Countdown to Dix...

Two weeks left in San Diego.

The reality of my upcoming "Afghanistan vacation" is truly starting to hit me.

This whole saga started in late August when I got a call from the department head asking me to "volunteer" to deploy to Afghanistan in January 2011. I had just gotten out of the water at Tourmaline after a really good morning of chest to shoulder high sets and was headed to see clinic with my new partner when the call came. Now, I knew that my number was coming up after two years of being untouchable as the only spine surgeon at Naval Medical Center San Diego and I had, on multiple occasions, joked about how once I was board certified and had a partner I'd be immediately tagged for deployment - but I could never have guessed just how accurate that prediction would be.

On the evening of the 26th I had logged onto the American Board of Orthopaedic Surgery website and discovered that I had, in fact, completed the requirements for board certification. Now here I was headed to clinic on the first day of work for my new partner and the call had come. Wow. Eight months gone from home. Eight months missing May, Cam and Haley. Eight months of no surf.

So, a little about me...

I'm a 41 year old white guy originally from Logan, Utah and raised in Utah, Washington, Texas, California, Ohio, and Georgia. My Dad was an Army dentist and I was a rebellious child so that combination led to me finishing high school away from my parents. Due to suboptimal high school performance, I ultimately wound up joining the Navy at age 18 where Uncle Sugar turned me around and, miraculously, I began to perform academically. I asked for an NROTC scholarship and I got it. I asked for a transfer back onto active duty in the Enlisted Commisioning Program and they said "Yes." I applied for med school at Uniformed Services University. Granted. How about a surgery internship? OK! Dive school? Sure! Orthopaedic residency? No Problem! Spine fellowship? Absolutely! The bottom line is, the Navy has pretty much given me everything I've asked for in the almost 23 years I've been in. With one exception...

In the summer of 1990 when I was spending my days hanging around the University of Utah NROTC unit waiting to start my freshman year, Iraqi troops stormed into Kuwait and wreaked havoc on it's people. My Air Force C-141 pilot uncle called us a day or two later to let us know he would not be able to make it to the upcoming family reunion. He couldn't tell us why. Duh! My next move was to go speak to my CO about delaying matriculation. See, technically I was still Hospital Corpsman Third Class Harris, 8483 (Operating Room Technician) and I figured this was an opportunity to display the patriotism that's been a part of me as long as I can remember. I was ready and willing to go. Now. The skipper said no. I tried to argue my case but the answer was clear. I'd have to sit this one out. The Navy had bigger plans for me, school was more important now, blah, blah, blah. Bummer.

Flash forward to 9/11. By now I was a Diving Medical Officer stationed at the Navy Submarine Medical Research Laboratory in Groton, CT. Perhaps the most boring place a Navy Diver could be stationed. My days were long stretches of boredom punctuated with moments of complete apathy toward life in general. The towers came down and it became clear that we were going to find the responsible parties and provide them with a large container of gluteal punishment. I called the head DMO in the Navy. I laid out my case. I'm doing nothing here at the lab that contributes to the war on terror. Reassign me! Let me help! Once again, the answer was "No."

A year and a half later, it becomes apparent that we're headed into Iraq. By now I've been selected for ortho residency. I know it's a long shot but I asked to be delayed so that I can do my part. Guess what they say? Yeah... NO! The closest I get to the desert is a drunken weekend in Adams Morgan sending my best friend, Kent, off to Kurdistan. What a gyp...

So. Every time I ask the Navy to let me go the answer is no. Until now. So I guess I should be happy to finally get my wish! Thanks, Uncle Sugar!

Seriously. How do I feel about going? I'm fine with it. Not as jazzed as I would have been to go all the times I asked to go but at least I had time to plan and I wouldn't miss any big holidays aside from May's 40th birthday. (So sorry, sweety...) Plenty of time to prepare and see all my friends and take some pre-deployment leave. So...

I spend 10 days in Guatemala on a medical mission...

...then a weekend in Moab, mountain biking like a madman.

I take more time to be with my beautiful wife of 17 years, our 15 year old son and our 11 year old daughter.

I ski and snowboard for a week at Vail...

...we go, as a family, for the vacation of a lifetime in Fiji...

...host a great New Year's Eve party...

...and I paddle out every chance I get...

Now, with the holidays behind us and the kids getting ready to head back to school, the reality of 8 months away from home is really sinking in. It will certainly be a great adventure and I thank God every day that He's blessed me with the skills to help the men and women who will need me downrange. I pray for the safety of my family while I'm gone and for the wisdom I'll need to make good decisions caring for the real warfighters and the local nationals. And I hope for an end to the fight so we can all be home safe.

So, for the next eight months or so, I'm going to "blog" about the experience as a whole in hopes of keeping everyone at home informed about what I'm doing. I would love feedback, criticism, encouragement, or whatever anyone has to offer and I hope that, if you follow my "adventure" that you'll enjoy what I write and come away from it with an appreciation for what "we" ( interpreted: my FST, your US military, our nation) are doing over there.

Stay tuned for more to come!!!

Signing off from (not-so-sunny-right-now) San Diego...

Eric B. Harris