I see the mortar round explode a mere five meters from him. He is laying on his left side and motionless. I grab my Aid bag and leave my shelter to check him. I run on pure adrenaline and will, for he is a dear friend. I must save him. My heart races as I approach. Mentally, I begin my assessment, and he appears to still represent a normal human being, no missing limbs. I kneel next to him keeping my head low and begin my survey. Airway, Breathing, Circulation. Check, there is a pulse. He is unconscious but alive. I look over him generally, to look for obvious gaping wounds or unmistakable blood loss. There are noticeable abrasions and contusions about the face and neck. I open his shirt to check for wounds and there is blood on his undershirt. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, not from the sight of the blood, but knowing what that means. My outlook is jaded. I cut away the undershirt and see the contents of his abdominal cavity. My heart sinks as I know this is it. This is too much for even a good field unit, and we're hundreds of miles from a proper facility. I put his knees up to take the pressure off. I cover his gut with a large dressing. Check his pulse again. No pulse. At this point, I don't see the need of prolonging this any further. I let him go. Luckily, he never regained consciousness. It was then, that I noticed the mortars had stopped. I guess they stopped while I was tending to him. Hmmph, I think. I shoulder my bag and stand. Others place him on a litter, I watch as he is lifted and I light a cigarette as the take his body away. I am spent. I walk to supply to let the Sergeant know that we were close friends and to take care of him. He nods and I go to my hooch and sit on my litter/cot. I stare into the thick jungle of Central America and reflect.
It is 1984 and I am 20 years old...
I remember wanting to be a Physician around age five. Doctors fascinated me. My mother used to take me to the Dallas Museum of Health and Sciences at Fair Park. She bought me a book on how the human body worked, for kids, of course. It had many illustrations on the different organ systems, circulation, digestion, you get the idea. I read and studied that book constantly. My mother had many health problems and so there were abundant medical books around the house. I began to read them.
My best friend, Chris lived next door and he wanted to be a physician also. We began our journey's together. Around age nine, a new family moved into the house across the street from me and they had a girl who was a little older than Chris and I. Being a prepubescent female, she started showing signs of acne. Chris and I noticed that she always seems to have sores on her face, especially around her mouth. We immediately began to look for diseases that involved this type of symptom. When were convinced we had the correct diagnosis, we argued on who should give her the bad news. Neither of wanted to tell her.
Finally, I told Chris to gather all of our friends, including her. I delivered the news to her and reluctantly told her we were convinced that she had Syphilis. Of course, she didn't.
For my thirteenth birthday, I received the book, Gray's Anatomy. I was so excited. I had been hounding my parents for the 1370 page tome for months. I could not be separated from it. All other activities ceased. No fishing, playing outside, I even neglected my model trains, which was my favorite activity. No, I was in possession of The Book. I didn't read it cover to cover. I started with my favorite interest at the time, the heart. I read about the different vessels that associated with it, man this was much more detailed than the layman books I had been provided. You see, Gray's Anatomy is the most exhaustive anatomy book ever written. It was first published in 1907. I especially liked the section called Surgical Examination. This section explained the relationship of a particular piece of anatomy to it's surrounding structure. Real "nuts and bolts" stuff.
One day, while thumbing through the book, I stumbled on a new section I'd had no real interest in, until recently... The Female Organs of Generation. I had discovered something that I was increasing becoming obsessed with. I read and read and read. I had questions. Remember, this was not a book on physiology. It told about parts, not how they worked. I had books on sex, but, being the mid seventies, they tended to be vague. I knew what went where, but I didn't know why or what happened once they got there. Soon, I knew all about fallopian tubes, Bartholin's Gland, uterine ganglia and vaginal rugae. More than anyone, especially a thirteen year old boy, should know. Yet, I didn't know how it all worked or what it's purpose was.
I went to college and joined the premed program. I loved both biology and chemistry. I had a problem with both areas in choosing one for a major. I'd tested out of Anatomy and Physiology. Biology was too easy. It's black and white, either it is or it isn't. But it dealt with life and all that that entails. Chemistry was too cold and dealt with inanimate things, chemicals. I know, I'll combine the love for both and major in biochemistry! Boy, did I underestimate that! Now, instead of simple hydrocarbons, I was breaking down cholesterol molecules and complex proteins. Even though it was very complex and difficult, I loved it. I was learning about DNA, genomes and life! Part way through full time college, I began to tire of the whole college life. I was wanting a change. Although I loved my studies, something was missing. I dropped out of college and joined the Army and signed on as a Special Forces Medic.
Medical training, for the Armed Forces is done in San Antonio, Texas. That meant I could come home to Dallas, every weekend. It was also my first exposure to coed training. The early medical courses were extremely simple and are meant for students with higher aptitudes but little or no knowledge of the human body.
One day, after explaining how blood flowed through the heart, one of the instructors nicknamed me, Doctor Faris. Anytime I was called on to answer a question, I was referred to as such.
I remember one occasion, we were studying vital signs and how to palpate the carotid pulse.
The instructor asked, “Who knows what palpate means?”
I raised my hand and was called on. “Palpate means to feel.” I answered.
“Very good, Dr. Faris. I'll bet you've palpated many girls in your time, eh?” he responded.
Everyone laughed, including me. I was having fun. Medicine was everything I thought it would be and I was getting hands on experience.
The advanced course for Special Forces involved more intense training, including surgery, trauma management and even some dentistry. It was an exhaustive course cramming all of pretty much a PA goes through into six months. It may have changed now. And the attrition rate was very high. Four of us out of thirty-six graduated. I felt very proud to be one of those four.
When I was first stationed in Korea, I worked at the local health clinic, pulling sick call and helping where I could. The unit was out in the field for Team Spirit and so the crew was skeleton.
One day, I had a soldier come in with a foot injury. An artillery spade had been dropped on his foot. It was swollen and red. I ordered X-rays and took a look. I saw that he had had a previous fracture of the third metatarsal, but no new fractures. I noted this on the X-ray slip. My assessment was soft tissue injury. I gave him a prescription for Motrin (It wasn't OTC back then), and some chemical ice packs and explained about elevation and later heat. And began to send him on his way, when the X-ray tech came out of his room and told me, “Only a physician can sign off on an X-ray slip.”
“Okay”, I said, and we both went to see the attending physician. I presented the case to him, what I saw and what my plan of treatment was. He looked at the X-ray, and then the slip.
He then signed the slip, handed it to the X-ray tech, looked at me and said, “I agree with your assessment, Doctor”, I told him I was just a medic.
“I know. We don't get many like you. Most do the bare minimum.” he answered. He extended his hand.
“I'm Jeff” he said, and I shook his hand.
“Specialist Faris, Sir.” I replied.
“What's your first name?”, he asked rolling his eyes.
“Mike”, I answered.
“Well Mike, it's good to meet you. Call me Jeff. You don't have to bother with that officer crap around here.” he replied.
I thought to myself, I like this place.
There were several Docs in Korea that took me under their wing and taught me everything from diagnosing and treating asthmatics to tying one handed knots.
A few months later, I met an Anesthesiologist, by the name of George. He was a Major and worked at 121st Army Hospital in Seoul. He used to invite me down for the weekend when he was on-call and I could help him with with surgical cases they got over the weekend. I was delighted. He taught me about the different types of blocks, how to determine a patient's level of consciousness. He also introduced me to the other surgeons. When they were told about my background they started letting me assist them on cases. I was on cloud nine. After a couple of months, on one night in particular, a surgeon invited me to assist him on an appendectomy. There were always several people observing and learning like me in the OR.
This particular surgeon was a Colonel, a natural teacher and loved instructing interested persons on surgical techniques. I was his number one fan and student. This night, we were standing in position, awaiting the go ahead from George. The Colonel looked at me and asked how many 'appys' I had assisted him on.
“Around nine or ten.” I replied.
“Well, then”, he started, “What is the primary cut and entry for this procedure?”
“Lower right quadrant, approximately 2 inches in length and diagonal, parallel to the iliac crest.” I answered.
“Good”, he said,
“Then, if you don't mind, I'll assist YOU on this one.” he continued.
I was in shock. He stepped back and we exchanged places at the table.
"Are we ready, George?” he asked him.
“Anytime you're ready, Dr. Faris” George replied.
My eyes widened and I shot a look to George. I could tell he was smiling and proud behind his mask, like a proud father. Looked back to the field, asked for the knife and I began my cut. (I won't go into the details of the procedure)
Afterward, when we were cleaning up, the Colonel said I did a very good job.
"Well, Michael, how do you feel having led your first procedure?" He asked me.
I am on top of the world! This is the greatest experience of my life!, I thought.
“It was better than sex, Sir” I replied with a big smile.
“Call me, John.”, he replied with a chuckle.
05 January 2012
27 December 2011
Christmas in the Field
"Ajimaaaa. Hana Ramyun, Pepsi, chuseo!" (Madam, One bowl of ramen and a Pepsi, please) I say to the Korean woman in the tent-like enclosure.
"Ok, one dolla" she replies in broken English and takes my money.
"Come come, too cold!" she motions for me to come inside and wait.
When U.S. soldiers go out to the field for training, it is common for Korean women to establish a mini-store, just outside the perimeter. She will set up a tent and sell her goods and cook noodles. Her assortment of items range from basic snacks; cookies, moon pies, soft drinks and ramen noodles, to cigarettes and batteries. Pretty much anything a soldier might want. If a soldier doesn't have any money, he can trade his MRE rations for a meal.
These women are called "Ajima" which is the title of a Korean woman that is married or older. It's English equivalent would be "Ma'am" or "Ms".
If you are nice to them, they will add an egg and some Kimchi to your bowl for no extra price. Because I am a doc, I always get an egg and Kimchi added to mine.
I watch her cook my noodles on a portable gas burner. Heat and steam fill her tent as outside the thin plastic sheet the temperature is -15° F. Inside, it is a balmy 60° F.
"You sit here, mogo." (eat) she tells me and motions to the small stool near the gas stove.
"Kamsahamnida" (Thank you) I reply and sit. She hands me my bowl of noodles and some chopsticks.
"Cheonman-eyo" (You're welcome) she replies in a lyrical voice, almost as if she was singing the words. She smiles and cleans up her dish. Boiling a little water then tossing it outside. The steam from the water as it hits the icy cold air, makes it look like a lot more than about a cup of water.
The hot noodles and broth feel good going down and the warm bowl warms my hands and legs.
"You eputa G.I. You find Korean wife?" (You're a good looking soldier) she asks with a friendly smile and a slight chuckle, wanting to embarrass me.
G.I. is an old American military acronym that stands for Government Issue or anything belonging to the Army. Soldiers are referred to as G.I.'s
"Anyo ajima, no yobo for me" (No Ma'am, no girlfriend for me) I reply with a smile.
"You number one. You find good wife for you." she chuckles as I blush.
"You number one ajima. jesumnida ramyun." (delicious noodles) I tell her rubbing my belly in satisfaction and standing.
She laughs. "You come next time, ok?" she asks me.
"Nay" (Yes) I reply, opening the plastic to leave. "Kamsahamnida, ajimoni" (Thank you, "Mom") I add as I leave and wave. I close the plastic and hear her, softly singing inside.
The cold hits me and stings my face as I walk back over to the ambulance. I open the driver's side door and climb in. Roxanne is still asleep in the back, in her sleeping bag.
The ambulance is an old Dodge truck, converted into a field ambulance or "Crackerbox" as we always referred to it. It is simple and the floor board is missing any type of covering, exposing the bare metal. We always bring extra wool blankets to place on the floor when we're not driving. We take off our boots and place our sock-covered feet on the thick blankets.
Field duty for an ambulance team is basically, sit at a designated spot, usually near the maintenance vehicles and wait. And wait and wait. Our purpose is should there be a medical emergency, we would be needed right away. Luckily, those never happened, so most of the field exercises I attended were just sit in the crackerbox and sleep, read, talk or visit Ajima. Since it was so cold, we never turned off the crackerbox's motor. Every day, I would drive it over to the fuel truck and fill up the fuel tank. Then drive back over the same spot and wait.
Today is Christmas Eve and Roxanna and I are partners on this week long exercise. All the other docs are envious, and are convinced that all Roxanne and I do out here is have sex, all day and all night. The truth is, Roxanne is engaged to a buddy of mine, that is one of the Military Police, and I wouldn't do that to him or her. She is pretty, with long, blonde hair and a cute figure. One time when we went to Seoul on the train, all of the older Korean women wanted to touch her golden hair. She didn't mind and let them enjoy the rare occurrence of seeing someone with blonde hair.
We take turns sleeping. She watches and reads, while I sleep and vice versa. Now, it is her time to sleep. I can't help but wake her when I close the ambulance door. I hear her stirring in the back and turn my head through the doorway between the front seats.
"Sorry." I say.
"Mmmmmm. What time is it?" she says in a groggy voice.
"About one o'clock in the afternoon." I reply, taking off my boots and unzipping my parka.
"I was thinking of making some coffee on the heater block. You want some?" I ask.
"No, I'm gonna try to sleep some more. Brrrrrr! It's cold." she says.
"It's about fifteen below." I chuckle. "Want me to wake you at a certain time?" I ask.
"No later than 4:30. I wanna eat something and ajima will leave after five." she replies.
"No sweat." I tell her.
I hear her fumble around a bit in the back as I pick up my book and continue to read.
"Can you close the door, I need to pee." she asks me.
"Sure." I say, not looking up from my book, I raise my right hand and slide the separation door to the back, closed. I can hear her relieve herself in the coffee can we bring along for her.
For men, we just go outside and do our business, but it's a bit of a logistics problem for women. This way, she doesn't have to put all of her parka, boots, gloves and hat, to walk over to the latrine, that is about 30 meters from the crackerbox.
"Ok, I'm done." she calls out and I reach back and open the door again to let the heat flow to the back.
The ambulance is equipped with a rear heater for the back. It is used during transport. Because it uses a flame for creating heat, using it while we are parked would produce carbon monoxide gas and kill us in our sleep, so we don't use it.
I hear her settle down and then she is still. I look out of the front windshield and see that it is snowing. I watch the large flakes fall and wonder what the guys are doing in the clinic. They were going to have a Christmas party in the dining hall tonight. Roxanne and I will remain here until the exercise is complete, three days from now. Who the hell schedules a field exercise over Christmas? I wonder, shaking my head.
At about 4:10, I hear Roxanne stir in the back.
"Is ajima still there?" she asks.
"Yep, I can see the glow from her stove." I reply.
"Good, I'm starved." she says moving into the front seat next to me. She begins to put on her boots and parka.
"Don't forget your peepee can." I tell her with a chuckle. She looks at me with a fake smile.
"I was going to ask you to do it." she volleys back in a smart ass voice.
"It's not my pee, sorry." I told her.
"But you're so sweet." she said.
"I'm not that sweet, believe me." I reply with a smile.
She finishes dressing.
"How cold is it?" she asks.
"It was minus fifteen earlier." I answer.
"It's snowing! So pretty!" she says looking out the windshield.
"It's been snowing for a couple of hours." I say.
She opens up the door and takes her can and dumps it out in the brush. She walks back to the ambulance and puts it on the floor on the passenger side.
"Want anything?" she asks me.
"Some hot chocolate, if she has it." I answer.
"Ok. I'll be back in a little bit." she tells me and closes the door.
I feel a chill as the icy air blows in. I lean over and place her can in the back of the crackerbox. I want to close the cabin door to make it heat up quicker, but then there will be no heat in the back, so I leave it open and pull my parka over my lap.
After about twenty minutes, Roxanne opens the door and hands me my hot chocolate. Then she climbs in to the cab and closes her door.
"Thank you so much!" I tell her sipping the hot liquid that tastes like chocolate flavored water.
"No problem" she replies. "Agima is so funny. She told me that we should get married, because we're both 'eputa' (good looking)." she continued.
I laughed, "She told me to find a eputa Korean wife." I told her.
She took off her boots and parka and sipped her own hot beverage.
"I bought a couple of candles from her." she said.
"What for?" I asked.
"I can read using the candle and you can sleep without having the overhead light on." she explained.
"She had candles?" I asked.
"Yeah, I asked her to bring some today." she said.
"Good idea." I said.
"We can spend Christmas Eve, by candlelight, with the one we don't love." she said sweetly, then started to laugh.
"Yeah, I guess it sucks not being with Andy, doesn't it?" I replied.
"Oh well. We'll be back in three days, then I'll see him." She said.
"Yeah." I said.
She grabbed a book, put on her glasses and started to read. We sat in silence for several hours reading.
About 8:00 PM, I pulled out my worn out radio, with a broken antenna and missing knobs. I only used it for a cassette player.
Roxanna set her book down and watched me.
"Wanna hear some Christmas music?" I asked her.
"Sure, what do you have?" she replied.
"I just have some Pavarotti, nothing traditional." I answered popping the tape into the player and closing the door. I pushed the Rewind button and the machine began to whirl.
"I love Pavarotti!" she said, clapping her hands. "It's pretty rare to find two GI's that enjoy anything operatic." she added.
"I know." I said.
Just as I was about to push the Play button, Roxanne, put her hand on my arm.
"Wait! Let's light a candle. It will make it feel more Christmasy." she said.
I waited while she lit a candle and placed it on the metal floor in between the seats. I turned off the cabin light and the old crackerbox ambulance had a romantic glow. I pushed the Play button and Pavarotti began to sing, "O' Holy Night" in English and Italian.
We sat back and listened, watching the snow through our little haven. I could tell that Roxanne was thinking about Andy. She had a slight smile on her face as the images in her mind played out. I began to think about my parents and back home.
I think for the first time in my life..... I truly felt alone.
"Ok, one dolla" she replies in broken English and takes my money.
"Come come, too cold!" she motions for me to come inside and wait.
When U.S. soldiers go out to the field for training, it is common for Korean women to establish a mini-store, just outside the perimeter. She will set up a tent and sell her goods and cook noodles. Her assortment of items range from basic snacks; cookies, moon pies, soft drinks and ramen noodles, to cigarettes and batteries. Pretty much anything a soldier might want. If a soldier doesn't have any money, he can trade his MRE rations for a meal.
These women are called "Ajima" which is the title of a Korean woman that is married or older. It's English equivalent would be "Ma'am" or "Ms".
If you are nice to them, they will add an egg and some Kimchi to your bowl for no extra price. Because I am a doc, I always get an egg and Kimchi added to mine.
I watch her cook my noodles on a portable gas burner. Heat and steam fill her tent as outside the thin plastic sheet the temperature is -15° F. Inside, it is a balmy 60° F.
"You sit here, mogo." (eat) she tells me and motions to the small stool near the gas stove.
"Kamsahamnida" (Thank you) I reply and sit. She hands me my bowl of noodles and some chopsticks.
"Cheonman-eyo" (You're welcome) she replies in a lyrical voice, almost as if she was singing the words. She smiles and cleans up her dish. Boiling a little water then tossing it outside. The steam from the water as it hits the icy cold air, makes it look like a lot more than about a cup of water.
The hot noodles and broth feel good going down and the warm bowl warms my hands and legs.
"You eputa G.I. You find Korean wife?" (You're a good looking soldier) she asks with a friendly smile and a slight chuckle, wanting to embarrass me.
G.I. is an old American military acronym that stands for Government Issue or anything belonging to the Army. Soldiers are referred to as G.I.'s
"Anyo ajima, no yobo for me" (No Ma'am, no girlfriend for me) I reply with a smile.
"You number one. You find good wife for you." she chuckles as I blush.
"You number one ajima. jesumnida ramyun." (delicious noodles) I tell her rubbing my belly in satisfaction and standing.
She laughs. "You come next time, ok?" she asks me.
"Nay" (Yes) I reply, opening the plastic to leave. "Kamsahamnida, ajimoni" (Thank you, "Mom") I add as I leave and wave. I close the plastic and hear her, softly singing inside.
The cold hits me and stings my face as I walk back over to the ambulance. I open the driver's side door and climb in. Roxanne is still asleep in the back, in her sleeping bag.
The ambulance is an old Dodge truck, converted into a field ambulance or "Crackerbox" as we always referred to it. It is simple and the floor board is missing any type of covering, exposing the bare metal. We always bring extra wool blankets to place on the floor when we're not driving. We take off our boots and place our sock-covered feet on the thick blankets.
Field duty for an ambulance team is basically, sit at a designated spot, usually near the maintenance vehicles and wait. And wait and wait. Our purpose is should there be a medical emergency, we would be needed right away. Luckily, those never happened, so most of the field exercises I attended were just sit in the crackerbox and sleep, read, talk or visit Ajima. Since it was so cold, we never turned off the crackerbox's motor. Every day, I would drive it over to the fuel truck and fill up the fuel tank. Then drive back over the same spot and wait.
Today is Christmas Eve and Roxanna and I are partners on this week long exercise. All the other docs are envious, and are convinced that all Roxanne and I do out here is have sex, all day and all night. The truth is, Roxanne is engaged to a buddy of mine, that is one of the Military Police, and I wouldn't do that to him or her. She is pretty, with long, blonde hair and a cute figure. One time when we went to Seoul on the train, all of the older Korean women wanted to touch her golden hair. She didn't mind and let them enjoy the rare occurrence of seeing someone with blonde hair.
We take turns sleeping. She watches and reads, while I sleep and vice versa. Now, it is her time to sleep. I can't help but wake her when I close the ambulance door. I hear her stirring in the back and turn my head through the doorway between the front seats.
"Sorry." I say.
"Mmmmmm. What time is it?" she says in a groggy voice.
"About one o'clock in the afternoon." I reply, taking off my boots and unzipping my parka.
"I was thinking of making some coffee on the heater block. You want some?" I ask.
"No, I'm gonna try to sleep some more. Brrrrrr! It's cold." she says.
"It's about fifteen below." I chuckle. "Want me to wake you at a certain time?" I ask.
"No later than 4:30. I wanna eat something and ajima will leave after five." she replies.
"No sweat." I tell her.
I hear her fumble around a bit in the back as I pick up my book and continue to read.
"Can you close the door, I need to pee." she asks me.
"Sure." I say, not looking up from my book, I raise my right hand and slide the separation door to the back, closed. I can hear her relieve herself in the coffee can we bring along for her.
For men, we just go outside and do our business, but it's a bit of a logistics problem for women. This way, she doesn't have to put all of her parka, boots, gloves and hat, to walk over to the latrine, that is about 30 meters from the crackerbox.
"Ok, I'm done." she calls out and I reach back and open the door again to let the heat flow to the back.
The ambulance is equipped with a rear heater for the back. It is used during transport. Because it uses a flame for creating heat, using it while we are parked would produce carbon monoxide gas and kill us in our sleep, so we don't use it.
I hear her settle down and then she is still. I look out of the front windshield and see that it is snowing. I watch the large flakes fall and wonder what the guys are doing in the clinic. They were going to have a Christmas party in the dining hall tonight. Roxanne and I will remain here until the exercise is complete, three days from now. Who the hell schedules a field exercise over Christmas? I wonder, shaking my head.
At about 4:10, I hear Roxanne stir in the back.
"Is ajima still there?" she asks.
"Yep, I can see the glow from her stove." I reply.
"Good, I'm starved." she says moving into the front seat next to me. She begins to put on her boots and parka.
"Don't forget your peepee can." I tell her with a chuckle. She looks at me with a fake smile.
"I was going to ask you to do it." she volleys back in a smart ass voice.
"It's not my pee, sorry." I told her.
"But you're so sweet." she said.
"I'm not that sweet, believe me." I reply with a smile.
She finishes dressing.
"How cold is it?" she asks.
"It was minus fifteen earlier." I answer.
"It's snowing! So pretty!" she says looking out the windshield.
"It's been snowing for a couple of hours." I say.
She opens up the door and takes her can and dumps it out in the brush. She walks back to the ambulance and puts it on the floor on the passenger side.
"Want anything?" she asks me.
"Some hot chocolate, if she has it." I answer.
"Ok. I'll be back in a little bit." she tells me and closes the door.
I feel a chill as the icy air blows in. I lean over and place her can in the back of the crackerbox. I want to close the cabin door to make it heat up quicker, but then there will be no heat in the back, so I leave it open and pull my parka over my lap.
After about twenty minutes, Roxanne opens the door and hands me my hot chocolate. Then she climbs in to the cab and closes her door.
"Thank you so much!" I tell her sipping the hot liquid that tastes like chocolate flavored water.
"No problem" she replies. "Agima is so funny. She told me that we should get married, because we're both 'eputa' (good looking)." she continued.
I laughed, "She told me to find a eputa Korean wife." I told her.
She took off her boots and parka and sipped her own hot beverage.
"I bought a couple of candles from her." she said.
"What for?" I asked.
"I can read using the candle and you can sleep without having the overhead light on." she explained.
"She had candles?" I asked.
"Yeah, I asked her to bring some today." she said.
"Good idea." I said.
"We can spend Christmas Eve, by candlelight, with the one we don't love." she said sweetly, then started to laugh.
"Yeah, I guess it sucks not being with Andy, doesn't it?" I replied.
"Oh well. We'll be back in three days, then I'll see him." She said.
"Yeah." I said.
She grabbed a book, put on her glasses and started to read. We sat in silence for several hours reading.
About 8:00 PM, I pulled out my worn out radio, with a broken antenna and missing knobs. I only used it for a cassette player.
Roxanna set her book down and watched me.
"Wanna hear some Christmas music?" I asked her.
"Sure, what do you have?" she replied.
"I just have some Pavarotti, nothing traditional." I answered popping the tape into the player and closing the door. I pushed the Rewind button and the machine began to whirl.
"I love Pavarotti!" she said, clapping her hands. "It's pretty rare to find two GI's that enjoy anything operatic." she added.
"I know." I said.
Just as I was about to push the Play button, Roxanne, put her hand on my arm.
"Wait! Let's light a candle. It will make it feel more Christmasy." she said.
I waited while she lit a candle and placed it on the metal floor in between the seats. I turned off the cabin light and the old crackerbox ambulance had a romantic glow. I pushed the Play button and Pavarotti began to sing, "O' Holy Night" in English and Italian.
We sat back and listened, watching the snow through our little haven. I could tell that Roxanne was thinking about Andy. She had a slight smile on her face as the images in her mind played out. I began to think about my parents and back home.
I think for the first time in my life..... I truly felt alone.
26 November 2011
Saturday Night Fights
The colors of orange, red and hints of purple flood my brain as Tureney and I watch the sunset from outside the ambulance entrance of the Emergency Room, smoking a cigarette.
It is late summer in Korea. We are on night shift on a payday, Saturday night. Saturday nights are always busy and payday, Saturday nights are the best. Young, single soldiers aren't the best with managing their money, so a Saturday following payday means booze, girls and probably fighting. I always liked these nights because I would always get a chance to practice suturing up some poor bastard who had had a lot to drink then decided he could fight six others by himself. Tureney was an eager learner like me and we were good pals. Tureney, is his last name. I don't remember his first name as everyone in the army addresses each other by their last name. He is not a model soldier as his uniform is always wrinkled and his boots are scuffed, but then in medical corps, most officers look the same as well. One thing that drove Tureney and me to become buddies, was we admired each others medical abilities. We were good docs. We knew our shit and lusted for more. We both looked forward to this night.
"Hey man, that Bogee is a total fuckup. Do you know what he did to this guy I treated for a laceration on his hand?", I say, taking a drag off the Marlboro while Tureney nods his head.
"No, I don't. What happened?", he replied.
"I had this guy come in with a cut on the back of hand from a broken piece of glass." I begin, thumping my smoke over the wall and down the hill. "So, I clean it up, sew him up. One of my best, by the way, dress it and write a script for Cephalexin and take it to Bogee to sign, not by choice, but because he's on duty."
Cephalexin is a broad use antibiotic used for bacteria usually found normally on the skin. The physicians, once they get to know your abilities, will allow you to act in their behalf, but the law requires their signature on all prescriptions and specialty items. Dr. Bogee is and Army doc that does not have a Degree in Medicine, but a Degree in Osteopathy. Instead of an MD, he's a DO. I have met some competent DOs in my time, but Bogee was not one of them. My mentor at the clinic, Lori Dargan, MD, a general surgeon who hated treating regular patients, was always attacking Bogee's screw ups and usually in front of a waiting room full of patients.
"What did he do?", he asked. cupping his cigarette in his hand as it to hide it's glow.
"He asked me why I chose Cephalexin. I told him, 'because it was a dirty wound and we always write scripts for cephalosporins as a prophylaxis for anaerobic bugs.'", I continued. "He told me that he wanted to give they guy Amox! I told him the guy didn't have a fucking tooth pulled! He pulled rank and went to do it himself.", I explained.
"So what happened to the guy? Did the wound go septic?", he asked.
"Oh man, did it!", I reply, with a chuckle. "His hand was really pissed off and so was I!" I said.
"Fuckin' dumbass Bogee.", Tureney chuckles, shaking his head.
"I had to release his sutures to debrid it! I took him to Lori and told her about the other night. She was hot!" I said. "She went and chewed Bogee a new one." I laugh. Tureney is laughing as well.
"That incompetent fuck.", he adds.
"We got him cleaned up and with the right meds. Couldn't close him this time. He'll have a nice scar and a memory of how he'd been Bogee'd, that's for sure." I said. Tureney still shaking his head. A Military Police jeep is pulling into the ER's drive.
SGT Andrew Davis is a Military Police Officer or an MP. He is clean cut and his uniform is always impeccable. Boots highly shined and leather looking sharp. He looks like a policeman should. Friendly, strong and handsome. He stops the jeep and jumps out.
"Hey Andy! Aren't you a little early to be coming here this evening?" I greet him.
Tureney, raises his hand and gives Andy a single wave.
"How's it going? I just came up here to see who's on tonight and if that new female medic is on duty." Andy responds, looking into the ER's double sliding doors like he's searching to catch a glimpse of her.
"You mean Roxanne, the blond?" Tureney, asks him.
"Is that her name, Roxanne? She's hot man. I'd like to ..." he trails off as the double doors open and the Chief walks out lighting a cigarette.
"What you bring us, Davis?", Chief Nelson asks Andy.
"Nothing, Sir, just gearing up a little for the night.", he answers.
"Oh fuck!" The Chief exclaims, "It's a... we just had a payday, right?", he asks as we all nod our heads. "Shit, I was hoping it would be quiet tonight. I'm going to Seoul tomorrow." the Chief explains.
"You can sleep, Sir. We can handle most of it for you." I tell him with Tureney nodding.
"I'll leave you boys some pre-signed scripts on the desk. But no narcs. Come and get me for that." The Chief tells us.
"Yessir." I say as the Chief crushes out his smoke and walks back inside.
Chief Nelson is a seasoned Warrant Officer. He is neither Enlisted nor Commissioned. He was a medic back in Vietnam and became a Physician's Assistant. His specialty is emergency medicine and in the ER, the physicians take orders from him. He is the most respected, professionally by all. The Chief has earned it. Sometimes the Chief will smoke a cigarette while he's sewing up someone. "Ashes are sterile!" he'll state when an exceptionally long ash will fall from the cigarette between his lips.
"Well, guys, I'd better get back. No telling what shit we'll have tonight." Andy states, walking back to his jeep. Starts it up and waves as he drives off. Tureney and I give him a wave and walk toward the double doors. There is a whoosh sound as the doors part automatically and the rush of cool air conditioning greets us. The ER is empty aside from us and the Chief. I look in the exam rooms and make sure they are ready, then I turn off the light and go to sit behind the desk with the others. I grab a stethoscope and drape it around my neck. I look at the clock and it's only 7:30 PM. Early, still. I think. I pickup one of my novels from the library and begin reading.
The ER has three treatment rooms all equipped to meet the needs of average non-life threatening emergencies. There are to treatment tables in each room and various medical apparatus to assist in anything from compound fracture to an ingrown toenail. The rooms are well lit and each table has it's own flood lamp. We use only one room, usually because when you're responsible for cleaning and stocking, you don't use the others unless absolutely necessary.
About 8:15 pm, the Chief is returning from a smoke outside and the lab tech, finishing her daily tests, walks up and starts to ask him about a particular test. I was standing near and join them.
"I got this result and I wanted to ask your advice before I post it in the record. I'm confused." She says to the Chief and hands him the lab slip.
"Yes, it's positive for Gonorrhea, what's the problem?" He asks her, confirming the results.
"It's from a throat culture.", she states with a sick look on her face. I think to myself, Ewww, somebody is just plain nasty. as I raise my own eyebrows in disbelief.
"Sure, it's possible. The symptoms are the same as strep throat.", the Chief states as if it happens all the time.
"Okay, thank you, Sir" she says, slowly turning with a look of disbelief and then walks back to the lab.
"You got to admit, Chief, that's pretty fucking nasty!" I tell him and start to laugh.
"Yeah, but here anything is possible." He responds walking to the restroom.
About 10:30, the night begins to pick up as the doors open and Andy walks in escorting a tall female and her friend. Apparently, the tall one attempted to jump over a stone ditch and in the process, lost her footing and landed halfway across, bruising her thigh badly and hitting her chin on the opposite wall. Both girls were about 20'ish and very pretty. The tall girl had long fluffy dark hair. Probably fluffy from the accident. Her friend had straight, light brown hair and glasses.
Andy lingered for a few minutes then left them with us and back to the jungle. Tureney jumped up and began to do an assessment of the girl that had the accident, while I chatted with her friend. She told me that they hadn't been drinking and she thought the ditch was more narrow than it was. She followed me into the treatment room and joined Tureney and the patient.
"What you got?", I asked him.
"She's got a cut on the bottom of her chin that's going to need tending to.", He answers.
"I am sooo embarrassed." she says and tries to hide her face. Her friend is hiding a smile behind her hands.
"It's ok, we all do dumb things.", he tells her.
"We better get the Chief." I say, "She's going to need to be properly examined. She might have something internal." I tell him.
"Yeah, I agree" he responds.
"I'll be right back" I tell them and I go get the Chief from the on-call room.
I knock on the door. "Come in!" the Chief responds.
"What's up?" he asks.
"We just got a 21 year old female that fell into a ditch and she needs to be examined, Sir" I tell him.
"She look ok?" He asks me putting on his tennis shoes.
"She coherent and walked in, but she's got a nasty contusion on her thigh that disappears under her clothing."
I explain. "That's why we feel you should look." I add.
He follows me to the treatment room and the others are just chit chatting.
"Heard you tried to hurdle a ditch!" the Chief says with a smile on his face. The girl is clearly embarrassed and feels very foolish.
"Kind of. I thought it was more narrow." She explains.
"I want to take a look at that leg." he tells her. "Tureney, would you get the curtain." he asks him, and looks at me, cuing me to take her friend outside.
"Ma'am, you and I need to leave for a few minutes." I tell her and she walks out with me as Tureney pulls the curtain around the table.
"What's your name?" I ask her.
"Pitchert, Lisa", she tells me. out in the hall.
"I'm Mike" I respond. "Wanna step outside?" I ask her
"Sure, it's a little cold in there" She answers, rubbing her arms.
We step though the double doors and the moon is shining when we step from under the covered parking.
"What unit are you from?" I ask her.
"2nd Signal over at Camp Hovie." She tells me, motioning to the east. "I've never met a doc before, I mean away from sick call" She adds.
"Oh, we're not so scary, once you get to know us." I say with a smile. I offer her a cigarette and she waves her hand in decline. I take one and light it.
She's pretty. She's no knockout bombshell. Her hair is straight, she's thin and average body shape. I'm thinking she is the kind of girl you want to marry and spend your life with, not just have sex with her because she'd make a nice addition to your repertoire. A real girl. After talking with her a while, my professionalism sloughs off and the real me begins to talk with her. She is smart and doesn't act like I just want in her panties. I don't think about her like that either. No Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma'am with this one. She's a keeper.
After a bit, we walk back inside to see what the findings are. My professionalism returns and I am the doc again. Tureney tells me that the Chief had to aspirate the blood from her hematoma on her thigh.
Lisa was standing next to me when the Chief pulled back the curtain and we see her companion sitting on the treatment table. She had a look of uncertainty and Lisa walked over to be with her. A small 2x2 gauge bandage covered the end of her chin and a large dressing was taped to her left outer thigh.
"She's a little woozy from the sedative I gave her to help with the contusion. Make sure she gets back to the barracks alright." the Chief tells Lisa.
"Yessir", she replies.
"Have her come back on Monday so we can check that thigh. Anytime in the afternoon is fine." the Chief adds, as he walks back to the nurses' station to make his notes.
Lisa nods and helps her friend to her feet. She starts to list and I grab her arm, to stabilize her.
"Thanks, Doc" she tells me and I look up and she is looking at me.
I smile, "No problem. Why don't we call you a cab back to Hovie?" I offer. "Hey Tureney! Call a cab will ya?", I ask him.
"Oh sure." he responds.
"You guys just wait here until the taxi comes, just a few minutes" I suggest. I know the taxis on base will always ready for a fare since most of us just walk the mile to town.
Within a few minutes the taxi arrives and I help Lisa get her friend into the backseat.
"Thanks Mike, it was an interesting evening." Lisa says, extending her hand.
I take it, saying, "My pleasure. Don't forget to tell her to come back on Monday, she won't remember anything much tonight." I release her hand and close the door to the taxi. It pulls off and I watch it continue down the hill. I pull out a smoke and light it. As I turn around, Tureney it standing against the wall smoking also.
"Did you get her number?", he asks with a proud look a father may display at his son.
"No, I didn't even ask.", I respond walking towards him and turning to lean against the wall.
"Guess you're not the Messiah.", he says with a chuckle.
I take a long drag on my cigarette and blow the smoke out. "Did ever occur to you that I know her name and her unit? All I have to do is call the barracks, they go get her for me." I explain.
"Wow! I never thought about it that way." he says, while I'm nodding for his light bulb in his head.
"So, when you gonna call her?" he asks me.
"I'm not." I reply. "It's not good ethics." I explain.
"Ethics!?! Who gives a shit about that? There's a girl you could meet and not have to pay for, like the whores in the ville!" He says.
I turn to him, "Man, I notice you don't pay for it downtown."
"Fuck no! I work in the clinic too. I ain't touching none that shit. I see what that shit will do and I ain't bringing nothin' home to Momma.", he says.
Prostitution is legal in Korean in the '80s and many a sexually transmitted disease has been passed around through the lack of a good system for quarantine in the towns. The girls get tested on Monday, their health cards come back in a week, meanwhile they can keep working. Most STDs incubation period is about 72 hours, so by the time they get their "All Clear" cards, they're infected again. Condom usage is not required and most soldiers don't like to use them anyway. My best practice is avoidance. I see it everyday in the clinic and I want no part of it.
"I'm gonna clean up the treatment room." I tell him, walking back through the double doors.
The Chief is just finishing up his notes in the record when I return to the desk. Tureney is watching TV in the waiting room and eating Ramen noodles out of a vomit basin, using two wooden swabs as chopsticks.
"I'm gonna hit the rack for a bit" the Chief tells me as he closes the chart and places it in the Review bin.
"Alright Sir, Goodnight." I answer.
The double doors open and it's Andy again and another MP with a guy who covered in blood. His face is all bloody and his white t-shirt has a large area of blood all down the front. It appears he has lost an eye, as there is a large mass of blood clot covering his right eye. I jump up and escort them into the treatment room followed by the Chief. I have him lie down on the treatment table while Andy starts with the story.
"We picked him up coming out of 54 Club. I think he got hit with a bottle." he says.
On closer inspection, I see that he has not lost an eye, but has a deep laceration in his right eyebrow and a couple on his forehead. The scalp is very vascular and anytime you get a cut on the head, however minor, gives the appearance of total blood loss. They always bleed a lot but there's no real danger.
Also on closer inspection, I notice the sick smell of inebriation. The combination of cheap beer and Oscar, a cheap, peach flavored champagne that is made in Korea and is a guaranteed vomitorium if consumed in large quantities.
The Chief looks him over and pulls me aside. "Just close the eye and he'll be fine. Remember to not shave his eyebrow, as they don't always grow back." he says.
"Got it, Chief", I reply.
"Oh!, and get a neuro on him, just to CYA." he adds.
"Ok." I answer.
Then he walks over to the drunk guy, "Doctor Faris, here is going to fix you right up" he says and grabs my shoulder.
"Alright man, just lie back. I want to clean you up a little before we start." I tell the drunk guy.
"Ok." he replies.
"What's your name?" I ask him. I can't call him drunk guy all night.
"Walters" he replies.
"What's your first name, Walters?" I re-ask him.
"Tim" he answers.
"Ok, Tim, we're gonna get you fixed right up in no time." I tell him.
Andy, the other MP and Tureney are in the hall chatting about something. Probably about the crowd downtown.
I get the guy cleaned up a little then open the suture kit.
"Ok, Tim, I need to put this drape over your eye so I can close your wound. You won't be able to see out of the other eye, but I'll tell you what I'm doing so there's no surprises." I explain to him.
"OooKaaaay" drunk Tim responds in a slurred pattern.
I drape the field and prepare my suture and instruments. I take the syringe and withdraw about 2cc's of lidocaine with 2% epinephrine. The epinephrine will help control anymore bleeding.
"Tim, I'm going numb the area up so you won't feel the stitches, ok?" I explain to him, although he's drunk enough I could probably sew him up without anything, but the epie will stop his bleeding that the alcohol has increased.
No response
"You might feel a little pinch above your right eye." I tell him while inserting the needle just near the wound. He doesn't flinch as I inject the local. I change positions and inject again, nothing from Tim. I make my final injection and I hear snoring coming from under the drape. I smile and think, no, he felt nothing.
I stitch him up taking care to not get his eyebrow hairs stuck in the wound or my knots. I'm done in about 10 minutes and remove the drape. Tim is sleeping with his mouth open and the drunk, boozy smell fills the room. I put a small dressing on his eye and tell Andy to call his Staff Duty Officer to come and get him.
I turn the exam light off and snap off my gloves. I wash my hands and wake him up.
"Tim, I need to you to wake up." I tell him.
Groggily he opens his eyes and I place two fingers in each of his hands.
"Squeeze my fingers, Tim." I command, and he squeezes them.
"Can you wiggle your toes?" I ask him and he responds.
"Ok, good. You can sleep again, now. ", I tell him and wash my hands again. I walk over to the MPs and
Tureney. "God, I hate that fucking drunk breath smell. Makes me want to puke, just smelling it. He's all Oscar'ed up too." I state.
Soon his SDO arrives with a couple of soldiers and they take him back to their unit. I guess he'll remember this with the duty they'll give him. I think.
It's after 1:00 am, the gates are closed and last bus has dropped the last drunk off somewhere on post. I step outside and see a couple of my own fellow medics walking up the hill back to their barracks. Some are singing some are new found loves, well, at least for tonight. Some wave and yell that this was the best night yet and sorry that I missed it. I'll hear all about it at chow in the morning. I think to myself and thump my smoke over the wall. Walk back towards the double doors and wait till 7:00 AM.
It is late summer in Korea. We are on night shift on a payday, Saturday night. Saturday nights are always busy and payday, Saturday nights are the best. Young, single soldiers aren't the best with managing their money, so a Saturday following payday means booze, girls and probably fighting. I always liked these nights because I would always get a chance to practice suturing up some poor bastard who had had a lot to drink then decided he could fight six others by himself. Tureney was an eager learner like me and we were good pals. Tureney, is his last name. I don't remember his first name as everyone in the army addresses each other by their last name. He is not a model soldier as his uniform is always wrinkled and his boots are scuffed, but then in medical corps, most officers look the same as well. One thing that drove Tureney and me to become buddies, was we admired each others medical abilities. We were good docs. We knew our shit and lusted for more. We both looked forward to this night.
"Hey man, that Bogee is a total fuckup. Do you know what he did to this guy I treated for a laceration on his hand?", I say, taking a drag off the Marlboro while Tureney nods his head.
"No, I don't. What happened?", he replied.
"I had this guy come in with a cut on the back of hand from a broken piece of glass." I begin, thumping my smoke over the wall and down the hill. "So, I clean it up, sew him up. One of my best, by the way, dress it and write a script for Cephalexin and take it to Bogee to sign, not by choice, but because he's on duty."
Cephalexin is a broad use antibiotic used for bacteria usually found normally on the skin. The physicians, once they get to know your abilities, will allow you to act in their behalf, but the law requires their signature on all prescriptions and specialty items. Dr. Bogee is and Army doc that does not have a Degree in Medicine, but a Degree in Osteopathy. Instead of an MD, he's a DO. I have met some competent DOs in my time, but Bogee was not one of them. My mentor at the clinic, Lori Dargan, MD, a general surgeon who hated treating regular patients, was always attacking Bogee's screw ups and usually in front of a waiting room full of patients.
"What did he do?", he asked. cupping his cigarette in his hand as it to hide it's glow.
"He asked me why I chose Cephalexin. I told him, 'because it was a dirty wound and we always write scripts for cephalosporins as a prophylaxis for anaerobic bugs.'", I continued. "He told me that he wanted to give they guy Amox! I told him the guy didn't have a fucking tooth pulled! He pulled rank and went to do it himself.", I explained.
"So what happened to the guy? Did the wound go septic?", he asked.
"Oh man, did it!", I reply, with a chuckle. "His hand was really pissed off and so was I!" I said.
"Fuckin' dumbass Bogee.", Tureney chuckles, shaking his head.
"I had to release his sutures to debrid it! I took him to Lori and told her about the other night. She was hot!" I said. "She went and chewed Bogee a new one." I laugh. Tureney is laughing as well.
"That incompetent fuck.", he adds.
"We got him cleaned up and with the right meds. Couldn't close him this time. He'll have a nice scar and a memory of how he'd been Bogee'd, that's for sure." I said. Tureney still shaking his head. A Military Police jeep is pulling into the ER's drive.
SGT Andrew Davis is a Military Police Officer or an MP. He is clean cut and his uniform is always impeccable. Boots highly shined and leather looking sharp. He looks like a policeman should. Friendly, strong and handsome. He stops the jeep and jumps out.
"Hey Andy! Aren't you a little early to be coming here this evening?" I greet him.
Tureney, raises his hand and gives Andy a single wave.
"How's it going? I just came up here to see who's on tonight and if that new female medic is on duty." Andy responds, looking into the ER's double sliding doors like he's searching to catch a glimpse of her.
"You mean Roxanne, the blond?" Tureney, asks him.
"Is that her name, Roxanne? She's hot man. I'd like to ..." he trails off as the double doors open and the Chief walks out lighting a cigarette.
"What you bring us, Davis?", Chief Nelson asks Andy.
"Nothing, Sir, just gearing up a little for the night.", he answers.
"Oh fuck!" The Chief exclaims, "It's a... we just had a payday, right?", he asks as we all nod our heads. "Shit, I was hoping it would be quiet tonight. I'm going to Seoul tomorrow." the Chief explains.
"You can sleep, Sir. We can handle most of it for you." I tell him with Tureney nodding.
"I'll leave you boys some pre-signed scripts on the desk. But no narcs. Come and get me for that." The Chief tells us.
"Yessir." I say as the Chief crushes out his smoke and walks back inside.
Chief Nelson is a seasoned Warrant Officer. He is neither Enlisted nor Commissioned. He was a medic back in Vietnam and became a Physician's Assistant. His specialty is emergency medicine and in the ER, the physicians take orders from him. He is the most respected, professionally by all. The Chief has earned it. Sometimes the Chief will smoke a cigarette while he's sewing up someone. "Ashes are sterile!" he'll state when an exceptionally long ash will fall from the cigarette between his lips.
"Well, guys, I'd better get back. No telling what shit we'll have tonight." Andy states, walking back to his jeep. Starts it up and waves as he drives off. Tureney and I give him a wave and walk toward the double doors. There is a whoosh sound as the doors part automatically and the rush of cool air conditioning greets us. The ER is empty aside from us and the Chief. I look in the exam rooms and make sure they are ready, then I turn off the light and go to sit behind the desk with the others. I grab a stethoscope and drape it around my neck. I look at the clock and it's only 7:30 PM. Early, still. I think. I pickup one of my novels from the library and begin reading.
The ER has three treatment rooms all equipped to meet the needs of average non-life threatening emergencies. There are to treatment tables in each room and various medical apparatus to assist in anything from compound fracture to an ingrown toenail. The rooms are well lit and each table has it's own flood lamp. We use only one room, usually because when you're responsible for cleaning and stocking, you don't use the others unless absolutely necessary.
About 8:15 pm, the Chief is returning from a smoke outside and the lab tech, finishing her daily tests, walks up and starts to ask him about a particular test. I was standing near and join them.
"I got this result and I wanted to ask your advice before I post it in the record. I'm confused." She says to the Chief and hands him the lab slip.
"Yes, it's positive for Gonorrhea, what's the problem?" He asks her, confirming the results.
"It's from a throat culture.", she states with a sick look on her face. I think to myself, Ewww, somebody is just plain nasty. as I raise my own eyebrows in disbelief.
"Sure, it's possible. The symptoms are the same as strep throat.", the Chief states as if it happens all the time.
"Okay, thank you, Sir" she says, slowly turning with a look of disbelief and then walks back to the lab.
"You got to admit, Chief, that's pretty fucking nasty!" I tell him and start to laugh.
"Yeah, but here anything is possible." He responds walking to the restroom.
About 10:30, the night begins to pick up as the doors open and Andy walks in escorting a tall female and her friend. Apparently, the tall one attempted to jump over a stone ditch and in the process, lost her footing and landed halfway across, bruising her thigh badly and hitting her chin on the opposite wall. Both girls were about 20'ish and very pretty. The tall girl had long fluffy dark hair. Probably fluffy from the accident. Her friend had straight, light brown hair and glasses.
Andy lingered for a few minutes then left them with us and back to the jungle. Tureney jumped up and began to do an assessment of the girl that had the accident, while I chatted with her friend. She told me that they hadn't been drinking and she thought the ditch was more narrow than it was. She followed me into the treatment room and joined Tureney and the patient.
"What you got?", I asked him.
"She's got a cut on the bottom of her chin that's going to need tending to.", He answers.
"I am sooo embarrassed." she says and tries to hide her face. Her friend is hiding a smile behind her hands.
"It's ok, we all do dumb things.", he tells her.
"We better get the Chief." I say, "She's going to need to be properly examined. She might have something internal." I tell him.
"Yeah, I agree" he responds.
"I'll be right back" I tell them and I go get the Chief from the on-call room.
I knock on the door. "Come in!" the Chief responds.
"What's up?" he asks.
"We just got a 21 year old female that fell into a ditch and she needs to be examined, Sir" I tell him.
"She look ok?" He asks me putting on his tennis shoes.
"She coherent and walked in, but she's got a nasty contusion on her thigh that disappears under her clothing."
I explain. "That's why we feel you should look." I add.
He follows me to the treatment room and the others are just chit chatting.
"Heard you tried to hurdle a ditch!" the Chief says with a smile on his face. The girl is clearly embarrassed and feels very foolish.
"Kind of. I thought it was more narrow." She explains.
"I want to take a look at that leg." he tells her. "Tureney, would you get the curtain." he asks him, and looks at me, cuing me to take her friend outside.
"Ma'am, you and I need to leave for a few minutes." I tell her and she walks out with me as Tureney pulls the curtain around the table.
"What's your name?" I ask her.
"Pitchert, Lisa", she tells me. out in the hall.
"I'm Mike" I respond. "Wanna step outside?" I ask her
"Sure, it's a little cold in there" She answers, rubbing her arms.
We step though the double doors and the moon is shining when we step from under the covered parking.
"What unit are you from?" I ask her.
"2nd Signal over at Camp Hovie." She tells me, motioning to the east. "I've never met a doc before, I mean away from sick call" She adds.
"Oh, we're not so scary, once you get to know us." I say with a smile. I offer her a cigarette and she waves her hand in decline. I take one and light it.
She's pretty. She's no knockout bombshell. Her hair is straight, she's thin and average body shape. I'm thinking she is the kind of girl you want to marry and spend your life with, not just have sex with her because she'd make a nice addition to your repertoire. A real girl. After talking with her a while, my professionalism sloughs off and the real me begins to talk with her. She is smart and doesn't act like I just want in her panties. I don't think about her like that either. No Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma'am with this one. She's a keeper.
After a bit, we walk back inside to see what the findings are. My professionalism returns and I am the doc again. Tureney tells me that the Chief had to aspirate the blood from her hematoma on her thigh.
Lisa was standing next to me when the Chief pulled back the curtain and we see her companion sitting on the treatment table. She had a look of uncertainty and Lisa walked over to be with her. A small 2x2 gauge bandage covered the end of her chin and a large dressing was taped to her left outer thigh.
"She's a little woozy from the sedative I gave her to help with the contusion. Make sure she gets back to the barracks alright." the Chief tells Lisa.
"Yessir", she replies.
"Have her come back on Monday so we can check that thigh. Anytime in the afternoon is fine." the Chief adds, as he walks back to the nurses' station to make his notes.
Lisa nods and helps her friend to her feet. She starts to list and I grab her arm, to stabilize her.
"Thanks, Doc" she tells me and I look up and she is looking at me.
I smile, "No problem. Why don't we call you a cab back to Hovie?" I offer. "Hey Tureney! Call a cab will ya?", I ask him.
"Oh sure." he responds.
"You guys just wait here until the taxi comes, just a few minutes" I suggest. I know the taxis on base will always ready for a fare since most of us just walk the mile to town.
Within a few minutes the taxi arrives and I help Lisa get her friend into the backseat.
"Thanks Mike, it was an interesting evening." Lisa says, extending her hand.
I take it, saying, "My pleasure. Don't forget to tell her to come back on Monday, she won't remember anything much tonight." I release her hand and close the door to the taxi. It pulls off and I watch it continue down the hill. I pull out a smoke and light it. As I turn around, Tureney it standing against the wall smoking also.
"Did you get her number?", he asks with a proud look a father may display at his son.
"No, I didn't even ask.", I respond walking towards him and turning to lean against the wall.
"Guess you're not the Messiah.", he says with a chuckle.
I take a long drag on my cigarette and blow the smoke out. "Did ever occur to you that I know her name and her unit? All I have to do is call the barracks, they go get her for me." I explain.
"Wow! I never thought about it that way." he says, while I'm nodding for his light bulb in his head.
"So, when you gonna call her?" he asks me.
"I'm not." I reply. "It's not good ethics." I explain.
"Ethics!?! Who gives a shit about that? There's a girl you could meet and not have to pay for, like the whores in the ville!" He says.
I turn to him, "Man, I notice you don't pay for it downtown."
"Fuck no! I work in the clinic too. I ain't touching none that shit. I see what that shit will do and I ain't bringing nothin' home to Momma.", he says.
Prostitution is legal in Korean in the '80s and many a sexually transmitted disease has been passed around through the lack of a good system for quarantine in the towns. The girls get tested on Monday, their health cards come back in a week, meanwhile they can keep working. Most STDs incubation period is about 72 hours, so by the time they get their "All Clear" cards, they're infected again. Condom usage is not required and most soldiers don't like to use them anyway. My best practice is avoidance. I see it everyday in the clinic and I want no part of it.
"I'm gonna clean up the treatment room." I tell him, walking back through the double doors.
The Chief is just finishing up his notes in the record when I return to the desk. Tureney is watching TV in the waiting room and eating Ramen noodles out of a vomit basin, using two wooden swabs as chopsticks.
"I'm gonna hit the rack for a bit" the Chief tells me as he closes the chart and places it in the Review bin.
"Alright Sir, Goodnight." I answer.
The double doors open and it's Andy again and another MP with a guy who covered in blood. His face is all bloody and his white t-shirt has a large area of blood all down the front. It appears he has lost an eye, as there is a large mass of blood clot covering his right eye. I jump up and escort them into the treatment room followed by the Chief. I have him lie down on the treatment table while Andy starts with the story.
"We picked him up coming out of 54 Club. I think he got hit with a bottle." he says.
On closer inspection, I see that he has not lost an eye, but has a deep laceration in his right eyebrow and a couple on his forehead. The scalp is very vascular and anytime you get a cut on the head, however minor, gives the appearance of total blood loss. They always bleed a lot but there's no real danger.
Also on closer inspection, I notice the sick smell of inebriation. The combination of cheap beer and Oscar, a cheap, peach flavored champagne that is made in Korea and is a guaranteed vomitorium if consumed in large quantities.
The Chief looks him over and pulls me aside. "Just close the eye and he'll be fine. Remember to not shave his eyebrow, as they don't always grow back." he says.
"Got it, Chief", I reply.
"Oh!, and get a neuro on him, just to CYA." he adds.
"Ok." I answer.
Then he walks over to the drunk guy, "Doctor Faris, here is going to fix you right up" he says and grabs my shoulder.
"Alright man, just lie back. I want to clean you up a little before we start." I tell the drunk guy.
"Ok." he replies.
"What's your name?" I ask him. I can't call him drunk guy all night.
"Walters" he replies.
"What's your first name, Walters?" I re-ask him.
"Tim" he answers.
"Ok, Tim, we're gonna get you fixed right up in no time." I tell him.
Andy, the other MP and Tureney are in the hall chatting about something. Probably about the crowd downtown.
I get the guy cleaned up a little then open the suture kit.
"Ok, Tim, I need to put this drape over your eye so I can close your wound. You won't be able to see out of the other eye, but I'll tell you what I'm doing so there's no surprises." I explain to him.
"OooKaaaay" drunk Tim responds in a slurred pattern.
I drape the field and prepare my suture and instruments. I take the syringe and withdraw about 2cc's of lidocaine with 2% epinephrine. The epinephrine will help control anymore bleeding.
"Tim, I'm going numb the area up so you won't feel the stitches, ok?" I explain to him, although he's drunk enough I could probably sew him up without anything, but the epie will stop his bleeding that the alcohol has increased.
No response
"You might feel a little pinch above your right eye." I tell him while inserting the needle just near the wound. He doesn't flinch as I inject the local. I change positions and inject again, nothing from Tim. I make my final injection and I hear snoring coming from under the drape. I smile and think, no, he felt nothing.
I stitch him up taking care to not get his eyebrow hairs stuck in the wound or my knots. I'm done in about 10 minutes and remove the drape. Tim is sleeping with his mouth open and the drunk, boozy smell fills the room. I put a small dressing on his eye and tell Andy to call his Staff Duty Officer to come and get him.
I turn the exam light off and snap off my gloves. I wash my hands and wake him up.
"Tim, I need to you to wake up." I tell him.
Groggily he opens his eyes and I place two fingers in each of his hands.
"Squeeze my fingers, Tim." I command, and he squeezes them.
"Can you wiggle your toes?" I ask him and he responds.
"Ok, good. You can sleep again, now. ", I tell him and wash my hands again. I walk over to the MPs and
Tureney. "God, I hate that fucking drunk breath smell. Makes me want to puke, just smelling it. He's all Oscar'ed up too." I state.
Soon his SDO arrives with a couple of soldiers and they take him back to their unit. I guess he'll remember this with the duty they'll give him. I think.
It's after 1:00 am, the gates are closed and last bus has dropped the last drunk off somewhere on post. I step outside and see a couple of my own fellow medics walking up the hill back to their barracks. Some are singing some are new found loves, well, at least for tonight. Some wave and yell that this was the best night yet and sorry that I missed it. I'll hear all about it at chow in the morning. I think to myself and thump my smoke over the wall. Walk back towards the double doors and wait till 7:00 AM.
21 November 2011
Walnuts
A loud blast from a gun startles me as I huddle behind a car. I'm not even aware of the ringing in my ears. It seems odd that I recognize my surroundings. How did I get here and why would there be gunshots?, I think to myself. I can't make sense of it. I see the man with a gun and I run from my hiding place as more shots ring out. I make my way into the garage, but there is no where to hide or seek protection. Why is this man shooting at me? What did I do to provoke him? I feel a pain on the back of my head, just behind my left ear. I reach up and it feels wet but cold, not warm. Son of a bitch! I've been shot in the head!, I think, and I confirm the blood on my hand. It is an odd feeling, as it is more of a dull ache than excruciating pain. And I'm angry that this guy shot me. How dare he shoot me in the head! What gives him the right to take my life without my permission?!?! I still can't make out who he is even though he is only a couple of meters away. Suddenly, he drops his arm with the gun and stands there. He says nothing. "Why did you shoot me?", I ask him. He remains silent but points to the sky. I still feel this dull ache of my wound and the blood seems minimal although I can feel softness instead of hard skull. I get up and walk over to where he is and look up. Large rain drops begin to fall and I feel them strike my face. I look at him again but he is gone. I look all around and find no one. Everything begins to fade and I lower myself to sit on the wet concrete and wonder just what the hell this was all about.
I wake up and realize I had been dreaming. The rain on my face was real and I am now soaked. "Fucking great!" I say as quickly grab my poncho to prevent any more damage. The dull ache is still on the back of my wet head, and upon further investigation I find that I was using my mask for a pillow and the filter cover's hardness was poking me in the head all night. I grab my cigarettes from my Aid bag and duck into the Operations tent.
The tent is the usual OD color with one end attached to the back of the 6x6 truck. The tent is smoky like a bar and their are several cots placed here and there. I'm cold and wet and I see the other guys dry and drinking coffee. As I light a smoke, the radio operator, PFC Jones, calls out, "Hey Doc!" The others acknowledge my presence.
Closing my Zippo, I ask them, "Why did you guys let me sleep out in the fuckin' rain?" not bothering to remove the cigarette from my lips.
"We've been doing fire missions all night. We couldn't leave the radios. At least you got some sleep, doc." SGT Martin, the radio sergeant, says.
I walk over to the tailgate of the operations vehicle and lean against it. "Want some coffee, doc?" Martin asks.
"Please", I reply. I know it's Army coffee, which means its made from putting water in a rinsed out pot, adding the coffee grounds and bringing it to a boil, then straining the grounds. Depending on what was prepared in the pot, prior, would determine the added flavoring to the coffee. My personal favorite was mashed potato flavored coffee. But, it was hot and there was plenty of it.
It is common for the soldiers to call their medic, "Doc". I kind of liked the term and even though it was against regulations, sometimes morale was a better leader.
"What time did you guys begin firing last night?", I ask no one in particular.
"About one. ", Martin replies.
"Hey doc, you got a smoke for me, man?", Jonesy, asks me.
"Sure." I reply and place my cigarette between my lips and unbutton my breast pocket to retrieve the pack. "Anyone else?" I say, as I offer the pack to the others.
"Naw, we're good." Is the response of a couple of the others. I don't know the others in the tent as this is not my battery that I usually cover. Sgt. Teffeau, one of the other medics in my squad is on leave, so I am covering for him when his assigned battery goes out to the field for training.
I stand closer to the kerosene heater to help dry out my uniform. Steam rises from the cloth and I wonder who it was trying to kill me that weird dream.
"Hey doc, when are you gonna run sick call?", Jones asks.
"Why, you got the clap again, Jonesy?" Martin interjects.
"Fuck no, somethin' else.", Jones responds and then looks at me.
"After chow, but I can take a look now, if you want." I reply.
PFC Jones or Jonesy as he's called, is from a small town outside of Minneapolis. I don't know much about his upbringing or education, more than likely just a High School graduate, joining the Army because he had not much more than a union job at the meat packing plant like his Father or older brother. Jonesy wanted something different for himself and obviously, Field Artillery was where it was.
"Did you guys hear that Thompson came down with orders for Korea?", Martin announced.
I motion to Jones to come over and tell me about his, "problem".
"No shit? I'd hate to go there", Jonesy states walking towards me but talking over his shoulder, "The winters are just like fuckin Minnesota."
He stands in front of me. "If you could take a look at this and tell me if it's somethin' serious", he says.
I take a drag off my cigarette and watch as he begins to unbutton his pants.
"I'd rather go to Korea than Turkey. That's the worst assignment, man. There's no alcohol allowed. Religious law or something." Martin says.
I add, "And the girls are prettier." with a smirk.
Jones pulls back each flap of his trousers and pulls down his underwear, revealing his genitals. "What do you think, doc?"
I can see about six or seven lumps that look like walnuts under his skin from his hip bone to his penis, in the crease of his leg. They are very swollen lymph nodes, meaning a big time infection. He's gotten something and has ignored the symptoms.
"How long have you had these?", I look up and ask him. His chin is holding his t-shirt to his chest. looking like a small child waiting for you to zip their pants.
"I don't know, about three weeks", he replies.
"You can pull up your pants." I tell him.
As Jonesy begins to pull himself back together, Martin asks, "What's he got, doc?"
"When did the drip stop?" I ask Jonesy, ignoring Martin.
"About a week or so ago. I figured if the drip stopped it went away." Jonesy replied.
When a man contracts gonorrhea or The Clap, the bacteria attacks the urethra and causes a discharge of pus. This discharge is called "The drip" and it's associated with a severe burn with urination. I had seen thousands of cases working in the STD clinic in Korea. A shot of Bicillin also known as a silver bullet, 14 days restriction for quarantine and you're ready to hit the streets again.
"The drip stopped because the disease traveled north, into your lymphatic system. Those lumps are your lymph nodes and they are indicators that the problem did not 'go away'". I tell him. Everyone in the operations tent was now quiet and listening. I take his temperature to see if he was going septic. Systemic clap can damage the blood vessels around the heart.
His temperature was 99.4. Not too bad yet, but it told me something bad was cooking inside of PFC Jones.
"Where's Top?" I asked Martin.
"I think he's walking the gun line. Jonesy, raise Top on the landline, find out where he is and tell him the Doc needs to talk with him." Martin says.
Jonesy is looking a little worried as he should. I place my hand on his shoulder, "You'll be fine, man. Just remember in the future, the drip is your first warning that you need medical treatment. This shit does not simply go away. Just wear a rubber, man, hell, they're free!" I reassure and educate him and everyone else in the tent, for that matter.
Martin breaks the tension, "Remember what they say, 'Slip it on before you slip it in!'"
We all have a good chuckle.
"Top says he'll be here in about five Mikes, he's out at gun four.", Jonesy informs us. "Thanks", I respond, taking another sip of the caffeinated brown liquid, then crush out my cigarette. Mikes is radio speak for minutes.
"Is it supposed to rain all day?" I ask as I light another and take a deep, relaxing drag from it. I feel the nicotine course through my system and flood my brain.
"We haven't got the daily report from range control yet.", Martin answers. "They made us stop firing when it started", he adds. I begin to think about how much information I want to reveal to the First Sergeant or Top as he is affectionately called. Top enlisted man in a company or battery. Top Dog, Top of the food chain, and he earned it.
"You smoke too much, doc.", Jonesy states. "Lemme get another one from you.", he adds with a crooked toothed smile. I think, as I hand him the pack You have no idea, Jonesy.
I wake up and realize I had been dreaming. The rain on my face was real and I am now soaked. "Fucking great!" I say as quickly grab my poncho to prevent any more damage. The dull ache is still on the back of my wet head, and upon further investigation I find that I was using my mask for a pillow and the filter cover's hardness was poking me in the head all night. I grab my cigarettes from my Aid bag and duck into the Operations tent.
The tent is the usual OD color with one end attached to the back of the 6x6 truck. The tent is smoky like a bar and their are several cots placed here and there. I'm cold and wet and I see the other guys dry and drinking coffee. As I light a smoke, the radio operator, PFC Jones, calls out, "Hey Doc!" The others acknowledge my presence.
Closing my Zippo, I ask them, "Why did you guys let me sleep out in the fuckin' rain?" not bothering to remove the cigarette from my lips.
"We've been doing fire missions all night. We couldn't leave the radios. At least you got some sleep, doc." SGT Martin, the radio sergeant, says.
I walk over to the tailgate of the operations vehicle and lean against it. "Want some coffee, doc?" Martin asks.
"Please", I reply. I know it's Army coffee, which means its made from putting water in a rinsed out pot, adding the coffee grounds and bringing it to a boil, then straining the grounds. Depending on what was prepared in the pot, prior, would determine the added flavoring to the coffee. My personal favorite was mashed potato flavored coffee. But, it was hot and there was plenty of it.
It is common for the soldiers to call their medic, "Doc". I kind of liked the term and even though it was against regulations, sometimes morale was a better leader.
"What time did you guys begin firing last night?", I ask no one in particular.
"About one. ", Martin replies.
"Hey doc, you got a smoke for me, man?", Jonesy, asks me.
"Sure." I reply and place my cigarette between my lips and unbutton my breast pocket to retrieve the pack. "Anyone else?" I say, as I offer the pack to the others.
"Naw, we're good." Is the response of a couple of the others. I don't know the others in the tent as this is not my battery that I usually cover. Sgt. Teffeau, one of the other medics in my squad is on leave, so I am covering for him when his assigned battery goes out to the field for training.
I stand closer to the kerosene heater to help dry out my uniform. Steam rises from the cloth and I wonder who it was trying to kill me that weird dream.
"Hey doc, when are you gonna run sick call?", Jones asks.
"Why, you got the clap again, Jonesy?" Martin interjects.
"Fuck no, somethin' else.", Jones responds and then looks at me.
"After chow, but I can take a look now, if you want." I reply.
PFC Jones or Jonesy as he's called, is from a small town outside of Minneapolis. I don't know much about his upbringing or education, more than likely just a High School graduate, joining the Army because he had not much more than a union job at the meat packing plant like his Father or older brother. Jonesy wanted something different for himself and obviously, Field Artillery was where it was.
"Did you guys hear that Thompson came down with orders for Korea?", Martin announced.
I motion to Jones to come over and tell me about his, "problem".
"No shit? I'd hate to go there", Jonesy states walking towards me but talking over his shoulder, "The winters are just like fuckin Minnesota."
He stands in front of me. "If you could take a look at this and tell me if it's somethin' serious", he says.
I take a drag off my cigarette and watch as he begins to unbutton his pants.
"I'd rather go to Korea than Turkey. That's the worst assignment, man. There's no alcohol allowed. Religious law or something." Martin says.
I add, "And the girls are prettier." with a smirk.
Jones pulls back each flap of his trousers and pulls down his underwear, revealing his genitals. "What do you think, doc?"
I can see about six or seven lumps that look like walnuts under his skin from his hip bone to his penis, in the crease of his leg. They are very swollen lymph nodes, meaning a big time infection. He's gotten something and has ignored the symptoms.
"How long have you had these?", I look up and ask him. His chin is holding his t-shirt to his chest. looking like a small child waiting for you to zip their pants.
"I don't know, about three weeks", he replies.
"You can pull up your pants." I tell him.
As Jonesy begins to pull himself back together, Martin asks, "What's he got, doc?"
"When did the drip stop?" I ask Jonesy, ignoring Martin.
"About a week or so ago. I figured if the drip stopped it went away." Jonesy replied.
When a man contracts gonorrhea or The Clap, the bacteria attacks the urethra and causes a discharge of pus. This discharge is called "The drip" and it's associated with a severe burn with urination. I had seen thousands of cases working in the STD clinic in Korea. A shot of Bicillin also known as a silver bullet, 14 days restriction for quarantine and you're ready to hit the streets again.
"The drip stopped because the disease traveled north, into your lymphatic system. Those lumps are your lymph nodes and they are indicators that the problem did not 'go away'". I tell him. Everyone in the operations tent was now quiet and listening. I take his temperature to see if he was going septic. Systemic clap can damage the blood vessels around the heart.
His temperature was 99.4. Not too bad yet, but it told me something bad was cooking inside of PFC Jones.
"Where's Top?" I asked Martin.
"I think he's walking the gun line. Jonesy, raise Top on the landline, find out where he is and tell him the Doc needs to talk with him." Martin says.
Jonesy is looking a little worried as he should. I place my hand on his shoulder, "You'll be fine, man. Just remember in the future, the drip is your first warning that you need medical treatment. This shit does not simply go away. Just wear a rubber, man, hell, they're free!" I reassure and educate him and everyone else in the tent, for that matter.
Martin breaks the tension, "Remember what they say, 'Slip it on before you slip it in!'"
We all have a good chuckle.
"Top says he'll be here in about five Mikes, he's out at gun four.", Jonesy informs us. "Thanks", I respond, taking another sip of the caffeinated brown liquid, then crush out my cigarette. Mikes is radio speak for minutes.
"Is it supposed to rain all day?" I ask as I light another and take a deep, relaxing drag from it. I feel the nicotine course through my system and flood my brain.
"We haven't got the daily report from range control yet.", Martin answers. "They made us stop firing when it started", he adds. I begin to think about how much information I want to reveal to the First Sergeant or Top as he is affectionately called. Top enlisted man in a company or battery. Top Dog, Top of the food chain, and he earned it.
"You smoke too much, doc.", Jonesy states. "Lemme get another one from you.", he adds with a crooked toothed smile. I think, as I hand him the pack You have no idea, Jonesy.
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