Like a Damaged Nerve

My Polaroid camera clicked and printed a new photo for me as we patrolled a small village near our base camp. I had just received a package from home, with pictures and a few other little things. The most important was a picture of my new niece. That went in my jacket, right with a photo of Patrick and I. I planned on sending back tons of pictures to Kylee and Jon, as well as to Patrick. I would write notes of the back of the photos, telling them when I took it along with any little thoughts I had.

We were in the village, providing medical care to anyone who needed it while we waited for the Marines to come back. They were very welcoming of us Americans, something we were very grateful for. The women would make us food and gave us females gifts of bracelets and head scarves. We wore them out of respect for their culture and wearing the shirts and scarves was so much cooler than our heavier jackets.

A young woman came up to me earlier in the day and wanted to look at my camera. I let her and she took a few pictures of me, telling me she wanted to become a photographer someday. I let her play with the camera all day and I planned on sending the photos home with notes about the young woman who took them.

The days were usually very peaceful, the nights although, eerily quiet. I spent the time I couldn’t sleep, writing in a journal. When I finished my entries, I tore out the pages and stuffed them into a large envelope. I was sending it home with all the other little things, like a few bracelets and one the village women made for my new niece. Mail call came first thing in the morning, every two and a half weeks. We could send out and receive. This time, my envelope was stuffed with pictures and letters.

I paid the extra shipping charge, I didn’t mind. I wanted my family to know what I was up to.
Things had been going well for at least three months until one night when everything did a complete 180. Taliban had started attacking our small outpost. Our communications were cut with base and we were stuck, being shot at in the middle of the night. The Marines fought them off all night and it continued into the day and every day after that. I and the other Corpsman worried for the villagers, hoping they wouldn’t suffer for assisting us.

I didn’t worry about dying but I worried about my family. We were forced out of our outpost with zero communication back to base. When communication gets cut like that so suddenly, they send the cavalry…except, we weren’t there when the cavalry arrived. That, combined with a few dead villagers and the tragic loss of some of my fellow armed service members, the rest of our group was classified as ‘Missing in Action’. That is something that they go home and tell your family…I only imagined they were having an officer in dress uniform at their doors now. While I sat against a mountainside while some scouted ahead, writing in my journal to document this whole thing….maybe I would show my kids one day…but for now, I had to focus on getting everyone around me back safely…