The New Agent Orange

I have made lots of new and different types of friends since my arrival in Vicenza four years ago. The majority of them have the military in common. Many of them have stories to tell about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan but don't, at least not to me. There are the one liners that remind me of the heavy toll a very small portion of the American population has endured over that last thirteen years. It is a fairly common experience during lunch to hear colleagues say things such as, "You know how it is spending hours in bunker after a mortar attack." Obviously not talking to me, but to each other.

Last week at a networking event, an Officer who was briefly my boss before I went on maternity leave, and I were chatting at a networking event. He is a tall, slender guy with features reminiscent of the comedian Jim Carey. We worked together for a very brief time, but in those few weeks we built an easy rapport. I was eyeing the attractive mini pizzas at the buffet while he subtlety averted his eyes. I gestured to the pimento olives, "The olives are terrific. You can have as many of those as you would like." He said yes, but looked less than excited at the prospect. I reminded him that I had suffered through my third trimester with gestational diabetes, and had some understanding of what he was going through as a diabetic. I asked if he was diagnosed with diabetes early in life, and whether or not it was hereditary. He answered no to both. Then added that he was diagnosed after his tours in  Iraq. "Perhaps it was the stress of combat," I said empathetically. That is when he said it: "Probably has something to do with being blown up up a few times." He continued, "or the food, or the burning oil fields, not sure. Diabetes is becoming very common among veterans of Iraq. It's the new agent orange. " He went on speaking, but I was so unnerved by the thought of him being blown up few times that I have no idea what else he said. I was standing there with someone who had been blown up and lived to tell about it. I'm still processing the reality of that.

He was talking about the cauliflower pizza he made that was not too bad. He used cauliflower as a substitute for flour which is mostly a no go for diabetics. By then I was thinking of ways to stop myself from asking the forbidden questions: How many times were you blown up? And when? And how? And where and are you ok? None of those questions are "allowed" because..well because it is impolite or unknowable or too heavy for a networking event with mini pizzas. I'm not quite sure I even want to know.

The presentation part of the event began with him as the emcee. I had a hard time looking at him because he has paid a high price to serve his country, and lives a reality far removed from mine. That knowledge widens the distance between us, and is a stark reminder of what it means to soldier on.