January 20th, 1915
I folded the newspaper I had received this morning at the beginning of my shift. There was so much going on in the world, and I wanted to know all about it, so I was reading when I had time. Which was almost never.
I still hadn't replied to my father. I just couldn't force myself to do it. Deep down, I knew that was wrong, and mean. But I couldn't start a fight over letters. I had replied to Dr. Greenberg, telling him that I would be coming with Piper. As for Chiron, I had answered him too. I caught him up on how I was doing, and then tried to reassure him that Clarisse and Luke would be fine. It was like I was trying to convince the both of us. Truthfully, I didn't know what was going to happen to either of them.
I had done two major surgeries today—both involved taking bullets out of limbs. The soldiers would recover with ease. They had been moved to the top level of the C.C.S. and would stay there until someone cleared them to go back to fighting or to be moved to a permanent hospital. It was a funny circle of life here at war.
On January 12th, the U.S. House of Representatives rejects proposal to give women right to vote. I had groaned when I read that. When were they going to realize that women were just as good as men? That women weren't just meant to be cooking in the kitchen? Meanwhile, Russia moved in to occupy Bukovina & Western Ukraine on the 17th of January, which was good. And yesterday, there was a German zeppelin attack over Great Britain. The very first one. I bit my lip. I was to be visiting in about a month, and now there was more of a danger. At least here I wasn't being threatened.
"Dr. Chase! Dr. Castor! Dr. Treavel!" One of the nurses yelled up the staircase. I hurried down the steps and began with the routine: putting on gloves and a mask, then taking a look at the patient.
Piper started her assessment without me needing to tell her. "He's unconscious and has got shrapnel wounds in his chest cavity, I think they might be close to his heart considering the blood loss. There's a nasty cut on his head, needing stitches, and well, you see his leg."
I nodded. I did see his right leg. It was blackened and charred from the mid shin down. I knew, without a doubt, that it would have to be removed. I hated this part of my job.
"Okay." I said, seeing the blood loss on his clothes. "Do you know his blood type?"
Piper checked the papers that had arrived with him. "B negative."
"Start an IV to his arm and then begin to remove the shrapnel from his chest. Get one of the other nurses to stitch up the lad's head here." I pointed. "I'll handle the leg."
Keeping to myself, I made a tourniquet right above where I would be cutting. It would lower the blood circulation to his deformed foot and shin. As I sterilized the area of cutting, I assured myself that nothing else could be done for the poor soldier. He would never walk again if he kept his wound the way it was. I was giving him another chance at normalcy, to a certain extent.
By now, Piper had returned with the other nurse, her name being Katie Stoll. Around her neck was a chain with a wedding ring on it. Married. I picked up the weighty saw and told Nurse Stoll to give him some chloroform before I began. It would not do for him to way up during surgery, especially this one. He was going to be in enough pain when it was over.
Then, I began to cut.
I tried to think of other things, I really did. But nothing worked. My method of this type of surgery was different than others. I didn't try to hack at the limb, knowing that would only cause more damage. I cut slanted from the top and the bottom, exposing the tissue and veins to the work table. He was losing blood fast. Finally, I was at the bone, and here was the worst part.
Back and forth, I sawed at the strong thickness of the Tibia, and when that went through—the smaller Fibula. I exhaled in relief when I was done with that step, and dumped the saw in a bin to be cleaned later. Just lying there was his lower leg, now not attached to the rest of his body. One of the attending boys picked it up carefully with gloved hands and gave me a brief smile of encouragement, as if to say, 'Go on. You can do it.'
I focused once more. I had to stop the bleeding.
Nurse Stoll was finished with the stitches and moved immediately to my side, soaking up the blood with a towel. While she did this, I prepared two needles. One for me: to sew together the proper veins and tissues. The other for her: to stitch up the remaining skin over the wound. In a week, it would be re-opened to take out the thread in his insides, then sewn back up for good. The black thread looked stark in contrast to the paleness of the man's leg.
This was for the best. I had to remind myself, discarding my gloves into the waste bin. Piper and Katie Stoll cleaned the man up while I wrote my brief notes. I watched as he was taken away. It was kind of sad, really. I had removed a part of him, and I didn't even know his name. But that was what protected me. If I knew every one of their names, I would only torture myself more.
Nurse Stoll was called away to assist another doctor, and yet another man was at my station, needing care. Honestly, he didn't even look alive from the way he was laying there.
Wait—was he alive?
"Piper! Check for a pulse!" I ordered. She felt his neck.
"It's just barely there! We need to start compressions!" Piper replied, not an inch of panic in her voice.
I initiated instantly. This was strange. He didn't have any external injuries that I could see, just that his heart rate was decreasing steadily. There was no time to think though. What was I supposed to do? Just get him breathing. After thirty compressions and two pumps of air, Piper and I heaved the great man onto his side, so he could puke, if that was blocking his airway.
His vomit spewed onto the floor, and I didn't care. He still wasn't conscious. I began compressions again.
"Come on." I muttered to him. After thirty more compressions and two pumps of air, he regained his breathing, though still asleep. Piper wiped his mouth off, rinsing it with water as I took a deep breath.
"What's wrong with him?" I asked.
"Didn't you see his back when we turned him over?" Piper asked.
"No. I was a bit busy trying to get him to breath." I countered. It was a little rude, but I was getting angry with myself for not noticing.
Piper narrowed her eyes at me, "It's covered in shrapnel. Big pieces, too."
I nodded complacently. We decided to turn him on his side again, so that I could check the damage. It wasn't good in the slightest. The largest shards of shrapnel were imbedded in the bulky man's back.
"We have to remove these." I said. There was one, however, that I wasn't sure about. It was lodged directly in the center of his lower back. How could I get that out without inflicting more damage?
As Piper and I pulled out as many pieces as possible, the biggest one in our future loomed, mocking me. Just as we were getting to it though, a groan from our patient was heard.
I rushed around to his front so I could hear him better.
"How are you feeling, soldier?" I asked.
"Like hell." Was his reply.
"Tell me your name." I ordered, immediately checking his papers to make sure he got it right.
"Beckendorf. Charles Beckendorf." Beckendorf claimed. He was correct. "My stomach really hurts."
I met Piper's eyes. It wasn't his stomach, necessarily. It was the shrapnel shard that had stabbed him in the back, probably extending all the way to his stomach region.
"We have to remove it." I told Piper quietly. We laid him flat on his chest this time, and then got to exposing the shrapnel piece. I realized I couldn't do this alone.
"I need another doctor!" I shouted painfully loud. I tried to ignore the fact that Beckendorf was still conscious. But he didn't make a sound of discomfort. Not one.
Dr. Castor appeared at my side in moments. Despite being a little chauvinistic towards me at the beginning, Castor now treated me as an equal.
"That's not a pretty picture." Castor mumbled. Together, we cut into Beckendorf's back, and started to slide the shrapnel out. Blood started to gush out of the wound as soon as it was gone. I pressed a towel to the entry point, but it was soon stained crimson.
"It must have nicked something." I murmured. "What do we do?"
"Turn him over and have a look from the front?" Castor offered.
So we did. His stomach was swelling quickly, and I understood what was happening. All of us did. His stomach was filling with blood. But before I could do anything, Beckendorf grabbed my hand, gripping it tightly.
"I know that look—" he sputtered, trying to tell me something. It was becoming harder and harder for him to talk and breath. "There's nothing you can do—Find Silena—promise me. Tell her I love her, yes?"
I nodded solemnly. Piper took the soldier's other hand.
Beckendorf continued, "She—she's German. In Berlin." He coughed. "She's not like the rest of them." My eyes were beginning to fill with unshed tears.
"I love her."
His labored breath drew quiet. His hand grew limp.
Castor crossed himself and then slid his fingers over Charles Beckendorf's lifeless eyes. With a shaking breath, I regained my composure. The three of us cleaned up his large body in silence, then place a sheet over him. I finished his report as they carried him away to be buried in the town's cemetery.
I promised him I would find his love, Silena, for him. In a small box, I placed his dog tags of identification, a wedding ring, and a small photograph of a woman. I assumed she was the one I would be finding. I made a promise, and I intended to keep it.
Later, I found out that Beckendorf had received his fatal wounds from jumping on top of one of his fellow soldiers, his back taking the brunt of the artillery explosion. He had died a hero, and there were only a few of us who knew it.
It wasn't fair. I knew that coming into this war. It couldn't possibly be fair. Not with the evil in this world. I had prepared myself for facing death in every corner, but this was the first man to die on my table. To die right in front of me. And I couldn't do a thing to stop it.
It was times like this where I had to pull myself away from my emotions. It was the only way I would survive this hell.
I dismissed Piper, "Piper, you may take a leave for a few hours."
She nodded and took the pile of bloodied towels to the laundry room. Castor patted my shoulder awkwardly before shuffling away. The next patient was laid upon my newly sterilized table. I had to begin again.
There was no rest for the weary.