USS Sanctuary AH–17 August 21, 1970.
My first visit was with a nice group of pilots at Camp Eagle. We went to their “O” club and spent time with the helicopter pilots. We were just supposed to sit and chat with them, and if they had music, we could dance. They fed us supper. When we arrived at a unit, they’d take us to the CO’s or XO’s hooch (quarters) where we would change into our dresses. We were required to be back on board the ship by 2200 because the ship would move further out from the coast and steam all night to deter any swimmers from getting near. They started gathering us up about 2130 so we could change back into our uniforms while they started up the Huey helicopter. One nurse brought perfume so I put just a few drops under the CO’s pillow. I thought the evening was very nice and wondered how I could send the men a thank-you note.
The next time there was an invite, it was to a different group at Camp Evans. I wrote a thank-you note ahead of time, applied some perfume to the note and took it with me. When we left, I put the thank-you note under the pillow. The CO contacted me and said, “Nobody has ever done that before.” I said, “You guys were really nice to us.” They fed us steaks for dinner. Every Sunday the enlisted men on the ship got steaks. The officers got steaks every second or third week. I thought it was interesting the in-country units got so many steaks.
These men got to know me because I was leaving thank-you notes every time. Then they started sending their representative out to the ship and instead of going to see the chief nurse, they would announce over the loudspeaker, “Would Lieutenant Born please report to the helo deck or the chief nurse’s office.’” They would hand me the invitation and ask me to select five girls to come ashore. I was more selective than the original five who were going all the time. I set up some rules, such as, “You have to stay in the officer’s club. You have to talk to any guy who wants to talk with you. You have to dance with anybody who asks you to dance. You have to be nice to everybody.” There were many men in the unit so you couldn’t pick just one. The guys seemed to like these rules. I said, “We’re all in a war zone. Let’s just act like ladies and not reflect poorly on the Navy Nurse Corps.”
After we had been going to these parties for a while, we got to know the men in the groups. I would start asking about the guys that were missing since they didn’t usually fly at night. I was told the men were in their hootch because they had to give up their steaks for us. They were hiding in their quarters eating K–rations. I said, “Now that’s ridiculous. I’ll share my steak. Bring the men back.” When I’d see girls who would eat two or three bites of their steak and be done with it, I’d chastise them, remind them of the men’s sacrifices for us, and let them know I didn’t like their playing games. They were surprised I’d figured out men were missing.
Sometimes I wanted to contact these pilots. When I was on the ship, I needed to get a hold of them to say “Hi” or “Thank you” or “Are we still on for Sunday night or Friday night?” or whatever. We had a MARS Radio Station on the ship which only worked after 7:00 P.M. That’s when it was the right time back in the States for families to answer their phones. You signed up to schedule when you wanted to call home. There was an E8 running the station at that time. Before starting calls to the States, he had to get on the radio at 6:00 P.M. with other in-country operators to share information or messages. You had to be careful what you said because you never gave dates, times, or locations, etc. I learned this and told him I wanted to be able to talk to some in-country friends. He said, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let you call them and I’ll show you how to do it, but I eat dinner at 6:00 P.M. So, a lot of times I have to miss my evening meal or I get there late because I have to be on the radio. You take the in-country messages and then you have until 7:00 P.M. to talk to the pilots. At 7:00 P.M. I’ll be back to start the MARs calls for everybody on the ship who wants to call home.” On the days I wasn’t working PMs, I would get on the radio. The first few times I was on, the reaction was, “Is that a skirt?” “Yes it is.” “Where are you?” “Can’t tell you. That’s classified.” I would record the messages and then speak to the COs and XOs of the different helicopter groups I’d gotten to know.
This was the beginning of Born’s Helicopter Service. Crew members would be authorized to go on R&R but were often many miles out of Da Nang with no way of getting there to catch the R&R flight. Occasionally they would miss their R&R. Sometimes they would ask to remain in Da Nang for a day or two because they were supposed to catch a flight. Other times they would just try to figure it out or try to catch the flight which brought us mail. Shipmates started learning I was in contact with pilots, so they would ask if I could arrange flights for them. I’d dial/radio somebody up and ask if they could help with transportation. The crew wanted to know how I managed this. All you had to do was be nice to the pilots and sincerely thank them.
Eventually even the chief nurse came to me and asked for assistance in catching her R&R flight. She said, “I don’t understand this. Just what do you girls do when you go ashore?” I replied we are there entertaining the guys by just being nice and sociable. We put on a dress, some jewelry and act feminine. Finally we took her in-country with us because she asked to go. It was very intriguing. I told the CO of the group we were bringing the chief nurse so he got a colonel to escort her. The colonel took her in his jeep for a tour of the camp and did a good job of entertaining her.
Then a storm came in and all of sudden word came flights were grounded. They couldn’t get us back to the ship on time. We women ended up sleeping in the CO’s quarters wherever we could find a spot. We radioed the ship to remind them five of us were in-country and wouldn’t be able to return until the storm passed. Eventually the weather started to clear and we were awakened at two or three in the morning. They wanted to get us back to the ship since it was starting a course back to Da Nang. That meant the pilot had to fly us a lot further in bad weather to join the ship than they would have normally. We were all in a situation where we were going to miss movement. I wondered how much trouble could we be in. We’ve got the chief nurse with us. We did finally get back to the ship, finished sleeping through the night, and got up to do our duties in the morning. Nothing catastrophic had happened.
Most of my pictures of Vietnam are from the air because the pilots would include us on noncombat flights. I’d get to sit in the front seat of the gunship or the light observation helicopter and view the countryside. I’d see where the mortar rounds had hit and the domed Vietnamese burial sites, which were kind of above ground but under cement.
Every 90 days the ship would go into Subic Bay, Philippines, for maintenance, repair, and restocking. The trip took two days each way. We tried to medevac out and off-load most of our patients prior to leaving Vietnam. Some patients were taken to Subic for treatment or medical evacuation from there. Since we didn’t have as much patient care to do, we did a lot of scrubbing and cleaning. The ship had two commanding officers, one for the ship and one for the hospital in the ship. When we were in Subic Bay, the hospital CO and I did a lot of dancing because I was one of the taller girls and he was over six foot. He was a talented, smooth dancer so we would enjoy the bands and singers at the Subic officers’ club.
I wanted to make fudge, but we weren’t allowed to have any cooking facilities because of safety. I got to know the ship’s captain steward. He had a hot plate where he prepared the captain’s meals. I asked, “If I bought the ingredients when we were in Subic, could I make fudge?” and he agreed. It turned out the ship’s captain could smell it. He sent a message via the steward he would not complain as long as every time he smelled fudge he found fudge on his dinner tray. Afterward I made fudge and made sure he got some.
Each officer had a safe that was part of the desk unit built into their quarters. Most kept money, valuables, or jewelry locked up. A few officers brought alcohol on board even though they knew it was illegal. Every few months we had unannounced inspections of our living quarters. The nurses were called over the lo
udspeaker to return to our quarters and stand at attention outside the door of each room. My room was on the open end of a U-shaped hall by an exit door and outside hatch. As the inspectors entered one room, someone else would be taking alcohol out of their safe and passing it down the line of all these women outside their doors. It would end up in my hands since I was the last one in line. I was supposed to sneak out the hatch and throw it overboard. I rarely drink so I got frustrated doing this. I spoke up and told the nurses, “If you’re stupid enough to bring the alcohol aboard, then take the penalty that comes with getting caught.” I was in Vietnam from January 15, 1300, 1970, to January 15, 1500, 1971.
I then returned home to Ohio and spent some time with my parents who were very supportive. I spent a lot of Christmases overseas during my career so they would just hold Christmas until I came home in January. The tree would still be up with the packages under the tree and we would celebrate Christmas in January.
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Karen went on to complete her career in the Navy and retire to San Diego, California. She continued to use all the skill she had learned in the Navy as she extended her nursing career into the civilian community.
Mary Breed
The next two accounts are very personal stories of nurses’ experiences actually on the front in Vietnam. They help the reader understand the physical and emotional situations nurses found themselves in when serving in-country during the war in Vietnam. They speak of a desire for education, nursing experience and adventure. They speak of naïveté about the war and the developing reality of the situation to each of them. They speak of love of patients, colleagues and country.
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When the Tet Offensive occurred in 1968, I was a junior at Swedish Hospital School of Nursing in Minneapolis, Minnesota. This was when the Vietnam conflict, “war,” became personal. My friend from church was killed in Da Nang. During 1968, my brother was wounded.
Because of the increasing number of casualties, the need for nurses increased and recruiters from the Navy, Army and Air Force came to all of the nursing schools in Minneapolis. My friend and I decided to join the Army to be “where the action was.” Remember, we were the Kennedy generation: “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.” I joined the Army both for personal and patriotic reasons.
Basic training at Fort Sam Houston introduced me to Army life. The lecture on triage made me realize I was not ready for Vietnam. I started out in basic training at Sam Houston where we learned to work triage. I attended a nursing school where there were no male nurses in those days. During the training at Sam Houston I learned to put foley catheters in men. We never learned to do that during my nurses’ training. There were male orderlies to do that. At Fort Sam we saw sucking chest wounds and we had to learn what to do. In those days the doctor had to be present when we hung blood. We didn’t have the same responsibilities compared to today’s nurses. But that would be different in Vietnam. Although I graduated from an excellent school of nursing, I rarely saw trauma cases. In Vietnam we would have some responsibilities only doctors had in the States. Vietnam would change the future of nursing.
After the lecture on triage, we were told half of our class would go directly to Vietnam. They said the Army was so desperate for OR nurses, they would offer us a three-month OR course tailored for Vietnam. This was an offer I could not refuse. I went to Fort Bliss in sunny El Paso, Texas.
The staff at William Beaumont General Hospital was wonderful. On the day of our final, our instructor called me to her office where she informed me everyone else received the assignments they requested. However, since I worked so well with civilian nurses, I would be going to Fort Jackson, South Carolina. The military’s first priority for nurses was overseas and so many military hospitals in the states were staffed with civilian nurses. Fort Jackson needed one more military OR nurse. They already had one colonel and one captain. To say the least, I was very disappointed.
When I called my parents, I was crying. My dad told me I joined the Army for the right reasons. He suggested if I didn’t like it I could put in my two years and get out. About an hour after he hung up I received phone call from a colonel at Fort Jackson. As the colonel welcomed me to the hospital, I recognized my Dad’s voice. When I started to laugh, he knew I’d be okay. The irony is my Dad left for the Philippines from Fort Jackson during World War II. The five months at Fort Jackson flew by and after returning from a friend’s wedding in California, I was told I was going to Vietnam. I couldn’t believe it.
Following a short leave at home, on September 3, 1970, I was off to Travis Air Force Base where I boarded a civilian plane for my flight to Vietnam. I was so glad my friend, another Army nurse, had missed her first flight due to a luggage mix up. Besides the stewardesses, I believe we were the only two women on the flight. My friend asked me why I was hand carrying my OR book. I told her I had not done neurosurgery in the last five months and just in case I needed a review, it would come in handy.
Once we could see the coast of Vietnam, the whole plane became very quiet. Reality was sinking in. The air that hit my face as I stepped off the plane was unbelievably hot and musty. It was late at night when we finally arrived at our sleeping quarters in Bien Hoa. The building was surrounded by concertina wire and a guard was stationed at the entrance. I’m not sure if he was there to protect us from the enemy or our own men. My friend and I decided to share a room and leave the lights on since we were the only ones in this strange place. Upon waking from a deep sleep, my eyes opened to a ceiling full of bugs and lizards. I was horrified and took a quick walk outside. The guard said, “Ma’am, do you know what time it is?” He then informed me it was only 0200 and nothing was open at this time. I didn’t want to make his night more miserable, so I went back inside.
Logo for the 95th Evacuation Hospital, Da Nang.
At 0600, after showering in a very filthy shower, we ate breakfast and went to see the chief nurse. I had been told I could choose the hospital I wanted and of course I wanted to be with my friend. Instead, the chief nurse said, “Lieutenant Breed, you’re going to the 95th Evacuation Hospital in Da Nang. It is the neurologic center of I Corps.” My friend knew I didn’t want to do neurology and started laughing. The chief nurse looked at her and said, “Lieutenant, I don’t know why you’re laughing. You’re going with her.”
In Da Nang my hooch on the first floor wasn’t kept up very well. When it rained, the water would leak into one side of the room where there were only slats and screening. Frogs loved my room. I heard some rooms had snakes so I tried not to complain. I had another wall that was not complete. Since I didn’t drink or smoke, I used my PX card to buy liquor and cigarettes to barter for wood and other building materials. My corpsmen did the handy work and I enjoyed my new wall. Later, when I moved up to the second story, I decided I wanted to make my room more feminine so I used food coloring to make my walls pink and I ordered a pink flowered bedspread from the Sears catalog. I also ordered roller skates.
In 1970, the 95th was located at the base of Monkey Mountain and had approximately 320 beds. When I reported to the chief nurse, I was told I would spend time in admitting/ER before I started in the OR. I had to learn many new skills. Thank heaven the admitting staff was so patient and kind. At this time, we were working 12-hour shifts, six days a week and had one day off. Those who worked Tet in ’68 did not have this luxury.
Some of my memories from admitting include treating Vietnamese children, adult villagers and occasionally missionaries from local orphanages. Treating children with white phosphorus burns, serious wounds, tetanus and other diseases brought joy mixed with much heartache. Once we had to evacuate the whole hospital due to a possible typhoon and I started to cry after the children were gone. A corpsman looked at me and said, “Lieutenant Breed, what are you doing? Nurses don’t cry here.” I said, “I do.”
Admitting also included caring for GIs with malaria and other diseases. We triaged patients in the evacuation s
ystem and, of course, received fresh casualties. The wounded came from different countries including the United States, South Vietnam, North Vietnam, Australia and the Republic of Korea. Again the experienced corpsmen, nurses and doctors shared their knowledge with me.
My learning continued as I started in the OR. The first time someone said we were getting a “train wreck,” I replied, “I haven’t seen a train in Vietnam.” Everyone in the room laughed. I found out a patient who was called a “train wreck” in Vietnam would have at least three or more services working on him at the same time. (Services include ENT, general, neuro, ortho, thoracic, and vascular.)
Two connecting Quonset huts made up the OR in Da Nang. There were six operating rooms. Each room only had three walls that provided some privacy. You could walk down the corridor and know what was happening in each room.
When there was downtime, we did cleft lip and palate repairs on Vietnamese children. It was rewarding to see these children smile. I worked with excellent, top notch people. Our OR team was made up of surgeons, CRNA’s, corpsmen and nurses.
Because you worked 12-hour days, most nurses grew to love their corpsmen. Sometimes I would be the only nurse on duty and I knew my dependable corpsmen and respected their skills. Without asking, I knew which corpsmen would scrub neurology, orthopedics, etc. We became a family of sorts. It was an honor to be called “Mom Breed.” I hope the families of my corpsmen know what a great job they did in such a difficult situation.
Vietnam War Nurses Page 7