Peacocks, as you probably know, have been used as watchdogs of sorts throughout the ages, warning their owners of approaching trouble. It strikes me as a somewhat unsettling image, picturing a shrill, piercing cry coming from such a stunning creature. That describes my reaction to what is happening in Iraq lately- a bit disquieted. Recently our company chipped in for a satellite dish for the MWR, (morale, welfare, and recreation) room. Now while eating “T-RATS”, (our nightly hot meal,) we get to watch the news. Every day there is another report of soldiers coming under attack. [Note: they almost always report from a Palace or a bustling market. That accounts for 2% of this country; the rest is a barren wasteland.]



Hearing the casualty count rise does wonders for my appetite. On our side of the camera, there are periodic “INTEL” briefings detailing the same episodes, so I compare the accounts for consistency. According to these two sources, it sounds like Americans have come under increasing fire in the past month. Not one to “believe the hype,” I ask patients about their experiences on convoys and security details, whether or not they feel increasingly threatened. I am able to see a large cross section of troops based throughout Central and Northern Iraq. They come to this camp not just to see me-this place is like a hive with worker bees constantly coming and going. Anyway, my patients concur: soldiers are indeed seeing more action lately.

As expected, reactions differ. A nineteen year-old kid laughingly told me how an RPG whizzed by his head while on security detail. On the other hand, a 20 year-old, admitted to the nearby combat stress patient hold, is the polar opposite. Coming from a unit that has enemy contact every night, he is very much on edge. During the day he can be seen continually pacing. Once the sun goes down, he becomes even more agitated, and volunteers to pull night watch. Keep in mind he is there to get some rest. Our camp is fortunately well fortified and peaceful, but it seems like we are becoming an island in the midst of chaos. Often, I can hear American artillery and heavy machine gun fire at night. Helicopters whir by overhead, but without running lights, I can only hear them.

At midnight on the 4th of July, a “show of force” was unleashed to clarify who the town sheriff was. Although it is comforting to know there is lots of armor, razor wire, and combat soldiers between me and the “Sunni Triangle,” getting restful sleep requires some effort. All this stepped up action has ruffled the feathers of the peacock in my mind, and it is screaming out its warning. I am serving in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom, but it seems that the Iraqis want to be free of us. Frankly, I would like to be free of them, too. Let NATO or UN peacekeeping troops come and take over, (after reading their predecessors’ reports re: Bosnia, Rwanda, Sierra Leone, and the Congo). Perhaps they will be given a warm welcome; we are apparently wearing ours thin.

That’s my take on what is happening outside the gates. Within our camp, things are much better. Business is booming; we doubled our number of encounters this month, and see an average of 11 patients per day. They start coming in around 8 A.M., and sometimes stroll in as late as 9 P.M. There are a lot of challenging cases, which keeps me on my toes. The newest trend is battery acid in the eyes, (sounds nice, huh?). It’s a bad combo of not wearing protective eyewear and excessively high ambient temperatures. Luckily, the most serious case was the most recent and not the first. I had plenty of practice with the minor cases before he showed up. It’s always a he, by the way. Only five eye injuries out of 60 or so have been females. Living conditions are getting incrementally better. Our building has a refrigerator and deep freezer, meaning cold water on demand. Previously, a bottle of water was cooled by putting it into a wet sock and waiting for it to dry, (about 40 minutes in a light breeze, in case you were wondering). Yes, evaporation really does cool things. It was crude but effective. Our friends the engineers also made some room dividers and rewired most of the building to our new generator. This larger power supply is also reliable. Since it has been in place, I have not had to de-glove during an exam to tinker with switches and circuit breakers, not even once. Soon we will have a permanent dining facility with four hot meals per day, (a midnight snack for those on duty will be the fourth meal). Thank you, taxpayers, (and Brown and Root). In theory we will soon be spoiled with chemical toilets, glass for the broken windows, and air conditioning. All these improvements are set to take place in the ever-popular timeframe of “two weeks.” This is much like a Nicaraguan “manana” for all you VOSHers out there.

All the changes are welcome, but it adds a measure of permanence to life here that I’d willingly exchange for a ticket home. Supposedly this is going to be a “permanent” American facility, so the improvements will benefit soldiers for years to come. Sign up now while there’s still available space! Rumor has it that we will be home before Thanksgiving. Actually word of an October return has also spread throughout the ranks. Yet because we left on April Fools Day, I’m taking everything with a grain of salt. At the very least, we were told not to expect “mid-tour” leave at the six month mark. That’s a good sign, indicating we won’t be here for a year. Typically, during a year-long hardship tour you get two weeks’ leave midway through the deployment. Imagine going on vacation from war, and then having to go back?

Hopefully by Labor Day we will know with a little more certainty when we are going home. But honestly I don’t need much time to prepare. In fact, I could be ready to leave in five minutes if it came down to it. What I would certainly pack are all the letters, cards, drawings, and photos I have received from family, friends, colleagues, optometry students, school kids, and strangers. The remarkable thing about being here is connecting with so many people and realizing how much there is to return to. It is humbling and awe-inspiring, and I thank you all for the support.


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