anh hùng
It was raining. Big, fat, dark droplets of rain poured down relentlessly, painting the world in a blurry shade of gray. The sky was unforgivingly black and murky without even a slight trace of a cloud.
I’ve only seen two kinds of rain so far in Vietnam. Rain that forebodes catastrophe and rain of hopelessness and surrender. This was the latter.
Droplets were pounding down from the dark sky, steadily pooling up into trenches, soaking into camouflage patterned trousers. They mixed with red on the ground to form puddles of a pretty shade of rose.
I stood there for a moment, a plastic box gripped tightly in my trembling hands. Slowly the world turned quiet and I shut my eyes tightly, forcing my feet to move forward step by step. Suddenly, a harsh nudge to my shoulder woke me from my state and I swiveled around in surprise. I almost cried in relief to see a familiar face in all the mess of terror and chaos.
Marsha Four was my mentor, my companion, and safe haven. I stared up at her with a blank face, barely able to make out her words. My brain then began to catch up as she yelled, “Claire! Claire! You can’t be here like this!” With these words, she shook me and hurried away to attend to the next soldier. Marsha worked fast, her hands were deft and her state of mind was always controlled.
I stumbled to the Hue Central Hospital and weaved through the cots laying on the ground. My loud panting and footsteps were drowned out by the moans and cries of all of the men crammed in the tiny building. I looked around for Grace Moore, one of the oldest and more experienced nurses. As I swiveled my head, I caught a glimpse of the familiar blonde locks that stood out against the homogenous gray. I ran over to her and handed her the plastic kit. Dark eye bags drooped down from Grace’s eyes as she took the kit from me. She quickly mouthed “thanks” before hurriedly attending the bed-ridden soldier next to her.
She wasn’t the only one wearing dark circles, disheveled hair, tattered clothes, and a battered face. We were all tired. We were all beaten up although it had only been 7 weeks since arriving in Vietnam.
After a grueling day of work, I started my night shift preparing supplies for the next day. I was in the storage room looking for plaster gauzes and safety syringes when suddenly I found myself falling in empty, dark space. After what seemed like a second, I was back in the storage room, or so I thought. It looked a lot like the storage room I was just in but something seemed off. White paint was peeling off the walls and the shelves were unnaturally shorter. I couldn’t even find the safety syringes that were always to the left of the door.
I stumbled out the doors, ambling nonchalantly to locate the storage room. But After roaming around the building, I came across a sign that read “volunteer for Vietnam, help those in need, YOU can help change 1968.
It was then that I realized I was in the year 1968 and somehow, I got swept into a group of women who had all volunteered to become combat nurses in the Vietnam war.
After my day in 1968 ended, I found out that I transported back into 2020 only to start the day all over again in New York. My routine consisted of the same in New York: prepare bedding, packaging specific medication for the next day, individually check each room assigned under my name, and set up the next batch of medical supplies in each waiting room.
Throughout the next couple of weeks, I found myself facing two different lives; one moment I was battling a virus, and the other, battling war.
All the nurses were forced to adjust to grueling work hours here in Vietnam. I worked twelve-hour shifts six days a week and when a mass casualty incident occurred, those twelve-hour shifts turned into twenty-four-hour shifts. Because I was young and a new nurse, I had it a lot easier than my mentors. My mentors never complained, no one ever quit and returned home although at any point we were allowed to go back. I found myself becoming so frustrated, tired, and angry at my situation but I kept my mouth shut because I saw how hard-working everyone else was.
Only days into our arrival in Vietnam, soldiers were rushed to the hospital. There was a battle near the village of Dong Ha. It was a small one soldiers said, “nothing to worry about.” That explanation seemed to come quite a lot. The next three battles were all right after another and coming closer to the hospital. I became increasingly anxious as time went on. Back in New York, the coronavirus was taking more and more lives of people at an alarming pace. Here in Vietnam, unprecedented defeats of the US brought the North Vietnam troops closer and closer.
Because I started worrying so much, Marsha brought me with her whenever she visited nearby villages. She insisted that I meet the people living nearby.
When she visited the villages, she regularly checked up on the children, the elderly, and the poor. For the next 2 months of our stay at Hue, I quickly grew close to the children and people there. I found out there was a lot I could learn from the culture in Vietnam. At first, I didn’t expect much, the food, language, the climate, time period, and the people were all different than my life back in New York.
However, my first encounter with the people in Vietnam was so endearing. As soon as little kids saw Marsha and other nurses, they ran to us with little toys tightly clasped in their hands. They were a little shy of me but I quickly became friends with them; they reminded me so much of the little kids I worked with back in New York.
The whole village was welcoming. Despite the times of hardships, everyone was so kind. Everyone was happy, giving, caring, and selfless. I prayed that war would never touch the villagers here. We were in a shortage of food, but the people still shared with each other and cared for each other. I learned to love, to care, to make sacrifices for others, and to stay positive.
When I wasn’t visiting the villagers of Hue, I spent my days in the hospital talking to soldiers. Some talked on and on about their wonderful life back at home. Some cried all day and night; they cried themselves to sleep, cried in their traumatic dreams, and then cried themselves awake. Some got angry and caused a ruckus more times than I could count. Others didn’t want to eat, sleep, drink, or live because they were in constant torture by living.
Jake Miller was a soldier I learned to like over time. When he was first admitted into the hospital, his wounds were so bad that I couldn’t look at him without feeling my stomach spin and turn. He was one of the soldiers who had always caused a ruckus. Whenever he seemed to do better, he would be stubborn and injure himself more. Nurses often left his cot frustrated because he would never cooperate. When I started talking to Jake he ignored me, but over time, he slowly opened up.
One night, I found myself in a very deep and long conversation with him. He peacefully talked about his dreams for the future. He wanted to live a long and peaceful life with his fiance. He wanted kids and he wanted to live on a small farm with his own big family. I quietly sat next to him as he told me more stories. We laughed together over his stories and I told him more about myself. When it became very late at night, I told him that he should get more rest.
As I left his cot, I heard him say that he was sorry for causing so much trouble and that he was thankful for the nurses and doctors.
Jake Miller passed away that night in his sleep.
Off to my right, I saw nurses and doctors all huddled together in deep conversation. Confused, I ran over to them and asked him what had happened. A soldier replied, “there's been a massacre at the village of Hue.”
Faces were bloated, purple, or blown into little bits. These innocent people were all brutally murdered. Infants, pregnant moms, fathers, grandparents, little children. Murdered without a hint of mercy.
The once homely and happy villager of Hue was now buried under death and war.
[The actual battle of Hue lasted for more than 26 days. Around 2800 to 6000 people died during that time. The Viet cong shot down anyone they saw. There were no exceptions. During the months and years that followed, dozens of mass graves were discovered in and around Huế. “The Republic of Vietnam released a list of 4,062 victims identified as having been either murdered or abducted. Victims were found bound, tortured, and sometimes buried alive. Many victims were also clubbed to death. It’s reported that around eight nurses died in Vietnam.”
It was so unfortunate that citizens of America were hostile to those who had served in Vietnam. Many nurses themselves had PTSD and trauma from their difficult experience as a combat nurse. I wrote this story wanting to honor those who serve others and make big sacrifices. The title means “hero” in Vietnamese.]
I’ve only seen two kinds of rain so far in Vietnam. Rain that forebodes catastrophe and rain of hopelessness and surrender. This was the latter.
Droplets were pounding down from the dark sky, steadily pooling up into trenches, soaking into camouflage patterned trousers. They mixed with red on the ground to form puddles of a pretty shade of rose.
I stood there for a moment, a plastic box gripped tightly in my trembling hands. Slowly the world turned quiet and I shut my eyes tightly, forcing my feet to move forward step by step. Suddenly, a harsh nudge to my shoulder woke me from my state and I swiveled around in surprise. I almost cried in relief to see a familiar face in all the mess of terror and chaos.
Marsha Four was my mentor, my companion, and safe haven. I stared up at her with a blank face, barely able to make out her words. My brain then began to catch up as she yelled, “Claire! Claire! You can’t be here like this!” With these words, she shook me and hurried away to attend to the next soldier. Marsha worked fast, her hands were deft and her state of mind was always controlled.
I stumbled to the Hue Central Hospital and weaved through the cots laying on the ground. My loud panting and footsteps were drowned out by the moans and cries of all of the men crammed in the tiny building. I looked around for Grace Moore, one of the oldest and more experienced nurses. As I swiveled my head, I caught a glimpse of the familiar blonde locks that stood out against the homogenous gray. I ran over to her and handed her the plastic kit. Dark eye bags drooped down from Grace’s eyes as she took the kit from me. She quickly mouthed “thanks” before hurriedly attending the bed-ridden soldier next to her.
She wasn’t the only one wearing dark circles, disheveled hair, tattered clothes, and a battered face. We were all tired. We were all beaten up although it had only been 7 weeks since arriving in Vietnam.
~~
Freshly graduated from nursing school, I was bubbling with excitement to start working at Mount Sinai Medical Center in New York. I was looking forward to starting 2020 with great luck. However, my life at the hospital quickly turned into grueling shifts of work. My days turned into weeks and then months as I became immersed in consecutive training workshops and overnight shifts. Due to the coronavirus, the staff at the medical center was short and everyone was swamped in busy work hours.After a grueling day of work, I started my night shift preparing supplies for the next day. I was in the storage room looking for plaster gauzes and safety syringes when suddenly I found myself falling in empty, dark space. After what seemed like a second, I was back in the storage room, or so I thought. It looked a lot like the storage room I was just in but something seemed off. White paint was peeling off the walls and the shelves were unnaturally shorter. I couldn’t even find the safety syringes that were always to the left of the door.
I stumbled out the doors, ambling nonchalantly to locate the storage room. But After roaming around the building, I came across a sign that read “volunteer for Vietnam, help those in need, YOU can help change 1968.
It was then that I realized I was in the year 1968 and somehow, I got swept into a group of women who had all volunteered to become combat nurses in the Vietnam war.
~~
I vividly remember the first couple of days in Vietnam. It was blisteringly hot. It felt like water was seeping out of every pore in my body. With my short hair plastered all over my neck and my thick uniform drenched in sweat, I silently walked behind the crowd of medical staff all eager to reach the hospital. I was itching to take my clothes off and jump to the nearest pool of water but I patiently kept up the pace while admiring the resilience radiating off the nurses next to me.After my day in 1968 ended, I found out that I transported back into 2020 only to start the day all over again in New York. My routine consisted of the same in New York: prepare bedding, packaging specific medication for the next day, individually check each room assigned under my name, and set up the next batch of medical supplies in each waiting room.
Throughout the next couple of weeks, I found myself facing two different lives; one moment I was battling a virus, and the other, battling war.
All the nurses were forced to adjust to grueling work hours here in Vietnam. I worked twelve-hour shifts six days a week and when a mass casualty incident occurred, those twelve-hour shifts turned into twenty-four-hour shifts. Because I was young and a new nurse, I had it a lot easier than my mentors. My mentors never complained, no one ever quit and returned home although at any point we were allowed to go back. I found myself becoming so frustrated, tired, and angry at my situation but I kept my mouth shut because I saw how hard-working everyone else was.
Only days into our arrival in Vietnam, soldiers were rushed to the hospital. There was a battle near the village of Dong Ha. It was a small one soldiers said, “nothing to worry about.” That explanation seemed to come quite a lot. The next three battles were all right after another and coming closer to the hospital. I became increasingly anxious as time went on. Back in New York, the coronavirus was taking more and more lives of people at an alarming pace. Here in Vietnam, unprecedented defeats of the US brought the North Vietnam troops closer and closer.
Because I started worrying so much, Marsha brought me with her whenever she visited nearby villages. She insisted that I meet the people living nearby.
When she visited the villages, she regularly checked up on the children, the elderly, and the poor. For the next 2 months of our stay at Hue, I quickly grew close to the children and people there. I found out there was a lot I could learn from the culture in Vietnam. At first, I didn’t expect much, the food, language, the climate, time period, and the people were all different than my life back in New York.
However, my first encounter with the people in Vietnam was so endearing. As soon as little kids saw Marsha and other nurses, they ran to us with little toys tightly clasped in their hands. They were a little shy of me but I quickly became friends with them; they reminded me so much of the little kids I worked with back in New York.
The whole village was welcoming. Despite the times of hardships, everyone was so kind. Everyone was happy, giving, caring, and selfless. I prayed that war would never touch the villagers here. We were in a shortage of food, but the people still shared with each other and cared for each other. I learned to love, to care, to make sacrifices for others, and to stay positive.
When I wasn’t visiting the villagers of Hue, I spent my days in the hospital talking to soldiers. Some talked on and on about their wonderful life back at home. Some cried all day and night; they cried themselves to sleep, cried in their traumatic dreams, and then cried themselves awake. Some got angry and caused a ruckus more times than I could count. Others didn’t want to eat, sleep, drink, or live because they were in constant torture by living.
Jake Miller was a soldier I learned to like over time. When he was first admitted into the hospital, his wounds were so bad that I couldn’t look at him without feeling my stomach spin and turn. He was one of the soldiers who had always caused a ruckus. Whenever he seemed to do better, he would be stubborn and injure himself more. Nurses often left his cot frustrated because he would never cooperate. When I started talking to Jake he ignored me, but over time, he slowly opened up.
One night, I found myself in a very deep and long conversation with him. He peacefully talked about his dreams for the future. He wanted to live a long and peaceful life with his fiance. He wanted kids and he wanted to live on a small farm with his own big family. I quietly sat next to him as he told me more stories. We laughed together over his stories and I told him more about myself. When it became very late at night, I told him that he should get more rest.
As I left his cot, I heard him say that he was sorry for causing so much trouble and that he was thankful for the nurses and doctors.
Jake Miller passed away that night in his sleep.
~~
After handing Grace her plastic kit, I rushed out of the building. There was a sudden influx of soldiers arriving at the hospital. Some soldiers were carrying other soldiers, while some were carrying citizens. Why were there citizens? Shouldn’t war zones try to stay away from villages? There weren’t that many villages around the hospital in the first place.Off to my right, I saw nurses and doctors all huddled together in deep conversation. Confused, I ran over to them and asked him what had happened. A soldier replied, “there's been a massacre at the village of Hue.”
~~
Heaps of bodies became one big stretch of land as they covered the entire village of Hua. Walking down the street, I could only stare in shock and horror as the stench of death strung from the air. Bodies had been left untouched for days because we had to wait for the Viet Cong to retreat.Faces were bloated, purple, or blown into little bits. These innocent people were all brutally murdered. Infants, pregnant moms, fathers, grandparents, little children. Murdered without a hint of mercy.
The once homely and happy villager of Hue was now buried under death and war.
end
[The actual battle of Hue lasted for more than 26 days. Around 2800 to 6000 people died during that time. The Viet cong shot down anyone they saw. There were no exceptions. During the months and years that followed, dozens of mass graves were discovered in and around Huế. “The Republic of Vietnam released a list of 4,062 victims identified as having been either murdered or abducted. Victims were found bound, tortured, and sometimes buried alive. Many victims were also clubbed to death. It’s reported that around eight nurses died in Vietnam.”
It was so unfortunate that citizens of America were hostile to those who had served in Vietnam. Many nurses themselves had PTSD and trauma from their difficult experience as a combat nurse. I wrote this story wanting to honor those who serve others and make big sacrifices. The title means “hero” in Vietnamese.]
I love your story of telling the Vietnam War through a nurse perspective. It gives a refreshing perspective of comfort and horror of nurses. It makes us see that nurses suffer horror and mental strain different from the soldiers on the battlefield. I like your attention to detail about the environment and make me feel like I'm back in Vietnam's sweltering heat. I do wonder why you incorporate the corona virus story? -- Maybe as a catalyst for the Vietnam story?
ReplyDeleteI love how this story ended up! you did an awesome job of pulling me into the scene and making me feel like I was there, and as claire began to make connections with soldiers and the children, it made the final scene that much more heart wrenching. The level of detail in the scenery and vidi images you create leave nothing behind. From sight, to touch, to smell, it makes me feel like i am right beside Claire living in the moment with her. I also love how we see a story of strain and persistence. These nurses are all VOLUNTEERS, yet they endure so much pain and suffering to help. It makes me thankful, especially in our situation right now, for the people who fight to keep us safe and help others risking their own lives in the process.
ReplyDeleteI find it interesting, starting the main character out in a time where there is all sorts of panic around a disease, only to bring them back to a time where the sorts of wounds 2020 doctors need to deal with are put to shame. This brings up a question of "is what is going on right now worth the mass panic it is receiving when this is what used to happen?" Obviously, we do need to be concerned, but it will be hard for that character to think of that massacre whenever she treats Corona.
ReplyDelete