I Saw You Fell - "Angels Of Bataan"

CHAPTER 9

In May of 'forty-three, the Japanese set up a second internment camp at Los Baños. Initially, eight-hundred internees were sent there to ease the crowding at Santo Tomas. The war was going badly for the Japs now. So, they had begun interning everybody, even the very elderly, the missionaries, and the clergy, who'd been heretofore exempt. Soon, Los Banos started to mirror the conditions at Santo Tomas.

All of the Navy nurses were transferred to Los Banos. They soon immediately to be known as the "sacred eleven." Some of the docs were also sent along. The Japs chose them randomly and unfortunately, they picked Shaefer. That left me as the only person with any surgical training in the entire camp.

I was genuinely appalled when I got the word from Maude. Hell!! I was no surgeon. I mean seriously!! I wasn't even a doctor. I was summoning the courage to tell Maude that she was making a big mistake. That was when Ronnie sat down next to me.

She said gently, "This is your moment, Erik. Nobody will blame you if you take the easy road. But you won't be able to live with yourself if you do."

She sighed and added, "Pretty girls get all of the breaks. But beauty fades and once it's gone there's nothing left. So, I decided to do the right thing, no matter how difficult it was. I never regretted it and I will be with you every step of the way if you choose to stand and fight."

Where did all that wisdom come from? What had happened in this woman's past to make her so smart and strong? I said sheepishly, "You really think I can do it?"

She gave me a lopsided grin and said, "God help me for saying this. But I have faith in you."

For the next several months it was just me and the best scrub nurse in the Philippines. Fortunately, for the health and safety of the camp's residents there was very little call for my services. People who might have needed significant surgery just died. I did some stitching and the occasional C-section, nothing any of the Angels couldn't have done in their sleep ... and I gradually improved.

We had a major typhoon at the end of 'forty-three, which flattened my shack. After that, Missy and I were permitted to sleep at the clinic because Maude and Earl Carroll convinced the Japanese that I had to be available. I'd reinforced that decision with a few of my dwindling supply of gold coins.

Time slowed for everybody. We lived in a fog of basic survival. Our only goal was to make it to the next day. We had no energy. Even the most straightforward task was daunting. Mostly I did my basic patient care duties, the familiar things I had done for the past two years. But it was getting harder to concentrate, and mistakes were made.

Then something happened that convinced me once-and-for-all that my new life had some meaning. Missy was sleeping next to me. It was the middle of the day. But we slept when we could. I heard her cry. I said, "What's the matter, sweetie-pie."

She said, "My tummy hurts, Daddy."

Everybody had digestive problems by that point. It's what happens when you're living on almost no food. Still, her pain was my pain. So, I said, "Let me get you something to eat," and dipped into my stash.

There was nothing left except a couple of chunks of stale bread. I gave them to her and said, "Eat this, and I'll try to buy you something better at the fence." That was getting more difficult because the Japs had begun patrolling the perimeter to stop the Filipinos from selling us food.

Missy whined, but she ate the bread. We settled back to sleep, and perhaps fifteen minutes later, she began to cry again. I said, "Does your stomach still hurt?" The bread should have helped.

She sniveled, "That's not where it hurts, Daddy. It hurts here." She stood up and pointed to her lower right abdomen. A chill passed over me. I pressed the place where Missy had indicated, and she yelped. I felt her head, and it was feverish.

One of the Angels, Jean Kennedy, was nearby. I said, "Jean come over here a second, would you?" Jean was reading a patient's chart. She made a couple of notes and walked over to us.

I said, "Could you please confirm a diagnosis for me? Missy says that she has pain in the right lower quadrant of her abdomen."

Jean got a guarded look and said. "Lie down, Honey." Missy lay back and Jean did a practitioner's trained assessment using the tips of her fingers, poking in certain spots, and asking, "Does it hurt here?"

When she got to the spot that we both dreaded, Missy cried-out in pain, Jean looked meaningfully at me. I said, "Get Ronnie."

My beautiful friend seemed utterly exhausted as she helped me move my little angel into the improvised operating room. Her formerly full and buxom body was like a scarecrow's. But her eyes were as focused and potent as ever.

She did the sterile prep as I scrubbed up. Then I waited while she prepared the instruments. Not a word was said as Earlene calculated the anesthesia ratios. We were all moving like we were wading through mud ... at the absolute limits of our physical endurance.

It is utterly insane for a surgeon to operate on his own child. The emotional baggage amplifies the stress beyond measure. But there was no other option. Thanks to Vincente's mocking gift, I had a complete set of surgical instruments. Ronnie was a master surgical assistant. We could do this. We would beat this together.

I realized this was the quintessential fulcrum on which my life teetered. The potential for error was high. Yet the stakes were far too critical to make a mistake. So, I barricaded myself inside the island fortress of my mind. Every thought was banished. I stopped thinking; I only saw and acted.

I made the incision in Missy's precious skin. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. The blood welled, and Ronnie cleared it with deft, precise moves. We were working very cautiously, too debilitated from hunger and stress to move quickly.

Ronnie's skillful hands worked the retractors, and the evil thing was revealed squatting there like a malevolent toad, swollen and infected. The proper instruments appeared in my hand by Ronnie's magic. I did the simple suture and cut.

Ronnie meticulously cleansed the area as I did a painstakingly delicate removal. The close was routine. I looked at the clock. Appendectomies are typically a forty-five-minute procedure. It had been two and a half hours. I glanced across the table at my stalwart friend, and she was crying. Earlene was weeping at the head.

We left the patient on the table to recover. We had no gurney to move her, and we didn't need the room. Then, as I turned to congratulate both Angels it came rushing at me like an express train out of a tunnel. My vision blurred and I collapsed on the floor, out colder than that proverbial mackerel.

It might have been ten seconds. It might have been an hour. I came back to consciousness with a body pressed on mine and a beautiful weeping face hovering over me. I said puzzled, "What happened?" Not intelligent but I was still pretty out of it.

When she realized that she had been lying half on top of me she looked momentarily embarrassed. Then she snapped into nurse mode and said, "You passed out after the operation. We didn't know what'd happened so Earlene went to get Josie and I was just keeping an eye on you."

That's when I said it. The crushing tension of what we'd just done combined with the proximity of that beautiful face made me say it. But I was glad I did.

She had called me names, she had inspired and supported me, she had given me encouragement in my darkest moments, and just now she had helped me save my precious little girl's life. She could laugh at me and tell me how foolish I was. I didn't care. I had to blurt it out.

I said simply and honestly, "I love you."

I had been thinking about it for over a year, and it was the only thing in this hellhole I knew for sure was true - besides my love for Missy. Ronnie reacted as if I had hit her. She rose slowly and stood there staring at me, anguished, and confused.

I added calmly, "Yes, I love you. I have nothing to say beyond that. We probably won't survive this place and I have no expectations, or intentions. But before we die, I want you to know that I love you."

She finally said, "I don't know what to say Erik."

I said, "Don't say anything. You don't need to. I'm not looking for anything from you. I just need you to know that I finally understand what a genuine connection with another human being feels like."

Then I paused and added bashfully, "You taught me a lot, Veronica Chase."