Last night I sat and talked to my CHU-mate for almost two hours straight. We talked about everything. He now knows about my med school plans, that my parents farm, and that both of my grandparents still living have had cancer. I know that he lives in the Philippines with his wife on a rice farm, that this is his last or next to last year in country, that when he gets home he is going to increase his operation to include buying and selling rice to mills, and that from seeding to removing rice seedlings to replant is about 28 days. I also know that his brother has pancreatic cancer. The 5-year survival rate for pancreatic cancer in Caucasian men is less than 5%. I really wish I hadn't had to lie to him when he asked me how bad pancreatic cancer was.
The point is, this has happened to me several times since I have been over here, and twice in the last week in a half. I will have been talking to someone, sometimes for hours, and realize that I never gave them my name and they never gave me theirs. Sometimes, we even part ways without ever finding out the other's name. These conversations are sometimes your garden-variety bus stop bench, grocery store line chats, but more often are lengthy discourses on love, life, home, or dreams.
I don't know what it is that makes perfect strangers open up to each other in a way that would take months in the States. Does this type of work draw those people that naturally open up to complete strangers? Or, is it the common bond shared by being 8000 miles from home in a place where most often relationships are quickly formed and even quicker broken? I think that it is human nature to want to reach out and connect with those around us, even if we know that those connections will soon be over. I have had some of the longest discussions I've ever had with people I've only known for five minutes.
Oh, and my CHU-mate? I finally found out his name, right before he left for another base this morning, but for the life of me I can't remember it. I guess it really doesn't matter.....
Fairbanks-based soldier dies in Iraq copter crash; 12 wounded
Originally published Monday, September 21, 2009 at 3:50 p.m.
Updated Monday, September 21, 2009 at 7:57 p.m.
Updated Monday, September 21, 2009 at 7:57 p.m.
FAIRBANKS -- A Fort Wainwright soldier died Saturday when the UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter in which he rode crashed north of Baghdad.
Spc. Michael S. Cote, 20, of Denham Springs, La., had been in Alaska since March 2008. The helicopter mechanic was assigned to the Task Force 49 aviation unit at Fort Wainwright.
The circumstances surrounding the crash, which occurred in Balad, Iraq, are under investigation, according to a U.S. Army news release. Cote’s relatives have been notified.
The New York Times reported on Sunday that 12 soldiers were also wounded in the Saturday night crash in Balad. Maj. William Coppernoll, an Army spokesman, confirmed that the injuries were from the same flight.
The Times reported that a powerful thunderstorm passed through central Iraq at the time of the crash, stirring up dust that cut visibility in the area.
A ceremony of prayer and remembrance will be held at Fort Wainwright, although a time for the memorial has not been set.
As of Saturday, there had been 25 soldier deaths in U.S. Army Alaska this year, including six soldiers based at Fort Wainwright.
Link to original story
BREAK
My own words......
The thunderstorm that the above article talks about was very powerful. The wind kicked up massive amounts of dust and reduced visibility to very short distances. The fine sand filtered into the hallway outside our clinic where it hung like light smoke in the air. I ventured out to take pictures of the storm, but they came out too dark to post. The rest of the clinic staff and I left at 2030 on the dot, during a intermission in the storm. I laid down to sleep about 2045, and shortly thereafter heard the Big Voice talking, but couldn't understand what was being said. Listening for the accompanying sirens that would signal an indirect fire or other attack, but hearing none, I rolled over and went back to sleep.
Only after learning of the crash the next morning did I put two and two together. The Big Voice had been recalling all medical personnel to the Air Force-run 332nd EMDG Hospital.
Someone once said a veteran is someone who, at one point in their life, wrote a check made payable to "The United States of America", for an amount of "up to and including my life." On 19 September 2009, the United States of America cashed that check. Spc. Michael S. Cote was 20 years old. He didn't die from a sniper's bullet, an enemy rocket attack, or even friendly fire. He was a victim of the cliche "being in the wrong place at the wrong time." That does not make his sacrifice any less, or diminish his family and friends' pain in any way. He will be missed. Rest in peace Spc. Cote.
Spc. Michael S. Cote, 20, of Denham Springs, La., had been in Alaska since March 2008. The helicopter mechanic was assigned to the Task Force 49 aviation unit at Fort Wainwright.
The circumstances surrounding the crash, which occurred in Balad, Iraq, are under investigation, according to a U.S. Army news release. Cote’s relatives have been notified.
The New York Times reported on Sunday that 12 soldiers were also wounded in the Saturday night crash in Balad. Maj. William Coppernoll, an Army spokesman, confirmed that the injuries were from the same flight.
The Times reported that a powerful thunderstorm passed through central Iraq at the time of the crash, stirring up dust that cut visibility in the area.
A ceremony of prayer and remembrance will be held at Fort Wainwright, although a time for the memorial has not been set.
As of Saturday, there had been 25 soldier deaths in U.S. Army Alaska this year, including six soldiers based at Fort Wainwright.
Link to original story
BREAK
My own words......
The thunderstorm that the above article talks about was very powerful. The wind kicked up massive amounts of dust and reduced visibility to very short distances. The fine sand filtered into the hallway outside our clinic where it hung like light smoke in the air. I ventured out to take pictures of the storm, but they came out too dark to post. The rest of the clinic staff and I left at 2030 on the dot, during a intermission in the storm. I laid down to sleep about 2045, and shortly thereafter heard the Big Voice talking, but couldn't understand what was being said. Listening for the accompanying sirens that would signal an indirect fire or other attack, but hearing none, I rolled over and went back to sleep.
Only after learning of the crash the next morning did I put two and two together. The Big Voice had been recalling all medical personnel to the Air Force-run 332nd EMDG Hospital.
Someone once said a veteran is someone who, at one point in their life, wrote a check made payable to "The United States of America", for an amount of "up to and including my life." On 19 September 2009, the United States of America cashed that check. Spc. Michael S. Cote was 20 years old. He didn't die from a sniper's bullet, an enemy rocket attack, or even friendly fire. He was a victim of the cliche "being in the wrong place at the wrong time." That does not make his sacrifice any less, or diminish his family and friends' pain in any way. He will be missed. Rest in peace Spc. Cote.
Requiem
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie;
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you 'grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Dig the grave and let me lie;
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you 'grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
