Baghdad Aid StationThe abandoned house those of us in the medical platoon called home was little more than the bombed-out shell of a building. It was constructed primarily of poured concrete, as were most of the homes in the country, and was cubic in shape. The building was a two story construction, complete with an accessible roof, which I believe was the popular style of the time. The house had taken on the pale dirty brown of the desert, as most buildings did in this part of the dust bowl. The landscape surrounding the immediate property was little more than dust and rock; though there were a few plants clinging to life beside the house, where our vehicles sBaghdad Aid Station
Intro to OIFThere was once a dark, foreboding place that I held deep within my memory; it was a place of sorrow and anguish, a place of anger, fear, and regret bound tightly in a box that I dared not open. I avoided this place with conscious effort, for it weighed heavily upon my heart each time I approached. I evaded these memories with a practiced skill, developed over years of use; yet, I find myself at the precipice of darkness, preparing to travel into the place I have shunned for almost five years. Never before have I related these memories and experiences to anyone, and the thought of walking down this lightless road fills me with a certain uneaseIntro to OIF
Work Travel
