“Drag us down…deeper depths of depression and despair…let me contemplate that for a bit,” Abbey said.
They walked in silence for a couple city blocks.
“Then, Sir, what do we do to maintain our sanity?”
He sighed. “Not sure.”
“Perhaps, remembering we are contributing to a great cause?”
“That may help in the long term but in the short term, I believe I need small victories to sustain me.”
Abbey stated, “For me, saving patient’s lives, learning more about medicine, training others and contributing to the museum are all victories.”
He shook his head. “I guess I should see saving patients’ lives as victories but I seem to dwell on those we can’t. Little victories rarely come my way.”
“What about our victory at Gettysburg? Didn’t it help?”
“The Union victory certainly buoyed my spirits…until the reports on the number of casualties tempered my celebration.” With saddened expression, he added, “Including Confederate losses, we believe over 50,000.” He sighed, gazed across a river then turned to Abbey. “Once alone in my tent, I cried like a baby…was despondent for days afterwards.”
“The stream of those needing surgical intervention seemed endless. Plus countless follow-up surgeries at the recovery hospitals.”
He stated, “I remember. When we witness man at his cruelest, as during a war, why isn’t our sexual desire suppressed?”
Abbey thought for a moment, then replied. “Perhaps to remind us of our humanity.”
“Or do our base instincts surface no matter what the emotional environment?”
“Instinct?” she asked.
“I doubt there is logic involved when I desire a woman. Wanting to have relations is built into our mind. It’s not like we can turn it on and off at will. It’s more like a steam engine with someone other than ourselves at the control. Well…that’s how it seems to me.”
“Excellent thoughts,” Abbey said. “War and its associated horror does temporarily depress desire…but only when I’m exhausted, under great stress or in the middle of surgical intervention.”
He forced a smile. “Enough about war. How about dinner?”
* * *
The following morning they walked arm-in-arm along the river.
Abbey said, “I began considering differences in the way men and women think, a bit over a year ago. When I communicated my ideas to a colleague, she accused me of over-analyzing.”
“What differences specifically?”
“I propose women are closer to nature than men and this difference influences our behavior. I believe women admire nature while men are born with a desire to bend nature.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes.
Jordan asked, “What proof would you posit, women are closer to nature?”
“Nature causes women to have a monthly reminder they are intended for child-bearing.”
She glanced at Jordan who was deep in thought.
After another few minutes silence, he said, “Another example, please.”
Abbey studied their surroundings. She pointed to a grove of trees across the river. “I see a stand of Oak trees and admire their beauty. A man sees the same but the image in his head consists of material to build something.”
“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”
“Let me think of another example…” Abbey became pensive as they walked. She watched geese paddling along the edges of a nearby stream. Her expression brightened. “Not long ago, I watched a number of geese. They were resting at the edge of a reed bed at the side of a wide river. On a sylvan day, wind-driven-waves caused them to slowly bob up and down. With a mighty flap of its wings, a goose lifted partially out of the water then used its legs to run across the pond while using its wings to help it gain speed. Eventually it lifted its legs and was carried up and away by wings alone.”
“A beautiful sight.”
“But a man stood next to me who saw the same thing. Instead of commenting on the beauty, he wondered aloud what it would take to build a machine which copied the bird to achieve the same and fly away.”
“A flying machine? Amazing.”
Abbey seemed lost in thought. In a barely audible voice, she said, “I experienced natural beauty but he wanted to bend nature to his own will.”
“Fascinating concepts. How will you use them?”
“Not sure. As my interest in people’s mental difficulties increases, and by keeping those suppositions in mind, I may be able to better assist those with melancholy or other emotional disturbances.”
Jordan asked, “Have you considered most inventions are produced by men?”
“Is it because they wish to bend nature or most women’s lives are consumed raising a family?”
“Piercing questions, Doctor.”
“Lunch?” Abbey asked.
“Yes, but let’s continue discussing this topic.”
* * *
They stood on the platform and waited for the train back to camp.
Abbey said, “As I said to my leave companion last year, two lonely people, governed by their urges, does not a relationship make.”
“Again, I understand,” Jordan said, then smiled and gazed into her eyes. “Abbey, you satisfied much more than my physical need this year.”
“Such as?”
“All our discussion of personal struggle, emotional state and the war…we’ve engaged each other on an intellectual level which was deliciously satisfying.”
Abbey registered contentment. “I…I experienced the same feeling as well.”
“If you’re ever looking for a friend after the war…”
“If I’m ever in need of a friend, I’ll find you.” She kissed his cheek.
Their train whistled as it approached the station.
“Oh well,” Abbey said with a sigh. “Back to the war.”
Dr. Scharf
It was a cool day in December of 1864.
“Are you in much pain?” Jordan Scharf asked a soldier with a piece of shrapnel sticking out of the middle of his ribcage. He lay on a cot outside the medical tents having just been delivered by ambulance.
“Gets painful as hell if I take a deep breath.”
He opened the man’s shirt. A small, flat piece of metal, roughly half the size of grown man’s palm stuck through his skin. “Not much bleeding so not too deep. We’ll remove this, dress your wound and have you on your way.” He gripped the metal. It slid out easily…followed by blood spurting out of the soldier’s chest.
The man’s eyes went wide as his face displayed abject terror. Jordan covered the opening. Copious amounts of blood oozed out between his fingers. He screamed for Dr. Kaplan. When he looked at the soldier’s face, his mouth was open and eyes were staring straight up. He’d quit breathing.
“What happened?” Abbey asked.
“This little piece of metal was in his chest. I pulled it out and blood spurted everywhere…and he died.”
“Likely his heart was pierced…or you pierced it when removing the metal.”
“But he wasn’t in much pain so I imagined the metal wasn’t deep.”
“If it wasn’t deep we might have had a chance to remove it without more damage but once it pierced his heart…we couldn’t do anything.”
“So I killed him.”
Abbey nodded. “It happens.”
“Lord forgive me.”
“Surgeons are human. We all make mistakes.”
“Have you killed anyone?”
“You know I did. You were there.”
“When?”
“You might remember, I treated a conscious soldier for an entry-wound while he was bleeding out from a huge exit- wound. If I had checked for and treated the exit-wound before I started on the entry-wound, I might have saved him.”
“Dr. Kaplan, I could use a break.”
“I have a wound that requires your immediate assistance in the medical tent.”<
br />
“But…”
“A child needs your attention.”
“Give me a minute.”
She yelled, “Now, Lt. Scharf.”
He slowly stood then followed her into the main medical tent.
“He has a cut on his upper eyelid just below his eyebrow, it’s nearly the width of his eye,” A trembling women cradling an infant said.
“We have to suture this with tiny stitches,” Abbey said.
The little one screamed as Abbey administered chloroform but quieted quickly.
Lieutenant Smith and Cpl. Silver ran into the tent with a few members of the team.
“I need you to suture this with tiny stitches,” Abbey told Lt. Scharf
He stared at the wound. “Normal suture material will be too thick.”
“What can we do?”
“Hold a piece against the table and I’ll split it.” They cleaned their hands and he retrieved a scalpel.
Abbey stretched an eight-inch-piece of gut-suturing-material.
Lt. Scharf checked the sharpness of a scalpel then slowly ran it down the material, neatly splitting it in two. He held it up. “Still too thick.” He looked at Abbey.
“I agree.”
She secured the split material a second time while Lt. Scharf divided it. He pulled on it to check its strength. “Perfect,” Abbey said.
“Dr. Kaplan, please make sure his head stays still.”
“Yes, Dr. Scharf.”
He raised his eyebrows then completed the first tiny suture and began a second. “I could use a much smaller suture-needle for this.”
Lt. Scharf tied off the last suture. Abbey placed a bandage over the child’s eye.
Abbey cradled the tiny one and said to his mother. “Come back in two-days so we can check him.”
The woman threw her arms around the lieutenant. “Thank you, Doctor Scharf.”
“I’m not…”
She kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Doctor. God bless you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, appearing a bit overwhelmed. Abbey handed the child to his mother.
“Coffee?” Dr. Kaplan asked the lieutenants. They nodded. She sat across from them at a picnic table sipping a steaming mucket of dark brew.
“I’ll have a small-suture-needle made for you and put it with your surgical instruments,” Lt. Smith said to Lt. Scharf.
“I don’t have surgical instruments.”
“After today,” Abbey said, “You should. You’re capable of numerous procedures which will free me up to do other work. I’ll sign a request form.”
“I’m not a surgeon.”
“I couldn’t have split the gut like you did and doubt I could have duplicated your tiny, precise movements. That’s why I requested you perform the surgery. Your hands are capable of the finest movements” she grinned, “like my brother William.”
“I’m not…”
“The little one would have lost his eye without your intervention.”
“Thanks but…”
“When we’ve finished here, I’ll need today’s lead surgeon to fill out the medical report on the child’s surgery. When complete, I’ll co-sign.”
“Abbey…”
“We have directives to follow. They are orders, not requests.” She downed the last of her coffee and grinned. “I’ll expect you in my tent in one-hour…” She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed… “Dr. Scharf.”
Lt. Smith slapped him on the back. “Saved a kid’s eye. Not bad, buddy. Proud of you…Dr. Scharf.” They shook hands and Lt. Smith walked away.
Jordan smiled at Abbey and took her hand in both of his. “I’d like to talk about a future for us. When the war ends, we can marry. You could stay home and raise our children…”
“Stay home…” She yanked her hand away. “When the war ends we’ll talk. Not before.”
* * *
Dr. Kaplan kneeled over an injured man. He lay on a stretcher having just arrived at the medical tent. He was in substantial pain, sweating and blue-grey in skin tone. The man couldn’t seem to breath properly.
“The right side of his jaw is crushed. Possible further damage causing breathing problems.”
“Oh hell,” Dr. Fellows said. “This is my nephew.”
“I’m sorry,” Abbey said. She quickly opened her instrument case. She poured a liquid on her scalpel then brought the blade up to the man’s throat.
Dr. Fellows screamed, “No,” and grabbed Dr. Kaplan’s arm which held the scalpel.
Abbey yelled, “Get away.” She jerked her arm free.
Lt. Scharf briefly stood between the two doctors. Any thought the older doctor had about reaching for her again were quashed by a brief glance at Lt. Scharf’s expression which promised quick and drastic repercussion for such a move.
“But she can’t…” Dr. Fellows pleaded.
Abbey made a cut at the center base of the nephew’s trachea then gently held the incision open with her fingers.
The patient began taking deep breaths.
Abbey glared at Dr. Fellows while saying, “Now he can breathe. Lt. Scharf, please carefully hold this open while we transfer him to the surgical tent.”
Dr. Fellows sputtered, “But…you…cut his…”
“Yes and I’ve done it numerous times. A fact you would have known had you attended the surgeries I’ve performed or read my summaries before they were sent to the Medical Museum.”
They walked to the medical tent with the injured nephew. Dr. Fellows followed behind the group; the chief surgeon’s head hung like a scolded puppy.
The nephew was placed on the surgical table.
“Anesthesia to the trachea-hole please,” Dr. Kaplan said. “And gently maintain his airway until the little breathing tube we made is cleaned and placed there.”
The anesthesiologist complied and said, “Yes, Doctor.”
Abbey nodded to Lt. Smith who rinsed the tube in cleaning solution then carefully placed it in the nephew’s neck opening.
“I’ll assist,” the chief surgeon said.
In a firm voice and with an expression which would have frozen an erupting volcano, Abbey stated, “No. You won’t. Lt. Scharf has assisted me at least a dozen times on this type of repair. He’s familiar with the procedure so he’ll assist. If you wish, you may observe.”
“But…”
“Or you can perform the operation yourself. You’re the chief surgeon. The choice is yours.”
“I…” the old doctor wearily shook his head. “I’m the chief surgeon in title only. The actual chief surgeon is and has been for some time, Dr. Abbey Kaplan. I prefer to observe, Doctor.”
Abbey turned to her team. “Is the dental material cleaned and ready?”
“Yes, Doctor.” Cpl. Silver said.
“Dental material?” Dr. Fellows said quietly. In full voice, he said, “Dr. Kaplan…please…this is my nephew…”
“The team will do its best for him,” Abbey assured him.
The End in Sight
“As our regiment’s involvement in the war is winding down, we may be disbanded, although some soldiers will be folded into other units,” Dr. Fellows said to Abbey while she and Lt. Scharf ate breakfast on a bright, early April day in 1865. “Rumors abound, Lee will surrender shortly.”
“Please Lord, that should happen,” Abbey said.
The older doctor smiled and said, “In a letter I just received, my nephew’s wife sent her thanks for caring for him. She said he’s healing nicely.”
A small volley of rifle-fire echoed across the camp. They looked in its direction.
Dr. Fellows shook his head. “That sound is the execution of Lt. Smith and his courier.”
“What? No!” Abbey was incredulous, wide-eyed and her jaw dropped.
“He was caught in the act of handing information on casualties, battle strength and placement to his courier.”
“He didn’t sound southern,” Lt. Scharf said.
“The man was a well-paid spy. The day our
pickets were overcome was the result of knowing precisely where they were. When a Confederate headquarters company was overrun, his name was on a document in possession of a Southern colonel.”
Abbey shook her head. “I’m astounded. He was the head of our team…good to everyone.”
“As we are taught, the love of money is the root of all evil.” Dr. Fellows appeared deeply saddened. “A banker was instrumental in turning him in. He reported to the Military Investigative Service, Smith’s sister made monthly deposits in gold coin. The funds were far in excess of what they could have earned from their farm. He was the conduit for your likeness reaching the Confederates.”
“The drawing…so then he likely killed Pvt. Tomlinson.”
“A war, and money, does strange things to people.” Dr. Fellows shook his head and walked away.
* * *
The following day after camp disease treatment, Dr. Kaplan heard men shouting and an occasional gun shot. Cpl. Dan Silver came running up to her. “It’s over!”
“What?”
“Lee surrendered.” He picked her up, spun her around then gently placed her back on the ground and stepped back. “Oops, sorry Doctor.”
Abbey threw her arms around him in a warm embrace.
“It’s over. Thank God Almighty, it’s over.”
Their brief reverie was cut short by the rumble of an explosion.
They gazed at the rising smoke cloud roughly two-hundred-yards distant. “What the hell was that?”
They heard men yelling for help. The twosome ran in the direction of the sounds. In the distance, Abbey observed a large crater. A number of men could be heard moaning while others yelled for help.
Dr. Fellows approached and blocked her path. “I’m sorry Dr. Kaplan.”
“Sorry? Why? What happened?”
“The crater was caused by an exploding powder wagon. It broke a wheel and a number of men were trying to push it off the road. For whatever reason it exploded. Those close to the wagon were torn to shreds.” His face was etched in sorrow. “Abbey, it pains me to inform you but Lt. Scharf was killed. You don’t want to see what’s left of him.” He paused then continued in a somber tone. “I know you two were close…I’m so sorry.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “A number of the wounded need surgery. If you’ll head to the medical tent, I’ll take care of things at this end.”
The Surgeon: A Civil War Story Page 22