The colonel gave me a few days off and I spent them in my tent. My mind raced with all that had happened that day and my thoughts swirled around and around until it had almost driven me insane.

So, I thought to myself, this is what it's like to crack. I almost felt ashamed at myself, but somehow I knew it was going to happen anyway. I had put up such a wall that it was just begging to be demolished.

And it had. This was the part I had read about in my psychology classes where the patient is the most emotional, the most vulnerable and I sure felt it. Any time my thoughts wandered, I found myself crying. I could think about anything: Hawkeye, BJ, the soldiers on those tables, blood, scalpels, anything and I would break down and cry.

I spent three days in my tent, barely eating the food Radar placed gingerly on my bedside table. I guess the camp was able to get along without me for a few days and I was grateful for the break, but I was wondering what they were going to do with me. Would they send me home? Would they treat me here or in Tokyo? Or, worse, would they ship me to another unit?

After the third day of tears and terror, a light knock on my door brought me out of my stupor. "Come in Radar," I said, not looking forward to seeing his worried face or the tray of food he would try to get me to eat.

But instead of Radar, another face poked through my door.

"I could go back and put on an oversized uniform and glasses if you would prefer," he said casually.

I smiled for the first time in three days. "Come on in, Sydney."

He pushed the door aside and stepped into my tent. "Some quality quarters you've got here, Linda."

"It helps when your roommate doesn't want to be seen with you," I replied. "More room to spread out." I sat up onto my pillows. "But I'm sure you've come to talk to me about that, as well as other things."

"Would you mind if we did talk?"

"I'd love it," I replied, gesturing to a chair by the bed. "You'd be the first person in three days to come in here without acting like I had typhoid."

He sat down and looked at me. It was hard to have him looking at you and not feel like he was analyzing everything, like every crease in your face had a meaning so significant that he had to memorize it. It was discomforting but, at the same time, I liked the attention.

"Tell me about what happened in OR the other day," he said.

"Didn't BJ or Hawkeye tell you?" I asked, feeling the wounds open up again and feeling the tears in my eyes.

"Yeah, but they're lousy story tellers. Besides, I'd like to hear your side of it."

I sighed. "I was trying to keep this young kid named Dennis Martin from dying and I seemed to be the only one who cared about it. Everyone else was numb."

"Like the way you used to be?" he asked kindly. "I seemed to remember a young nurse at a poker game gushing about how much she loved to be a nurse."

"I guess," I said. "I used to look at a kid lying on the table and just see the cuts, the bruises, or the wounds. But when I looked down and saw his face, heard him whimper like that, said his name, I just couldn't stand it."

"You know, Linda, I see this a lot in these units. In fact, I see a lot of this with all doctors and nurses. There's a point where you find the reality and you can't just block it out anymore."

"Do they ever get better?" I asked, worried for the first time that my career may be in jeopardy.

He smiled and put his hand reassuringly on mine. "Yes. And they are able to go on with their lives with the knowledge that their skills brought that person back from the dead. They know that, instead of just sewing up a wound, they saved a human being."

"How can I get there?" I asked hurriedly. "I can't keep doing this, this crying alone whenever I even think about blood. I'm a nurse and I have to nurse someone or else I'm of no use here."

"All you have to do is give yourself time to readjust to this place."

"Are you kidding?" I asked. "It took me this long to adjust the first time. How can I do it all over again before another batch of wounded comes through?"

"It won't take as long, I promise," he said. "Besides, if the army intelligence is right, you have a few days of quiet before you're down in the trenches again."

"So, how do I do it?"

"You start by getting dressed and meeting me outside in five minutes," he said, getting out of the chair. "We're going for a little stroll."

He walked out of the tent without another word. Before my words of protest could form in my mouth, he was outside. I laughed and shook my head, getting slowly out of my bed and dressing.

Where are we going to go? I asked myself. I thought of the times BJ had taken me to the grove to help me through my hard times.

BJ...he must think I am so weak, I thought. I didn't want to face him again after what had happened. That day was so full of emotions: hate, anger, sadness, frustration. I couldn't help but think of all he had done for me and how I had repaid him. I'll make it up to him when I can, I thought, and that made me feel better.

I walked outside to a cold breeze that I didn't expect. The spring days that I had begun to get used to were slowly drifting away. I had heard about how hard the winters were and made a mental note to accumulate as many layers of clothing as I could before the snows came.

Sydney smiled as I left my tent. "You look better already," he said. He put a hand on my back and began to guide me.

"Sydney, are we going in there?" I asked, pointing towards post-op.

"Yes we are, Linda," he said. "We're going to go see what a great job you've been doing here."

Before I had time to protest, he pushed the door open and walked me inside. My eyes immediately went to BJ and Hawkeye, both of whom looked up and smiled at me.

"How are you doing, Tiger?" Hawkeye asked, hanging a chart back on its hook and walking over to Sydney and me.

"I'm hanging in there," I said quietly. My eyes darted to BJ. He had dropped his gaze back to his patient, but his face was noticeably brighter.

I had to smile at that.

"Is our friend able to talk?" Sydney asked Hawkeye. Hawkeye nodded.

"He's been aquiver with anticipation, Sydney," he said. He smiled and Sydney guided me again to the foot of one of the beds.

I looked down and saw Dennis Martin smiling back at me, a bandage on his neck the only sign that anything was amiss.

"How are you doing, Dennis?" I asked, shocked at how I had jumped from a frightened girl back to a nurse.

"I'm doing great, ma'am," he said with a slight twinge of a southern accent. "I'd jump up and give you a kiss if the doctor hadn't told me I couldn't."

"He's right, you need your rest and to keep your neck stable for a while." I left the feel of Sydney's hand on my back and sat at a chair beside his bed.

"I remember it all," he said suddenly. "I remember being so scared and all that blood was gushin' out of me. Then you were there and you comforted me, made me hopeful that I would live. Well, you saved my life."

"It's all in a day's work," I replied. I looked up at Hawkeye and Sydney and they smiled as they walked towards the door. "So where are you from, Dennis?"