The doctor checked her watch. “Seven-thirty in the morning. I’m late for camp disease duty.”
Abbey rolled out of her cot and splashed cold water on her face. “My God, I could see and hear them so clearly.” The doctor leaned over her wash basin, trying to remain calm while waiting for her breathing and heart rate to regain a normal pace. She shuddered. “I pray that awful dream doesn’t happen again.”
* * *
“How was he injured?” Abbey asked late in the afternoon while a child was placed on the operating table.
Cpl. Lawrence said, “We think he and a friend were playing with unexploded ordinance and something detonated. The other child died. This little guy’s mother said he’s four.”
She shook her head, “His tibia is shredded. We’ll remove his leg above the injury.”
Abbey turned to Cpl. Lawrence as he administered the chloroform. “Ready?”
“Shortly,” he said.
“Bless you, Doctor,” the woman said after the operation was complete. “A word, please.” She pulled the doctor away from the others. “Might a lost my son if you wasn’t here. I don’t have much to pay you.”
“No need for payment,” Abbey said.
The woman pulled a jar and a small piece of paper out of her skirt pocket and folded Abbey’s hand around them. “Keep this to yourself doc because it ain’t legal. If you find yourself in pain because you need to have a man, put some of this down there and you won’t get with child.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a petroleum jelly mix. I’ve written down the recipe.”
“Thank you, but…I don’t…have a use for it…”
* * *
Abbey had just completed triage when an officer and an older woman approached her.
“Dr. Kaplan, I’m Doctor Hammond and this is Nurse Anderson who works for the Sanitary Commission. We’re visiting from Washington and wish to discuss some ideas with you.”
“Love to talk to you but I must begin surgery.” She pointed to the wounded laid out on cots and the ambulance train of two-wheeled mule-drawn carts.
Dr. Hammond continued, “We understand. May we observe?”
“Follow me,” Abbey said.
As they entered the surgical tent, Dr. Kaplan asked, “We’re a bit short handed today. Dr. Hammond, do you have surgical experience?”
Appearing somewhat shocked, he said, “Quite a bit, in fact.”
Abbey turned to the woman. “You?”
“I’ve experience as a surgical nurse.”
“Excellent. From the sound of the battle, I expect many casualties today. I could use help.” The newcomers nodded.
“This way please.”
“Lt. Smith, please setup a second surgical table for Dr. Hammond and split our team. Lt. Scharf, please assist him. Nurse Anderson, I’d appreciate you assisting me.”
Numerous hours later, the last soldier’s surgical intervention was completed.
“A pleasure working with your team, Chief Surgeon Kaplan,” Dr. Hammond said, shaking her hand.
“I’m…” Abbey smiled, “Your assistance was a Godsend. Thank you for instructing me and my assistant in new techniques.”
“My pleasure. I believe many of our questions were answered as we observed you and your team. Your surgical skill is impressive, Dr. Kaplan.”
“I’m still learning.”
“New techniques are being discovered all the time. Surgery is a field which requires constant learning.”
Nurse Anderson concurred then said, “Dr. Kaplan, I noticed your team is cross-trained.”
Abbey said, “Lt. Smith and Lt. Scharf, came up with the idea and we implemented it.”
“We would like to incorporate women into the nursing corps,” Nurse Anderson said. “This would free more men for combat. Some are insisting men are better at nursing. Your thoughts?”
“Let me understand; you’re asking if I believe we have better medical care because the individuals performing the nursing duties have a penis? I think not.”
Dr. Hammond and Nurse Anderson glanced at each other, then burst into laughter.
In the background, Abbey could see her team laughing as well.
“We came here to see how your regiment’s medical work was progressing. I didn’t imagine I’d have first-hand experience,” Dr. Hammond said.
“The literature and circulars coming from Washington provide us knowledge and direction,” Abbey said. “They are much appreciated.”
“Is there something we can procure for you to advance your medical knowledge?” Dr. Hammond asked.
Abbey thought for a bit. “I could use a microscope and someone to train me in its use.”
“You’ll have both within the week.”
They all shook hands and parted company.
“Let’s get something to eat,” Lt. Scharf said to Abbey. They sat opposite each other.
Lt. Smith sat down with them. He wore a cat-ate-the- canary grin.
“What?” Abbey asked him.
“Dr. Hammond. You don’t know who he is?”
Abbey eyes widened as she gasped then briefly put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. Was he THE Dr. Hammond?”
The lieutenant nodded.
“Who?” Lt. Scharf asked.
“General William Hammond, Surgeon General of the United States,” Abbey said. “I knew his name sounded familiar but I was so worried about today’s surgeries I didn’t realize…”
Lt. Scharf laughed and said, “I’m glad I didn’t know or I’d have been a nervous wreck.”
After three-hours of camp medicine and an hour of surgery the following day, Abbey exited the medical tent.
An officer wearing Calvary insignia approached her. He walked with an odd gait…as if trying to keep his legs spread apart.
“You the Doc?” he asked. “I’m Dr. Kaplan.”
“I’m Cpt. Donovan. Calvary. Piles, Doc. Bloody piles.”
“What?”
“My ass. I got piles…they’re getting painful and bloody.”
“Follow me into the medical tent.” The man grimaced with each step. She placed a chair near a sidewall of the tent.
“Drop your britches and bend over the chair.”
As he lowered his britches, he muttered, “Kind of embarrassing.”
Abbey sighed. “Not to worry. If it’s one thing I’ve become accustomed to, it’s working with assholes.”
He bent over the chair and closed his eyes.
“Not good,” Abbey said. She inspected the purple colored protrusion. “How long has it caused pain?”
“A few months.”
“How much pain?”
“Substantial when I crap and painful as hell when I’m riding.”
“It should have resolved itself within the first week.”
“All the men in my family got piles. You know, dad, grandfather, uncles.”
“This is the worst case I’ve seen. Stand up and pull up your britches.”
“I’m worthless to my unit. I can’t ride anymore. They’re about to send me home. Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“I’ll see what I can learn about cures. Meanwhile, I’ll give you a jar of petroleum jelly and get you a ride to the recovery hospital. Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll see you there and we’ll talk about what we can do.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“I can’t guaranty anything.”
His eyes filled with tears. “Hate to be away from my unit. We been together since the start. Appreciate anything you can do, Doc.”
She called over a nurse. “Get him a cot for now then schedule transportation to the recovery hospital.”
“Not trying to embarrass you Doc, but you look exhausted.”
First Leave
Abbey’s expression went blank. She thought for a bit then smiled at her assistant. “Pittsburgh it is.”
Arriving at a hotel, they booked separate rooms and met for dinner.
“I’m still tense,” Lt. Scharf said. “As thoug
h I might be called to assist wounded at any moment.”
Abbey giggled. “I feel the same tension.”
“What would you like to do this week?”
“I think day one I’d like to take long walks. Different surroundings might relieve stress.”
“Excellent idea,” he said.
“Would my teammate accompany me?”
“Of course.” Lt. Scharf smiled and bowed his head slightly. “I know some interesting areas and some excellent eateries.” He raised a glass of wine. “To a week of stress relief.”
“To stress relief,” Abbey said with a laugh as they clinked glasses. With a shrug, she added, “If we can…”
He offered her his arm as they walked the following bright and sunny day. She put her hand on his forearm and briefly squeezed it. They walked in silence for nearly three-hours.
“A pleasant Sunday morning,” he said. “Is there anything you’d like to discuss this week?”
“So many things…”
“Pick one.”
Abbey sighed. “I trust you to keep this to yourself…but I struggle with ugly dreams. Often, they keep me from getting a decent night’s sleep.”
“Is the dream why you yell about William?”
“My brother. He appears crippled or dead in some nightmares.”
“Tell me about them.”
She took a deep breath. “I see my family members with cruel injuries. I try to run away but I can hear them yelling for help.” Abbey shuddered. “Also, a nightmare where a cannon- ball lands near me and feeling terrified as I’m thrown into the air. Then in slow motion, I watch as my limbs are ripped off.”
“Ghastly.”
“You?”
“Initially, I had nightmares where a soldier needed help but I didn’t know enough to repair his injuries.”
“No longer occur?” she asked.
“Once in a long while. My fear of incomplete knowledge is what’s motivating me to study the medical books and documents you give me on war injuries.” He gazed skyward for a minute then added, “Fear can be a motivator but consumes a ton of energy.”
Abbey took a deep breath. “I would add two items to the list of emotions which tax my energy besides fear; tension and anxiety.”
“Do they occur at some specific time?”
“Other than waiting for casualties to arrive, triage is the worst. Many of the soldiers have grievous wounds we can’t treat…that eats away and drags down my emotions…depressing the hell out of me.” She sighed and shook her head. “While I work on the injuries we can repair, I’m frustrated I have to leave many others to die.”
“Like the ones who are gut-shot?”
She nodded. “Little hope for many of them even though I’ve successfully repaired a number.”
“I’ve kept count. Two of every four you accept for surgery are surviving. Fifty-percent is one hell of a lot better than zero.” He stared at the ground, his brow furrowed. “As my skills improve, I believe I understand how frustration puts sadness in one’s head.”
Abbey said, “Lieutenant, I’m not telling you this to make you sad.”
“Trying to think of what I can do to help you feel better about yourself.”
“Listening is good enough.” She patted his arm. “Let’s head back to the hotel and have lunch.”
The following day, the team members headed out to walk near the river.
The twosome were surrounded by the sights and sounds of a neighborhood with street vendors noisily hawking their wares, horse’s hooves on the pavement and the occasional screech of streetcars’ steel wheels. At one point, a large, empty barrel fell off a wagon making a loud sound as it hit the cobblestones. They both jumped, looked at each other and engaged in nervous laughter.
Abbey pointed to a small park. “Let’s sit on the bench over there.” They sat and observed their surroundings.
“If I was an artist,” Lt. Scharf said after glancing around, “that would be a fine painting.” He pointed toward a washerwoman who was nursing an infant. The tiny one was held firmly against her breast by a small blanket tied around her neck and back. Seated on a low stool, the woman’s back arched over her work; her legs splayed as they embraced a wide washtub set on concrete blocks. Her sleeves were pulled up over her well-defined biceps, her head wrapped in a red and white checkered scarf which was tied at the back of her neck. Clothing, clothes-pinned to a line, waved just above her. Elbow deep in gray water, she scrubbed clothing on a washboard then rinsed and wrung the water out. All the while, she laughed with and addressed two toddlers who played at her feet. Behind her, sweat covered workman hauled bricks up temporary wooden walkways to masons constructing a wall.
Abbey studied the scene for a bit then briefly stared at the lieutenant. “Thanks. I didn’t even notice. What would you call your painting?”
“Motherhood?”
“Not descriptive enough.”
“Mother up to her elbows in washing and children?”
Abbey laughed.
“You said you didn’t notice,” he said.
“Even if I look, I try not to see.”
He gave her a questioning expression. She shrugged, “Force of habit.”
“Because?”
“If I don’t see our patients as people, I can simply address their injuries.”
“Why avoid knowing we work on people?”
“My way of preventing negative feelings. It’s easier.”
“Could those feelings get bottled up in your head then appear as ugly dreams?”
“Unlikely…” she gazed at their surroundings for a few moments, “but let me think.”
He nodded to the South. “Four-blocks from here, is a Italian deli which serves home-cooked style and it’s almost lunch time.”
“Sure.”
They walked in silence for the first block-and-a-half.
Abbey sighed and said, “People regularly ask me how I endure the stress of my work. I just realized I’ve never asked anyone else how they manage.”
“Push-ups.”
Abbey laughed.
“Seriously. First thing each morning then each evening before dinner. I’m up to one-hundred minimum each day.”
“I don’t understand how physical activity can release mental strain.”
“You’re the doc so if you don’t know, I sure don’t…but it works for me.”
They split a sandwich piled high with deli meats, roasted red and green peppers, onion slivers, provolone cheese, and lettuce, all savored with sweet tea.
When they’d finished, Abbey said, “I’d like to see Congregation Rodef Shalom. I believe they’re the oldest congregation here and have a lovely synagogue.”
“It’s an easy walk from here.”
She took his arm again as they walked.
“Having nightmares since we’ve been here?”
“Only the first night.” Abbey walked in silence for a while.
“This is when I miss having a woman to talk to.”
“Not sure what you mean.”
“If I tell a man about a problem, he tries to fix it for me and feels sad when he can’t.”
What’s wrong with that?”
“A woman would understand just talking about it helps even without a solution.”
He grinned. “Are you saying men and woman are different?”
“Different yes, but not necessarily better than one or another.”
“So you should tell me about the nightmares and I’ll just listen.”
Abbey weighed how much to share then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “The nightmares wear on me in two ways. First, once I have one, it wakes me, I’m sweating, out of breath and my heart pounds. Afterward, it’s difficult to get back to sleep. Second, my emotions feel like a raw nerve. Any little annoyance seems magnified.”
“Is that why you seem ready to rip heads off some days?”
“Am I that bad?”
“Occasionally.”
“What do you do o
n those days?”
“Remind the team how much strain you’re under.”
Abbey turned her head toward him and stared. He glanced around the neighborhood then stared at her. “Hey, it’s part of my job.” He again looked away for a while then said, “We’re a team, doc. We take care of each other.”
She gripped his upper arm then kissed his cheek. Abbey closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. After a few minutes, she sighed. “I’m so tired.”
“Back to the hotel?”
“I’m going to sleep the afternoon away.”
At dinner, Abbey told him, “I’ll be staying in my room tomorrow to read and write letters.”
Lt. Scharf said, “Good idea. I’m going to visit the neighborhood where my grandparents first settled. They’re long gone but I’d like to see what remains of the area.”
They walked to their adjacent rooms and stopped in front of Abbey’s.
She tucked a lock of hair behind one ear. “Lt. Scharf, despite my spending endless hours doing what’s considered men’s work, I still experience a woman’s desire for a man.”
“I…”
“Those big, muscular masons we saw earlier lit a fire in me.”
“If you become pregnant?”
“I have a birth-prevention preparation we can use.” He didn’t respond.
She wrapped her arms around him. Abbey watched as the soft press of her chest produced an expression of desire.
He slowly wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve wanted you since the day we met.”
* * *
After breakfast the following morning, alone in her room, the doctor sat at the small desk.
Mom and Dad,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I know I’ve been terrible about writing but I’m busy all my waking hours. When battle casualties arrive, I sometimes work more than twenty-four-hours at-a-stretch, only stopping for a quick bite to eat. In-between battles, I treat camp disease and help at the recovery hospital plus do research and write mountains of reports.
I’ve taken pen in hand to write a missive because I’ve been assigned a one-week leave. I traveled to Pittsburgh as it is a one-day train ride from our current encampment. Don’t worry. I’m not alone in a strange city. My surgical helper has accompanied me. He’s big and awfully kind. No romantic involvement but I do feel less lonely and a bit more secure because he’s here.
The Surgeon: A Civil War Story Page 13