Sweat trickled down her back as KC leaned over her patient. He was already showing signs of waking, and she wasn’t nearly finished. “He’s rousing,” she said briskly as she sought for more fragments caused by an IED that exploded at close range to her patient.
There had to be more of the deadly little pieces. Otherwise there was no reason why he was still bleeding internally. Her gloved fingers worked quickly, edging past his stomach to brush against his liver. Just as she felt the piece, blood spurted into her face. “Suction,” KC demanded as she struggled to stop the geyser in hopes of seeing what she needed to fix.
A surgical nurse handed her a clamp and then the needle and suturing thread she needed to close the leak while another nurse suctioned up the bodily fluids so KC could work. She worked quickly, and felt the man try to rouse again. “He’s waking up.” Her voice was edged with sharpness.
The nurse giving the anesthesia struggled. “I know, doctor, but he’s had a full dose.”
One of the veteran surgeons nearby rapped out some orders for the nurse to keep their patient under and KC absently thanked him and the nurse doing her best, as KC finished suturing the bleeder and returned to finding that fragment.
It had been hiding next to the liver, near the pancreas. She probed the area again. “Retractors,” she ordered, and the nurse assisting her placed them exactly where she needed them. “Thanks, Monique.”
“You’re welcome, doctor.”
“More suction, here,” KC directed and used a hand to indicate the area where she’d seen the fragment. Shoving all distractions aside, KC probed the area again, and once more discovered the hidden piece. “Forceps,” she said, and took the sterile tool Monique handed her.
With a deft movement, she extracted the foreign matter from her patient, thankful to notice the tricks the other surgeon had offered appeared to have sent the man back into a fully unconscious state. The metallic piece dinged when she tossed it into the kidney dish. She continued to probe the area, and found two more fragments. When she searched further afield, she located three additional fragments and two more bleeders. More sweat pooled in the small of her back and across her forehead. Another nurse blotted it off her forehead. “Thank you,” KC said.
Dr. Janine Morris, KC’s fellow doctor and roommate, finished with her patient and after stripping off her gloves, she requested a sterile set and after donning them, hurried to the other side of KC’s patient. With minimal fuss, Janine set about helping. Together, they searched the rest of the man’s abdominal cavity, finding another two fragments. Janine stitched a tear in his upper intestine and then they declared the man finished.
Three more patients each, and KC was ready to go A.W.O.L. There had been far too many.
After the last patient was wheeled from the operating room, she struggled out of her gloves and sent a grateful look around the room. “Thank you, each and every one of you.”
Monique answered. “You’re welcome and thank you for not yelling at us.”
Tina, who had worked at keeping her patients under, nodded. “We’ve had a few yellers and it makes this job a lot harder.” She mopped some sweat off her brow, and looked as weary as KC felt.
“How often do you have marathon sessions like that?” KC asked, trying to keep the fatigue out of her voice.
“As often as our personnel brush up against IEDs.” The nurse’s response wasn’t encouraging.
KC nodded. “You’re all wonderful.”
The nurses and others cleaning the room nodded and smiled at her. She striped off her surgical cap and gown and wondered all over again if she could handle this.
To: maxmorrison@gilmoreproducts.net
From: kcgilmore@gilmoreproducts.net
Subject: Work, sand, heat, work, sand, heat
Hello Max,
It’s hot and sandy here. Fortunately, I have work to keep me occupied, which is a blessing! What I need is coming back to me, mostly, as I’m faced with a wound. We did lose a patient, on my first watch. He stepped on an IED (improvised explosive device) and lost too much blood.
I hate this. I hate war. Why am I in the military again? That man left three kids and a wife behind when he died. Now what will his wife do? How will she cope with their kids, all under the age of six? How will she deal with the grief? For that matter, how will I?
The others here have been really supportive. Telling me they’ve all lost patients too. They keep reminding me we’re at war, and this is what happens. I don’t think their talks are helping.
I don’t have to like the situation! Actually, I hate it! This sucks, and there’s nothing I can do. I have to clean bomb wounds and land mine injuries all the time. I’m losing patients to grenades and IEDs and this whole thing is so stupid! Why do we go to war? Is it really worth our efforts, our men and women, those very precious lives?
I love being in the military, but I guess I’m feeling pretty bad about that Marine. He was only twenty-eight years old. Which is better than the teenagers the others have seen come through here and leave in a body bag. Eighteen and nineteen year olds who have glory and adventure on their minds when they join and leave dead.
Not even the veteran doctors, those who’ve served in the first Gulf war can save these kids. So how on earth am I supposed to be of use here?
Sorry, I’ll stop. I’m feeling terrible. I just keep thinking about his wife, and I can’t even imagine how she’s feeling right now. Knowing the man she loves won’t return to her or their children. How are her children feeling? I doubt they even understand Daddy’s not coming home.
One of the nurses told me to go to the shower and cry, that’s what they do. I guess that’s the best idea I’ve heard yet. But I thought of you and Ryan. I wish I could have a hug from you both right now. That’d go a long way to making me feel better. Tina, the nurse who told me this, is one of many here who’ve made this experience bearable. She and her colleagues are beyond price.
The doctor in the cot next to me, Janine, lost one of the eighteen year olds her first week here. She seconded Tina’s suggestion, and they all gave me hugs too. I’m working with the best!
I think I’ll go have that shower now. At least the precious water might help remove some of the sand I’m feeling in areas I didn’t know sand could rub. Mighty uncomfortable, but my tent mates are willing to offer advice on sand removal, and so far they’ve been right.
I miss you.
Please tell Ryan I love him.
KC
*****
Max settled back into his chair, his heart breaking from KC’s latest e-mail. He could feel her despair and defeat through the choice of words she used. He felt powerless to help her. But helping her was his job. She was at war while he was at home waiting for her safe return. But what of those men and women who wouldn’t return safely?
How could he make a difference?
What could he do, stateside, to alleviate some of the hopelessness and anguish KC and her colleagues felt? Could he do something for the families of the men and women who would be returning only for burial?
Steepling his fingers, fingertips to his chin, Max thought for a few minutes before he reached for the phone.