get the job done, keep your cool, don’t go crazy, know your surroundings, know all the rules of engagement. But when an incident or attack happens we end up with loads of energy and adrenaline spikes coupled with not knowing the outcome of a situation as it’s happening or having to be prepared to fight at any given time, whether we’re needed or not. It’s stressful. Unlike the two things that happened last month where I could process the events shortly after they happened, I waited until coming home from Afghanistan to process it all. That was dangerous, but I hardly had a choice. And the side effects of waiting until I got back from war were catastrophic. Failed suicide attempt, diagnosed with PTSD, depression, anxiety, unsociable, jumpy, anger issues. The list could go on and on.

Some days are harder than others, but I’m getting there. And I’ll end here as I do many of my conversations, I’ll do my best. Thanks for stopping by. Good day, God bless.

Dave