Note from the desk of the opinion editors:
It is easy for us to forget the sacrifices American soldiers serving abroad make to represent our country. In a charged partisan climate in which the actions of civilian commanders are scrutinized and used as fodder in mudslinging campaigns, we can overlook the thousands of ordinary Americans making us proud in extraordinary conditions.
This is the fifth part of a series that will appear every Monday this semester where we will publish the journal of Liz O'Herrin, a UW student who kept record of her experiences in Iraq and has decided to share them with the readers of The Badger Herald. We present this journal in hopes that you can gain insight to a small piece of the Iraq experience for American servicemen and women.
JUNE 1
I'm bored at work. I hurt my back last week lifting heavy equipment. They gave me Motrin (Motrin?! screw you, doc!) and told me not to lift anything heavier than a piece of paper. Apparently he didn't realize my Kevlar was 40 pounds. I reminded him. He looked at me sympathetically and told me to chance it. Chance it? Oh, hell no. I don't want to die from shrapnel because I slipped a disc. Luckily, it turns out my fellow ammo troops don't want me to die either, and someone always volunteers to carry my gear around for me and promises to throw it over me if we have an incoming. Even my captain and chief carry it for me sometimes, a mark of excellent leadership. I am grateful. Since hurting my back, I have become an office slave for the chief and captain, doing various paperwork projects. I don't mind, but I am going a little stir crazy. Driving around doing errands with captain is fun, so I don't mind it.
Movies in Saddam's theater are weird. Everyone gets very engrossed in the film. But then it's over and the lights come back up. Everyone picks up their M-16 and slings it over their shoulder, and shuffles out of the building. Back to the war zone. Sigh.
I should find my first-aid kit. I still haven't unpacked it.
I have flea bites. I think it's kind of funny but I am totally grossed out by the fact I have fleas. Bug bites are rampant. One girl developed what looked like a huge zit on her forehead, but I told her it was definitely a bug bite. She has clear skin, there's no way she suddenly got a zit that size. A bunch of the guys gave her a lot of shit and convinced her it was a zit. She got mad and squeezed it so hard that blood shot out everywhere, and now she has to go to the doctor. Captain nicknamed her "bacteria melon." Karma is sweet, because not three days later a "zit" popped up on Captain's forehead. From the front it looked like a little zit, but from the side it looked like a golf ball had embedded itself in Captain's forehead. He named it "Jose" and started referring to anything he did in the collective "we" sense. Jose got cut open and drained. We all had a good laugh at Jose's expense. Captain wasn't too thrilled at the big Band-Aid he had to wear on his head. It really is hard to take someone seriously when they have a Band-Aid on their forehead.
