 As
you go about your holiday, we hope this
soldier's words will bring home the current
sacrifice and bravery of our men and women
in the armed services. They most honorably
deserve a moment of our time, as well as our
prayers this Memorial Day weekend.
___
(Copy)
It was a great day today because nobody
died. It sounds so morbid, but it's just a
fact of life out here. There was definitely
a different feel in the air. Speaking of
air, let me tell you how bad the air smells
if you are around a Marine who has not
showered in 5 months! Yes, that's right...5
MONTHS!
This Private First Class came right off the
battlefield, traveling in the helicopter
that brought him and his injured detainee to
our hospital. One of my staff got him some
toiletries and a towel so he could take a
shower. He got all cleaned up, but then came
back into the Operations Room in the same
stinky clothes he had been wearing for 5
months. I took him down to the supply room
where we keep extra uniforms, boots,
t-shirts, socks, toiletries, etc., and I
hooked him up with some new clothes. He was
like a new man. He marveled at how
interesting it was to be inside a building
again. I have to tell you – these young
Marines are a special breed and they tug at
my heart every time. They are polite and
respectful and never ask for anything. They
love being out in the field and just want to
get back with their guys to join them in the
fight.
That first paragraph was written 3 days ago
and my how the feel in the air has changed:
literally. Last night there was a giant fire
on Camp Leatherneck. Thick black smoke was
billowing from the supply lot and drifting
over Camp Bastion. Giant flames and huge
explosions occurred as ammunition was cooked
off. The fire continued into the night. To
add insult to injury, a sand storm then
decided to hit!
This time, I was still at work so I didn't
have to be outside feeling the brunt of the
storm, but the dust still seeps in
everywhere, burning your eyes and lungs. The
fire alarms were going off in every building
and tent. After the sand storm subsided, I
climbed on the top of one of the large metal
containers and watched as the firefighters
attempted to put out the fire still burning
over at Leatherneck. It was still not out
when I finally went back to my tent at
11:30pm.
Just when you think things couldn't get much
worse, the fire alarms start going off again
at 5:30am: this time from the smoke. The air
was thick and you could still see the fire
burning. After a short muster, they allowed
us back into our tents and I caught a few
more hours of sleep.
Save a few smoke inhalation cases, amazingly
nobody got seriously hurt from the fire.
Some displaced individuals were housed in
the dining facilities, so MREs replaced
fresh-cooked food. Because of the high
operations tempo, my department had not
picked up mail for our group for 2 days, so
I was bound and determined to make the trip
when my boss told me that we could still get
on the base.
Little did I know we would have to take the
long way around, almost getting lost and
nearly getting stuck in the sand. I learned
my lesson to close the windows or you'll get
a face full of dirt trying to drive through
that stuff. But alas, the lesson was
short-lived, for when I returned, our
vehicles got repossessed. No, it's not
because of my driving...somebody forgot to
pay the bill for the contract.
I was thankful for a chance to sleep in, as
today was the most trying day for me yet.
Mentally, it seems to be getting harder and
harder for me to see the horrific injuries
suffered by our young Marines. I can't even
describe how sickening it is to see somebody
come out of the ambulance with their limbs
blown off or their face so completely bloody
that you wouldn't even recognize the man if
you knew him. You can't really see the flesh
and blood because everything is wrapped up,
but you know by the way it looks that his
leg or arm is gone.
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I was confused today when we were told a
triple amputee was expected and I saw that
he still had one of his boots on. As he was
lowered out of the ambulance, however, I
then saw by the girth of the bandage that
there was no flesh there. A double amputee
was followed 25 minutes later by a triple
amputee. Stories of heroism on the
battlefield follow shortly thereafter.
The smell is also incredibly insulting to
the senses and forever burned into my
memory. But what gets to me even more is the
look on everybody's faces right before the
doors to the ambulance swing open. The
tension in the air is palpable and it shows.
People don't want to look, but at the same
time they want to see for themselves, to
judge for themselves whether or not the guy
is going to make it.
And when the Marine with 3 of his limbs
missing takes his one good arm and gives
everyone a thumbs up as he comes out of the
ambulance, your stomach sinks to your knees
and you feel as if you heart is going to
explode as you choke back the tears.
With all this tragedy, it is now the simple,
selfless acts that bring me great happiness.
The Marine I mentioned in the first
paragraph is still here, serving as a guard
for an injured Detainee. I asked him how he
was doing and if there was anything he
needed. He said he didn't need anything and
thanked me. We continued to talk and just as
I was about to say goodbye, he seemed to
reluctantly ask me if I could help him find
a cover (a hat). He was walking back and
forth from Bastion to Leatherneck and was
getting yelled at for not wearing his cover.
I told him I would check the supply closet.
As I was leaving the ward, I saw three
Marines standing in the hallway. I figured
it would be pointless, but I asked them if
any of them had an extra cover with them.
They kind of looked at me incredulously, but
inquired as to why I would ask the question.
I told them the story of the Marine.
Without skipping a beat, the Chief Warrant
Officer then took his cover out of his
pocket and handed it to me. I started to
protest, saying that he would now be without
a cover. He then said to me, "Ma'am, I'm a
Chief Warrant Officer...they can yell at me
all they want." And with that, I thanked
him, put the cover back in his hands, and
told him where he could find the Private
First Class. I walked away before he could
see the tears welling in my eyes.
I finish the night knowing the next sand
storm is forecast for some time tonight and
that I'll have to probably drag myself out
of bed when the fire alarms go off – a minor
irritation in the grand scheme of things.
___
Response from Henriquez to
Phil Bertoni, who requested permission to
publish this letter:
Writing this letter to my family and friends
was a way for me to process the events I
experienced; there was no thought of writing
this for publication. I am happy, however,
that people are moved by the story and
appreciate a first-hand account of life out
here.
Please let me know if you have any
questions.
Very Respectfully,
LT Natalia C. Henriquez, USN
U.S. Medical Operations Department Head
United Kingdom Role 3 Hospital
Camp Bastion, Helmand Province, Afghanistan
[Text from file
received]
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