Dreams soon turned back into reality, when bottles became nurses and religious rambling turned into incessant and silly chatter. I soon was disturbed from my disturbing memories by an announcement from over the PA, the usual. Of course, something I had not heard in some hours and it was always the most stressed-filled one of all.
"Attention, attention, all personnel, attention! It's oh seven hundred hours and we've got a large load from the front. Incoming wounded!"
Immediately (as it was before many times, dedicated as we all are), the nurses and others in the tent, who had stopped their giggling and fooling around by the time the announcement came on, dropped everything to tend to business. I got up as quickly as the others (the last one out, as usual) and ran right out the door along with them, ignoring it as one of them slammed it right into my face, knocking me backwards and leaving yet another few hundred marks on my nose and forehead.
What difference did that make? It's not like I've had worse. Daddy was pretty bad.
I usually had the door in my face, stupid me, and I should have anticipated it, even if the nurses were polite enough to leave it open for me (and this being two weeks after I've been dropped off in Korea too). I mean, I had not taken it into account because we're all in a hurry to help the wounded, but as time went on and the wounded kept pouring in, I swear I could almost taste the door to my mouth each and every time. Sometimes, it was even at random times, especially when I was doing nothing or even standing for hours in an OR session or in Post-Op. Once, I even tasted it in the Mess Tent, which seemed better than the food itself (the coffee included). It was a strange sensation, this taste of a tent door. It made me laugh every time too, but I tried to be serious, especially when I was working on the compound.
Besides, I didn't want Major Houlihan giving me one of her evil looks again. I swear, if looks could kill, Major Houlihan would be great at it and have a million dead by now.
As I pushed opened the door and ran out again, to help Henry Blake (the nearest doctor to me, ironically enough), I thought about that irritation, something always in the back of my mind. Then, I was called to help Major Frank Burns (Henry pushing me in that direction and then going in another), the local camp Army brat that can't sew his way out of his tent (as said by Hawkeye Pierce a week ago, something I agreed with). As I assisted him with a wounded corporal (at least nineteen years old and not shaving yet), I remembered that nagging feeling, trying to balance it with my sense of duty and obligation.
Was it because of being new here? Or am I somehow different from everyone else? Could it be the rumors, which always follow me everywhere I go?
That was everyone was telling me: Henry, Major Houlihan and even Radar, when once I asked him, sitting across from me in the Mess Tent (the only person who would sit with me half the time), why everyone was giving me a cold shoulder. Well, I think Radar is the only person in the camp who would talk to me anyhow (it was appreciated because I could not confine myself to pure loneliness). He told me the truth in everything and knew all of the gossip and whatnot around the camp in his backhanded sort of way, even though it was worded in different ways. He also invited me to eavesdrop on Henry in his office once in a while, which is always fun.
This thought process got me through the initial look-over of wounded soldiers and carried me to Pre-Op and the OR as well. Washing and then dressing in my best white gown for surgery (and sometimes feeling like a horrible KKK member, all in white, and making me shudder), I nipped at my lip, which had suddenly become a new activity for me. True, I had always been that shy, quiet creature. My thin figure had given others thinking that I was a shadow. Even when I tried to speak, I was often drowned out in a sea of noise, usually in the form of our obnoxious and best doctors, Hawkeye Pierce and Trapper McIntyre.
It had been the same way since I was small and jumping at dust bunnies at my father's home, when I had to spent time with him. It's been like that since I was bouncing from one grade school to the next, moving five times or more a year until I was ten years old. Even when I was in nursing school did this happen, away from Bloomington and running around in Boston. Even after I accepted the notice to go to West Germany, a mere few years ago, before the war here in Korea even started, did I become that shadow (except to one special person who I tried to not think about). Indeed, it had seemed that the world, even Henry Blake (who hasn't really seen me since, I don't know, 1941 or so, except finding me flopped on his couch or in a bedroom with one of his daughters), didn't wish to hear about little old me, Jeanie Morrison.
"Move it, Captain! We have wounded in there!" Major Houlihan had caught me again, merely thinking and spacing as I was dressed and staring at the door of the OR, not noticing Hawkeye and Trapper rudely imitating Frank Burns behind his back (not to mention, making obscene gestures).
I didn't mean it. It had been the second time in a week (well, this week) since I was caught in such a state and it gave me a fright. Hell, I didn't mean the response to Major Houlihan either. I think I just wanted to make up for anything, but couldn't really think of anything because I was very startled by being caught acting stupid once more.
"I-I-I'm s-s-so s-s-s-sorry, Major," I said with a salute, making sure not to make contact with anything because I was gloved.
Although the genuine salute was ignored, I knew the words had been heard. The apology was accepted and that was all that mattered to me, I guess. The major's nod of approval to this was proof enough, but she had turned away quickly. It made me wonder what the hell was wrong with me. It then went to the thought of superior beings in the Army, who demanded the world and then some. I wasn't perfect as an officer, I knew, but those above me had it all and would use it to their advantage.
Damn those ranking officers, I thought, not for the first time. Who actually cares about them anyway? I may have been promoted to captain in West Germany, but I didn't earn the respect from others or for myself because I was not serious enough. Well, I never really commanded it nor received it anyhow. It's a joke. Even in West Germany, I thought it was a gag and never pulled rank. I had superior officers, but I was in command of many little minions who were liked friends. And the minions, while listening to me…well, laughed and talked because of what I did, drinking and screwing around. Even the woman spies under me laughed. Staying in contact with each other has been keeping us safe though, as sure as the person who used to command us all.
Trying not to laugh upon hearing Trapper and Hawkeye trying to insult Frank Burns (they always banter back and forth before Henry tells them to shut it or Major Houlihan complains enough), I went into the OR, more thoughts coming forward fast. Before I knew it, I was helping Hawkeye this time and not Frank Burns (an ass, as always) or Henry (who was pretty easy to deal with under the tension, believe it or not), who commented on something I didn't catch before Major Houlihan told him to start respecting her nurses.
No, I am noticed here. It is just that nobody wishes to know about me, the nurse who was a spy and turned back into a nurse. Yes, that's it!
I thought the possible real reason about my anomalous figure here. It seemed to be an obsession with me: to figure out why I'm not well liked here or even welcomed. At least it kept me from going crazy in this place, about three miles from the fighting, and had me concentrating on my job and not the possible fighting going on so close to us.
"Clamp, Nurse!" Hawkeye called out to me.
As I handed the instrument over, I struggled not to sit and ponder why I was nothing here. Or anywhere else in this world, I thought bitterly as another shout for another instrument passed into my ears. I moved quickly and passed on whatever Hawkeye wanted.
Finally, after what seemed like days (months, sometimes, because time was so slow here), one child soldier was finished and another came in, younger-looking than the last. I then went into another table when that one was done, this time with Trapper, who just waved me over immediately, giving me orders as the soldier was stripped and checked for booby-traps and other dangerous objects before being put under. Apparently, he had already come in with an unexploded grenade in his pant leg pocket and was being checked once more. Klinger, the camp crossdresser, came in next to me and did the check again, carefully finding another and tossing it out the window, watching it explode in the minefield outside.
I passed a busy Henry Blake before helping Trapper. He gave me the perfect fatherly eye when nobody was watching (of course irritated, but always worrying about me, for some odd reason), reminding me, in so many words and hand motions, that later, he wanted to talk to me about something. I knew that look from anywhere, as I had known him for so long, but that certain order would have to wait. It was, as time demanded, after such obligations to the war had been fulfilled and he knew that.
I didn't mind it as such except when Henry was being a jerk and being over-protective or telling me what to do, like when I was still a teenager and drinking so much. Indeed, I miss those real conversations with Henry. He used to sit me down and discuss everything with me, even argued with me (still!) about me running away, wondering why I took an Army career much earlier than most people instead of watching for some draft notice. Since he is busier than ever before (even with Radar handing him papers to sign without him noticing a thing about what they're all about), I usually cherish those moments and try to remember them without wanting to kill him the other times. They are rare indeed.
"Sponge, Nurse, and get a move on it!"
And there was Trapper, yelling at me to help save another life as we got to work, spaceless moments later. I handed him what he needed, always on the alert to do something, and pondering once more about Henry and not my sad situation at the camp for once. I would listen more for what Trapper needed and work with my misery.
To be honest, I always used to think that, after I was reunited with my longtime "father figure", Henry, that everything might be fine. I thought that Henry would at least talk to me more, seeing as how he was pissed about me heading off to Europe after the last war and falling in love and being with people who did not matter. As always, for him there was the command post to exercise, especially with a bunch of rowdy, if not dedicated, staff here. And, with Majors Houlihan and Burns always going over his head, Henry has a lot more to deal with than just a bunch of adults, acting as children, trying to keep sane in this insane war.
Radar has been the friendliest face for the first weeks I've been at the 4077th and he's been the only one who talks to me, like I mentioned before. It was a miracle indeed that I found Radar to talk to. And with him around I can easily talk with the other doctors with more confidence, if they noticed me at all (rarely), because the company clerk warns me about their moods and such and what to expect, like he was their servant and worshipper. I take them in stride and talk about patients to them at the most appropriate times, and then walk away, back to work. It's as simple as that. Socializing isn't really a thing with me except when I was comfortable, especially seeing as how it seems almost pushy for me to make the first move and I seem too blunt for many people.
It is funny too, as Radar has no confidence himself as well. He's so much younger than we all are mentally and physically (eighteen going on ten sometimes, I think) and he seems older than his years, especially when he has responsibility on his shoulders. His teddy bear, unnamed and kept at his cot, is adorable, and I always giggled at it every time I went through his sleeping space in Henry's outer office, bouncing on his small cot and playing with his bear. Even once, when I watched him sleep after my night shift, I smiled. I would always wonder how it was that someone could keep their inner child and be safe with such an object of innocence.
But reality had to come back to me sometime, even if the few comforts of this place took me to a better place and I automatically did my job. The casualties outside gave me an idea of how hectic it was going to be in OR as my daydreams ended. Trapper demanded more out of me…and somebody else with more experienced hands than mine was pushing me out again.
"Dammit, Henry, give me some help here!" Trapper yelled as blood came forth suddenly from the body. "Nurse, move out of there! Get on the other side!" He then shoved me aside with his elbows and Henry took my place and told me to help Hawkeye, who seemed to be missing from the room.
Stumbling to the other side of the table, I asked Henry dumbly, "Where is he?"
Major Houlihan sighed at me as she came over. "He's over there, Captain," she said, pointing at the door. "He's been waiting for you."
Oh, really? Was he always there, waiting for me, just like the other nurses? Was he ready to pounce at me when the time was appropriate?
I was sorely tempted to reply back to Major Houlihan as such tone (sarcastic and in an acidic tone, no doubt about it), but decided not to. It's enough that she hates me already and, being an Army brat, she'll try to go over Henry's head and get me on bed arrest (she tried that with Nurse Baker already, failing miserably in the process). Worse is tent arrest, which means I'll have to be isolated alone in a tent, without the nurses, and never come out for anything except emergencies like the wounded or the latrine.
Well, I might welcome that, despite everything…
What will these doctors have up their sleeves today? I thought and not for the first time, as Hawkeye claimed me once more and motioned me to the next table with the next solider, telling me to get new gloves before beginning. What sort of miracles are they to perform today? There is so much to consider and so little time to save these lives.