March 22, 2012

I work at a small leased double-wide in an unpaved area of the “Dust Bowl” at Fort Irwin.  Technically, this is called the Rotational Unit Bivouac Area (RUBA) or Logistical Support Area (LSA) Warrior.  There is a different set of medics here each month supporting whatever Brigade Combat Team (BCT) is rotating through Fort Irwin for training.  The BCT is here for about a month, but I am only here fourteen days each month, when the BCT goes into the field, aka “The Box.”

Last night was entertaining.  It is late in the rotation, we have all been working two weeks straight (the medics a week before I got here), and, after sick call was over, it was slow.  Junior enlisted get more goofy than normal when bored, so…

The Mousketeers are three junior medics, new to the Army.  They all went through medic school together and were assigned to the same unit.  They are inseparable and do everything together.  They are constantly goofing around and constantly getting in minor trouble.  Good soldiers, just high-spirited.

First, SGT K (a 30-year-old mom) went to the latrine, leaving the Mouseketeers under my supervision.  This was foolish, as I don’t really care what they do when there are no patients around and, left to their own devices, they always do something dumb that gets them into trouble so that SGT K smokes them, which is entertaining.  Private T was asleep on a cot, so the other two Mouseketeers attempted to tape him to it, but he woke up half way through.  The whole thing was caught on video (they video everything) and ended up in a three-way wrestling match on the floor.  That calmed down by the time SGT K returned from the latrine but she took one look at their faces and demanded “You all look guilty.  What the f**k did you do?”  They all stared at their feet and mumbled “Nothing, Sergeant,” followed by much giggling.

Next, SGT K checked all their ears with an otoscope, proclaimed them disgusting, and proceeded to clean them with a curette.  As she did so, she berated them that their lack of personal hygiene was second only to their lack of moral character, suggested that their collective closeness was more than a little disturbing, and that it wouldn’t surprise her a bit if they spooned each other at night in their tent.  And there was much giggling.

SGT L came in a couple hours early to relieve SGT K, but they both hung around as the Mouseketeers were tanked up on Mountain Dew and bound to eventually do something worthy of punishment.  Horseplay turned to wrestling again and some litters got knocked over and soon all three Mouseketeers were alternating between push-ups, planking, sitting the wall, etc, to the delight of the SGTs who took turns smoking them.  Again, there was much giggling.

Sometime later we were talking about emergency airways and Private P, a lanky 19-year-old kid who is 6’3″ and 170 pounds and somehow ended up with size XXL t-shirts which make him look ridiculous which SGT K points out with great frequency, proclaimed he would let SGT K put an NPA (nasopharyngeal airway) in him.  He thought this was a safe statement as he had looked around and thought we didn’t have any – until I went to my truck and got one.  The largest size they make.

Video below, though I was slow to get it going so I missed most the gagging sounds as it was going in.  He was spitting out surgilube (used on the airway) for five minutes afterward.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aqzHlT3fFis

I run a tight clinic, let me tell you!