The hospital attendant ran up. “The tents are worthless.
We have to setup in the open, Doctor.”
“Most of my instruments were destroyed.”
“I noticed. Have an extra set squirreled away. I’ve sent a private to recover them.”
“Lieutenant, have you seen Dr. Fellows?”
“He’s collapsed in his tent.”
“Wounded?”
“Passed out. Drunk.”
She stepped over two bodies. One blue-coated and the other in a gray uniform. One’s head split open and the other’s body nearly ripped in half. She took a deep breath and while letting it out slowly, thought, “Young boys who look to be the age of my brothers. They should have been out fishing or flirting with girls or learning a trade.” She sighed and slowly shook her head. “Now their torn bodies are only fit for stuffing a pine box.”
Abbey stared at them without moving. Her mind replayed a vision of the soldier she’d shot as he crumpled to the ground. She said in a subdued voice, “Someone’s son. A mother will be grieving due to my carefully aimed shot. If one of my brothers died, it would tear my mother’s heart out.” Abbey continued in a quiet voice with bowed head as if she were praying, “I’m sorry I was the instrument of your death, whoever you were.”
She approached the surgical table and gazed at her assembled team. “Where’s Wilson?”
“First shell killed him.”
“I’ll cover for him,” Lt. Smith said.
After nods from the trumpet-playing-chloroform- administrator and her now helper, Sgt. Scharf, Dr. Kaplan concentrated her remaining mental and physical energy on numerous surgical interventions until well after nightfall.
Working by lantern light, she said, “Please try to keep the damn insects away from the surgical field. And try to keep the lamps still.”
“Difficult to swat bugs with one hand and keep the lamp still with the other,” one of her helpers complained.
While suturing a head laceration, she said, “Do your best, please.”
Around one in the morning, they completed the last surgery. She tried to eat but only managed a few bites. Exhaustion overwhelmed her. Abbey dragged her tired body back to her tent. She noted three pairs of waist overalls on her desk. She thought, “Where the hell was our chief surgeon today?”
* * *
The sounds of battle decreased. Abbey, lying five-yards from Sgt. Scharf, spotted an enemy soldier aiming at him. She carefully aimed and fired. The soldier toppled fell onto his belly. They approached the fallen man.
Sgt. Scharf turned him over.
She gasped and her heart pounded.
“Abbey,” her brother William said, “you shot me.”
“I wouldn’t,” she said.
The doctor awoke with a start; jerked up to a sitting position. Covered in sweat, her breathing rapid and heart pounding. “What an awful dream,” she announced to the empty tent.
Abbey poured water into a basin. She moistened a rag and rubbed it with her last sliver of the perfumed soap she’d brought from home. As she washed off the previous day’s dirt, she thought, “Wish I could wipe away the memory of killing that soldier as easily as I remove the dirt from this soiled body.” The doctor stared into the gray water. “I used Kentucky windage like my brothers taught me, squeezed the trigger instead of jerking it like Andre taught me…and extinguished the life of some mother’s son. At least those dying from surgical errors weren’t intentional.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Either way, dead is dead. But why the dream about my brother?”
* * *
Dr. Fellows appeared late the following morning just as Abbey was getting a mug of coffee at the mess tent. He gave her a disapproving glare when he noticed her waist overalls then rapidly puffed a few times on a cigar which was clamped between his teeth. “I haven’t seen Dr. Nelson.”
“Sorry to say, he died during the attack. Poor man. He was a gentle soul.”
The older doctor’s eyes widened. “He was to be your replacement. I moved heaven and earth to get him out here.”
He cursed again, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m told the surgeries you performed yesterday went well.”
Abbey nodded.
“No experiments, I trust.”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Absolutely not.” The Major puffed hard on his cigar then slowly shook his head. “Just received a note from the recovery hospital, two of the soldiers with gut-wounds you treated died but two, including the one whose appendix you removed, are doing well. They are well enough, they should recover completely.”
“Thank you for telling me. I wanted to ask…we examined a number of seemingly able-bodied men who were unconscious, had no visible wounds yet died.”
“When a shell lands near a soldier, the force of the explosion, even without shrapnel striking the individual, can cause internal organ damage. We find the liver, spleen and other internal organs sustain severe damage which causes profuse bleeding into the abdominal cavity.”
“Is it possible to repair?”
“Not at this time. Attempts to perform surgery inside the abdominal cavity result in death of the patient.” He glared at Abbey. “Unless the surgeon gets lucky, of course.”
“Are there symptoms we can look for to determine if this is the case?”
“If the individual is conscious, check to see if he has a sore abdomen. If unconscious check for a swollen or abnormally firm belly. Either would indicate internal damage and bleeding.”
“Thank you for the discussion, Dr. Fellows.”
“By the way, Dr. Kaplan, gangrene is showing up at the recovery hospital.”
“Odd how it isn’t present but then, once found, many fall ill with the disease.”
“It’s the body’s reaction to being wounded. Nothing can be done about it.”
“But we didn’t have it at the recovery hospital until recently then it seemed to spread to many.”
“In each soldier’s body, different wounds react differently.”
Abbey considered his thought then said, “It seems more likely something is spreading the disease.”
Dr. Fellows replied with sarcasm. “Learn that in school, did you? Or did you just make it up?”
“I’m speculating on what I’ve observed and my reading.”
“And how would it spread?”
“Nurses and doctors move from patient to patient…”
His face turned red, the veins in his neck throbbing. Dr. Fellows interrupted, shouting, “Are you mad? Doctors and nurses spreading disease? In case you hadn’t read it somewhere, I wish to inform you, we are healers…not spreaders of disease.” He stared at her as if she just arrived from another planet then added, “I can’t imagine how you think…but take it from a doctor who’s been in medicine most of his life…you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Abbey briefly considered telling him about recent research on gangrene but decided it was unlikely he’d believe the reports.
He slowly shook his head then said, “Another thing. The leader of the infantry company Sgt. Scharf directed during the recent enemy incursion put him in for a medal.”
“He deserves it.”
“The sergeant will be asked to join the infantry.”
“We need him.”
“I agree and let them know. He’s not going anywhere but may be promoted to lieutenant.”
“Thanks for keeping me informed. Please excuse me, I need to relieve myself.” She hurried away because, even at an early hour, his breath and clothing reeked of bourbon and cigar smoke.
“By the way,” he shouted after her, “we’ll be on the march for a couple weeks starting day after tomorrow.”
The March
A light rain began the second day of the march.
Dr. Kaplan peered over the scarf which kept some of the dust out of her nostrils and mouth, at the leaden gray cloud cover. She thought, “Hopefully, a little moisture will keep this damn
dust down.” She eyed the column ahead. Soldiers, wagons and horses constantly raised a choking cloud of dust. Without a breeze to move it, it hung in the air in sufficient density to sting eyes and burn throats. Like many of the soldiers, Abbey wore a bandana over her nose and mouth.
A wide brimmed hat kept sunshine out of her eyes initially but now kept the rain out of her face. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She viewed black clouds coming their way. Heavy rain drops struck and occasionally penetrated the canopy of trees which arched over the road. They thumped her hat like acorns. “Damn,” she cursed, as she pulled the handkerchief off her face. The dust was turning to mud…sticky mud which pulled at her boots necessitating extra effort to raise each foot out of the mire. Her breathing rate increased. She felt the rain soaking through her clothing then mumbled, “At least it’s still warm or I’d be shivering my butt off.”
Abbey joined soldiers as they grunted and groaned while shoving carts and wagons out of mud holes and ruts. Mules brayed as they strained against their traces while the muleskinners yelled, shouted at and cussed their cantankerous four-legged charges to pull harder. The doctor cursed as her right boot filled with muddy water.
“Not what I’d thought a doctor would be doing before I arrived here,” she thought as she wedged her shoulder against the spoke of, yet another, mired wagon then shoved.
By late in the afternoon and having fallen a few times, her clothing, “Hell, my entire body,” she mumbled, was covered in mud. Strained thigh, buttock and abdominal muscles ached. The column’s progress slowed as animals, men, and wagons became mired in the ooze.
Word came down the column to make camp.
“Finally,” she said.
Soldiers hastily erected tents for those of officer’s rank. She entered an unoccupied tent. It was smaller than the tent she’d become accustomed to. It contained three cots with a folded wool blanket on each.
“Dr. Kaplan,” she heard a voice shout. Abbey stuck her head out of the tent, into a driving rain.
“Over here,” she shouted.
Lieutenant Smith and newly-minted Lieutenant Scharf, plodded through ankle-deep mud to the tent.
“Ma’am,” Lt. Scharf said, “We thought…”
“Don’t stand out there. Come in,” she shouted.
They entered but stayed just inside the entrance. Lt. Scharf carried a lantern.
“We’ve been told officers are to sleep three to a tent,” Lt. Smith said.
“We thought it might be easier if people from your staff stayed with you,” Lt. Scharf said.
“Of course, of course,” Abbey said. They didn’t move. “I’ll take this one.” She pointed to an end cot.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Lt. Smith said, then removed his knapsack and sat on one of the cots.
Lt. Scharf hung the lantern then did the same.
Abbey reached into her knapsack and pulled out a towel. One end was damp but the rest was dry. She pulled her boots and socks off then examined her feet. “No blisters, thank God.” Abbey wiped the accumulated grit from between her toes then wiped dirt off her feet and lower legs as modestly as she could manage. She noted the two men kept their gaze averted.
“Any blisters or foot problems?” she asked.
“Had a blister earlier in the day,” Lt. Smith said. “It popped so I wrapped it.”
“Want me to examine it?” she asked.
“I’ll keep it wrapped and clean. It’s smaller than a dime,” he said.
“I have one set of dry clothing in my knapsack which I’d like to put on,” Abbey said.
They both turned away while she changed. She then kept her eyes averted while they changed.
“I’ve got something to eat,” Lt. Scharf said. He pulled out a half loaf of bread and a block of cheese. He opened his pocket knife and sliced the cheese into sandwiches.
More thunder rumbled. The intensity of the rain noisily pelting their tent increased.
“Getting worse,” Lt. Smith said, raising his voice to be heard over the driving rain.
“What a simple joy to be in dry clothing,” she said. The others nodded.
Abbey took a bite from her sandwich, chewed for a while then declared, “A bit dry.” She sipped water from her canteen. She shivered. “I’d love a steaming hot cup of coffee.”
Lt. Scharf stood. “I can see what I can find, Doctor.”
“Sit,” she said while motioning. “You just dried off.”
“Likely impossible to light a fire in this weather,” Lt. Smith grumbled.
An hour later someone called from outside their tent. Lt. Scharf opened the tent flap then yelled to the others, “Get your mucket. The mess soldiers have coffee.”
Abbey returned to her cot and sipped the hot liquid.
“Wonder how they got a fire started?”
“Stove in a tent, one of them told me,” Lt. Smith said.
The three exhausted officers finished their coffee, wrapped themselves in blankets and slept like logs until…
* * *
At three in the morning, a number of successive lightning strikes illuminated their camp and assaulted their ears.
The sharp bark of soldiers shouting could be heard. A soldier came down the row of officer’s tents yelling for a doctor.
“Over here,” Abbey yelled while pulling on socks and boots.
The threesome left the tent and into a light rain then followed a lantern-carrying soldier.
Abbey saw a number of wounded soldiers. Some with burns moaned while others yelled. All with wounds from either the lightening itself or the tree which exploded when lightning struck it.
“Damn this rain.” She cursed as she wiped water off her face and hunched her shoulders in a vain attempt to prevent cool rain-water from running down her neck and back while examining the soldiers.
“Lt. Smith, we need medical supplies and a tent for surgery.”
He pointed to two groups of men. “You three and you four, come with me.” They quickly disappeared into the inky night.
Abbey noted a smell she hadn’t encountered previously.
She wrinkled her nose.
“Burned flesh,” Lt. Scharf said. “As a young teen, I helped pull people from a burning building and remember the stench.”
“Find blankets and try to keep the wounded dry and warm.”
“Ambulances are coming,” someone said.
Pvt. Silver approached. “Lt. Smith sent me. Medical tent will be up in fifteen minutes. We can begin transporting to the area now.”
“Pvt. Silver. See if you can find Dr. Fellows.”
“We did.”
“And?”
“Ah…he’s not in a useful state, Ma’am.”
Abbey swore under her breath. “Lt. Scharf, I count twelve wounded needing immediate surgical attention.”
Men with stretchers arrived. She pointed. “These men first.”
“I’ll setup your surgical supplies,” Lt. Scharf said, and hurried away.
Abbey, with a nurse at her side holding a lantern, examined a few more wounded. “Pvt. Silver, guide me to the medical tent.”
The same afternoon, Abbey checked the patients waiting to be transported to the recovery hospital.
“You the one who patched me up?” a soldier with bandages on his thigh and lower leg asked.
“I’m Doctor Kaplan,” she replied. “I closed those wounds.”
“Thanks. I’m Tom Raymond from Brooklyn.”
“You’re lucky. No crush injury or we might have been forced to amputate your leg.”
“Will I be able to walk?”
“You should heal completely in about ten-or twelve-weeks barring infection.”
“Bless you, Doc.” He smiled. “It’s good I’ll heal completely. I’m the best shot in my company. Feeling kinda’ guilty getting hurt and not being with my buddies.”
Abbey kneeled at his side. “You need time to heal, soldier.”
“Didn’t know but a few of them before I joined up.”
“We’re like a team, Doc. When one guy with special skills goes down there ain’t always a replacement.”
“You may re-injure your leg if you return without taking time to fully recover.”
“Whatever you say.” Raymond took a deep breath. “Surely, I want to heal completely.” He smiled then asked, “You ever been shot at?”
“A few weeks ago. First time.”
“Still shaking?”
Abbey giggled. “As it happens, yes. And I jump when I hear the sound of cannon fire; even if it’s some distance away.”
“You’ll get over it.” He stared into her eyes for a bit, then asked in a subdued voice, “You have nightmares?”
“Yes. Why?” She nodded.
“Seems them what keeps having nightmares kinda,” he shrugged, “I don’t know no medical terms but they get continual sad and quiet. A guy in our company was so bad he quit talking. Didn’t even seem to recognize us. He was in all the same battles as we were but began having this awful nightmare he couldn’t get his musket to fire.” The private closed his eyes, seemed lost in thought then slowly shook his head. He gazed up at Abbey. “Anyway, he’d wake up in the middle of the night with the sweats, yelling and carrying on. After a while, I think he was afraid to sleep because of his nightmarish dream. They sent him home.”
“We doctors have much to learn concerning the mind.”
“Would you consider telling me about your nightmare?” Abbey leaned toward him as if whispering a confidence.
He laughed and said, “Hey, I can keep a secret.”
She laughed as well then in full voice said, “I shot a man.”
“That’s the dream?”
“Partially. In my dream, I walk up to the body and discover I shot one of my brothers.”
“Scary one. Don’t worry. It should go away.”
He reacted to Abbey’s concerned expression. “Hey, Doc. Don’t let me get you down. I’m sure you got better stuff to do than gabbing with me.”
The Surgeon: A Civil War Story Page 7