ADDI THE BADDI
I barely have time to breathe before the soldier at my door smacks the canvas entrance open and my next patient unevenly strides into my tent. A man no younger than my parents holds out his health summary and I invite him to sit on the examination bed.
"How are you, Mr O'Dea?"
"It's just Fred, and I'm fine," he mumbles. He, like most of the patients I've seen today, seems almost disgusted by my presence. I don't know what he expects me to do, but it makes me a little sad to hear this.
"So what brings you here?"
"I didn't have a choice."
Yeah, being forced to do things has probably caused their sulky behaviour. I flick through his file, hoping he isn't put off by the waiting. Honestly, I think it would be more efficient if we'd seen the files beforehand, but according to what Courtney and Una had told me this morning, I was probably doing more than most nurses.
My finger trails down the page until I reach his latest medical visit. "Fred, it says here that you last visited the doctors' tent three months ago for stitches?"
"Yes."
"Have you seen any doctors since?"
"No," he replies somewhat incredulously. Like I'd ever, he's saying.
Flipping the file shut I ask, "Why?"
"No one told me I should."
For some reason, I'm not surprised.
"You wouldn't mind if I took a look then?"
He shrugs. I glance at the calf where the suspected stitches are. Gulp down quickly, dismissing the images I'd seen in my two years of training in the field. I instruct him to lie face-down on the bed, drawing up the pant leg and try not to pass out.
To spare you the gory detail, he might have sepsis.
That's no less disgusting.
"Well, I don't mean to scare you, but your stitches are infected," I say clinically. "Are you in pain, Fred?"
"A little," he mumbles.
"And you never once thought to get it checked out?"
He laughed. "Like you'd do anything about it."
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean is that you don't really care about my health. You'll just tick a few boxes and send me on my way. I've seen two nurses about this and not one of them have fixed it. I doubt you'll be the one to change that. So just let me go."
I know it's my job to fix him, but I can't turn down a good opportunity to prove someone wrong. "Unfortunately, Fred, I can't let you leave with this situation on your calf. I'm gonna get you cleaned up and set you on a course of antibiotics. Then, we're going to have to see you on a weekly basis at least to check up and fix that dressing." I slap the latex gloves and prepare my antiseptic treatment. "Alright, this is only gonna sting for a bit."
A moment later, the canvas slaps open again and I drop my cotton bud onto the floor. Snapping my neck up, I see that a calmly raging man has entered. "Sir," I nod, tweezers still hovering above Fred's leg. Ethically, this is not right. But I guess he's a pretty decorated officer so the rules don't apply to him. My eyes scan to his other pectoral. Johnson.
So this is the notorious Johnson.
"I have some questions, nurse," he says in a tone I recognise from years of passive and very aggressive outbursts from my father. Something in my core goes rigid preemptively. "Why is your soldier outside the door?"
"Privacy," I reply quietly. "I don't think the patients want a stranger to listen in to our sessions."
"They lost the right to their privacy when they invaded our country."
I want to ask him why he bothers with these checkups, but figure that would terribly backfire on me.
"Next question: what is taking you so long?" Johnson glances at Fred. "Leave it. He looks fine. You're wasting everyone's time, nurse. Pick up the pace, we still have six more blocks to get through today."
He waits for my response. I don't want to confront him, but I don't want to agree with him. "Alright, sir," I say, figuring one more lie wouldn't hurt to add to the list. Still dissatisfied, Johnson turns on his heel and walks out. I consider following his advice, then shrug, and continue working with Fred.
I turn to the antibiotics I have on hand and give Fred a couple to take over the next few days. "You're probably gonna wanna hide that. Come back once you've gotten through those pills."
"I work all day."
"Swing by after work. During dinner perhaps. Is that possible?"
He narrows his eyes as if he doesn't trust that I won't do something weird. I wanna say, Dude, I just saved your life. If I wanted to kill you I'd have sent you on your merry way ages ago.
"Bring a friend," I say as encouragingly as I can, handing him back his file.
"Can I ask you something?"
I look up, trying to look interested. "Sure."
"Where are you from?"
I pause, trying to recall any place in this stupid country. "West Virginia," I say, only one song coming to mind.
"Not with an accent like that. It's a western accent, and it's fake as hell." He gets up to leave. "Plus, what kind of American helps the enemy?"
