— Articles covering the military
Immersed in darkness, I rock and bob in the back of an MRAP (mine resistant ambush protected) tactical vehicle. The smell of smoke, burning tires, and sewage fills the rear compartment as we drive over the Trash City portion of Baghdad.
Nowhere are nurses more valued and needed than in war zones. From Dorothea Dix to Clara Barton to Florence Nightingale, these women bravely entered the most intense arenas of tragedy and human suffering armed with courage, compassion, and medical skill sets that resulted in patients and witnesses describing them as “ministering angels.” Their noble souls fought for an end to unhygienic conditions that killed more soldiers by disease than combat. They demanded dignity for their patients, and they struggled to ease the suffering of those affected by the jaws of war. Their legacy continues today. Building on the foundation of hundreds of years of medical advancement, nurses are contributing to saving more lives on and around the battlefield than ever recorded in history. They are masters of trauma treatment and preventative medicine.
I'm standing in sand. The sun is blazing over Fort Bliss, Texas. Ten miles south, just beyond the US border with Mexico, drug cartels are murdering people by the hundreds. Open source reports put the number of dead at more than 1000 since January. The sand is so hot that I can feel the heat through the soles of my boots.
Hate is powerful. It finds its home in meat. It isolates a person, a group, or a concept and pins its aggression to the chest of the target. It provides an illusory freedom, giving a brief respite from powerlessness. It abandons and overrides the rational mind. It strengthens the weak, the debased, the undisciplined for greater self-induced degradation. It is the readily available, easy, thoughtless answer for those whose minds are a mysterious and unused organ, encased in a body devoid of a sensed worth. It makes brutality an appealing tonic, a drink swallowed that batters you until you share it.
The sun descends on the distant mountains like an artillery shell. Two young soldiers are giving each other haircuts on the sandscape of Fort Bliss, Texas. One sits in a three-and-a-half legged chair and trusts his buddy with the clippers. It buzzes up and down his scalp, carving out a symmetrical, Army-standard high and tight.
"To put the world right in order, we must first put the nation in order; to put the nation in order, we must first put the family in order; to put the family in order, we must first cultivate our personal life; we must first set our hearts right." -Confucius
Being a Warrior is about conquering death. Death is the ultimate mystery. It is intimidating because of its severity and how absolutely personal it is. Death is non-negotiable. Death affects individuals.
Locker rooms, huddles, dugouts, courtsides, ringsides, and sidelines have heard endless attempts at inspirational speeches by players and coaches.
When you are embedded in a group of soldiers, you learn a lot about the American identity. This is particularly true if the soldiers are going to war.
I got a text message calling me a [expletive] ten different ways. That could only mean one thing--Mike was back from Iraq. I called him. We cursed each other out. Then we made plans to drink. “Freedom isn’t free, mother [expletive],” he said. “So buy me beer.” It was the least I could do. He’d just spent 18 months in the sandbox, and I was dying to hear about his experiences, particularly because I was getting ready to go to the sandbox.