Camp Phoenix, Camp Dengue

I’m a full week behind! I’ll try to be brief.

My sophomore year roommate from BU, John Schroedel, is out in Oregon where he went to law school and recently connected me with his law school friend Sean O’Day who is working as a JAG here in Kabul at Camp Phoenix. This base is out on Jalalabad Road (yes, THAT Jalalabad Road). Last Friday, I went out to pay a visit.

It was a very hot day and Jalalabad Road is awful—major potholes/craters in the road and the pavement is sort of on-again, off-again. So it was very dusty, we were rocking back and forth all the time, and moving at a snail’s pace. It didn’t help that we passed Camp Phoenix and had to double back.

Had a nice lunch with Capt. O’Day, whose job is enforcing and prosecuting Army laws on the base, and was really struck by how much interaction he has with the Afghan people. He’s sat down to tea or meals with tribal/town leaders outside Kabul and he manages a development project dredging a silted waterway. My conversation with him really made me realize the extent to which our military conducts diplomacy—they have interaction with real people and are able to observe projects being done in a way the State people may not. Our military gets ridiculed for lowering entrance requirements or being overly aggressive, etc—and certainly the US military makes plenty of mistakes—but the people I know who are in are really talented and I’m relieved to know there are such high quality individuals serving. Knowing them also reminds me that at the end of the day the Army is people. People who want to do the right thing. And in many cases they have access to more resources and capacity to make a difference right now.

Anyway, after a cone at the Dairy Queen, it was time to head out. On the ride home, N started asking me if I could find him a job. I guess because he’d taken me to the embassy and to this military base, he figured I was connected. Misguided fellow—I can’t even connect myself to a job! “Reception, computer…driver,” he added that last one remembering that was his current profession. I note the other jobs require a backside firmly in a seat, which I think is the main thing he’s looking for. In his defense, he has gotten much better with his attitude…and the poor guy has a sprained ankle right now (I guess D slide-tackled him while they were playing soccer a few days ago).

The test last Saturday seemed to go well. The averages were slightly better than our last round. I wasn’t too involved with administering the test, though, because I became violently ill. On our way to the university, I told Mary, “There’s about a ten percent chance I’m going to throw up here…” She promptly pulled out a plastic bag, which was exactly what I had in mind. I did make it through the trip, and another thirty minutes or so before I wasn’t really functional anymore. I didn’t throw up, not right away, but started having issues with the other end. And if you could see the bathrooms at Kabul University you’d have a much better appreciation for how unpleasant this whole situation was. I called N to come back and take me home, while Dr. J came out of the test to ask me a few questions and write up a suggested course of medicine. He’s quick on the draw with the antibiotics, but ultimately, like last time, I wanted to go to a western doctor.

N and A arrived and A was such a sweetheart about trying to make me comfortable. I was feeling very weak and reclined in the rear seat of the minivan. When we got to the house, I shuffled in, pulled myself up the stairs and went into the bathroom, where A insisted on helping me get my shoes and socks off so I could rinse off my feet to cool down. Then I sprawled out on my bed. I felt like I was pressing down so hard into the bed—like there were weights all over me. After a few hours (with occasional trips to the bathroom) I had a drink of water that filled my stomach enough I finally had to throw up. And, here’s a tip—if you can avoid having a beard while throwing up, I recommend it. I did not have such foresight. I did feel quite a bit better after, but still weak.

Finally, I decided I needed to go to the German Clinic. It took two terribly uncomfortable hours to be seen. I was feeling so weak that holding myself up in a chair was a real effort. They took blood, and other stuff, and said see you tomorrow, which was kind of a disappointment. Anyway, to wrap this up, they determined I had Dengue Fever. And Mary has been jealous ever since—“You and your exotic illnesses! Year’s from now, you’ll be able to say, ‘Well, back when I had DENGUE FEVER…’” I've got to figure out a way to work that into my opening line with women.

In an icky aside, I ended up breaking out in lots of cold sores on my lips—I get cold sores usually twice a year, but not like this. They’re everywhere. So I've been slathering on the Abreva and Carmex. Nearly cleared up now, though, thankfully.