Flashes of light burst through Tâm’s head, disturbing her soft, peaceful darkness. Fortunately, not many of those moments, because they brought with them excruciating pain. She tried not to open her eyes when the light pulsed, sensing that if she kept them closed, the pain wouldn’t materialize. She was wrong. The pain attacked even when her eyes were closed. Bright colors pushed against her eyelids, the way colors did when she squeezed her eyes shut in brilliant sunshine. She wanted to cry out, but her body wouldn’t obey. She was helpless against the onslaught. When she didn’t think she could bear it any longer, the black returned.
Her conscious moments of light with its accompanying agony grew more frequent. She heard noises through the pain. A door opening, the soft soprano of a woman, the tenor of a man. She was being rolled somewhere. A cold room. Questions were asked and answered. Her wrist was pricked with a sharp needle, which brought back the blessed darkness.
It lifted in tiny increments. The pain was still there, not as raw but still steady and harsh. Gradually she was able to determine it came from her abdomen and her leg. The next time she surfaced, she forced her eyes to open. It was an effort to make it happen. She blinked several times. She was in a bed in a room. White walls, white blankets, white window shades. A hospital. Something had gone wrong. What? She couldn’t remember. Only that it had been unspeakably horrific.
The next time a sting in her shoulder woke her. A nurse, giving her a shot. She cracked her eyes.
“You’re awake,” the nurse said in an artificially cheerful voice. “Welcome back.”
“Where am I?” It took tremendous energy to formulate the words. Her voice was hoarse and splintered.
“You’re in the hospital in Saigon. They brought you from the Cu Chi Hospital.”
“Cu Chi?”
“You were in bad shape. We didn’t know if you would make it. You’ve been here about a week.”
“The tunnels.” Her mouth was dry.
“Tunnels? Where?”
“Water.”
The nurse looked confused.
“Need water.”
The nurse grabbed a glass of water and helped Tâm sip through a straw. As she swallowed, she began to remember what had happened. The tunnel rat. Tâm had gone after him with a grenade. What happened to him?
“What happened to who?” The nurse asked.
Tâm hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud. She shook her head. “To me? What happened?”
“The doctor will talk to you. I will tell him you are awake. He will be happy.”
A few minutes later a man in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck knocked and came in. “I am Dr. Giang.” He smiled. He was wearing glasses, but he took them off and slid them into a pocket. “And they told me you are Tâm.” When she didn’t reply, he went on. “You have been through more than most of our wounded, Tâm. You are lucky to be alive. We didn’t think you would make it.
“We understand you were in the Cu Chi tunnels when a grenade exploded. The blast propelled you backward, and you fell into a Viet Cong booby trap. You suffered third-degree burns on your legs and arms. We have already performed two skin grafts and will probably do two more. At the same time, the spikes and hooks of the trap caused quite a bit of internal and external damage. The gash in your left leg cut into an artery and you lost a lot of blood.”
Tâm grunted. “But—”
“Let me finish,” Giang said. “The people who brought you in were able to apply a tourniquet, which likely saved your life. But the most serious complication is what we call compartment syndrome in your right leg. It occurs when internal bleeding is trapped inside part of your body. Pressure builds up and prevents blood flow. The muscles and tendons can die, and if we can’t get to it in time, the area is usually amputated.”
Tâm’s stomach lurched. “So—”
“We were able to operate right away, and we saved your legs. Both of them. But it was touch and go.”
Tâm’s eyes closed in relief. “Thank you.”
“I’m not finished. Your spleen was ruptured as well. But that will heal.” Dr. Giang was looking down at her with suspicious eyes. It occurred to Tâm that he must know she was fighting for the Communists if they found her in the tunnels. But she was in a Saigon hospital. He could turn her in for betraying the South and have her locked up. She would be imprisoned, perhaps executed. Why go to the bother of saving her?
As if he knew what she was thinking, he ran his tongue around his lips. “Tâm,” he said quietly, “they said you were trying to save a tunnel rat. An American who courageously climbed into the tunnels to kill the enemy. Unfortunately, he died. As you very nearly did, too. You were very brave. And foolhardy. As I said, you are lucky to alive. But your fighting days are over.”