Pitschen ma en gamba - Small, but powerful [A Band of Brothers Story]

Thanksgiving

On Thursday, Ella started her volunteer work at the University Hospital. Head nurse Marlene Brown was over the moon when she saw just how skilled and experienced the young medic was.

No matter how bad the condition of the patient was, she was calm and friendly, keeping up a steady stream of light, soothing chatter. She easily engaged the people she dealt in simply conversation, always considerate and unobtrusive.

"Ella, can you take the patient in number 5, please?", Elizabeth asked. "He needs some stitches."

"Of course." The brunette grabbed the clipboard with the patient's information, skimming over it as she headed towards bed number 5.

Crying reached her ears. Pulling the curtain aside to slip through, she saw the cause for the tears: On the bed sat a young boy, probably no older than 5, with a big, bleeding gash on his hand. By his side stood a frazzled-looking woman, undoubtedly his mother.

"Hello", she greeted them with a friendly smile. "My name is Ella. You must be Mickey."

He sniffled and nodded, large tears rolling down his chubby cheeks.

Sitting down in a chair, she examined the cut. "What happened there?", she asked, preparing the supplies. She would have to clean it first to prevent infection before actually putting in the stitches.

His mother replied for Mickey, who had stopped crying and was now playing with a cotton swab. "Mickey took his father's hunting knife, although I have told him a hundred times already that he shouldn't."

Ella gave her young patient an amused look. "Yeah, knives are very dangerous if you don't know how to use them", she told him.

He hung his head and mumbled contritely: "I know."

She smiled softly, flushing the wound with saline and cleaning it with iodide swabs. "But luckily", she continued, "this cut isn't so bad."

"Is it going to scar?", Mickey's mother wanted to know.

The small medic nodded. "Yes, it will leave a small scar."

Mickey seemed to find those prospects very exciting and he grinned at his mom. "Mommy", he called, "I'll have a scar just like Daddy's."

His mother sighed. "My husband was in the war", she explained. "A piece of shrapnel left a scar on his shoulder."

***

Ella was beginning to stitch up the cut after giving the Novocaine time to take effect. Mickey hadn't even felt the prick of the syringe.

"So, your Daddy was a soldier?", she asked the boy.

"Uh-huh", he made, beaming proudly and showing off his missing tooth. "He's a superhero!"

She chuckled. "I bet."

Listening to Mickey's story of how he and his Daddy had built a shed in the garden, the brunette quickly put in the handful of stitches required to close the gash. Dressing the wound, she wished him a speedy recovery and bid them goodbye.

"Bye bye, Ella!" Mickey waved with his freshly bandaged hand, pain and tears long forgotten.

Much to her relief, the familiar perceptions associated with hospitals, injuries and sick people rarely triggered any flashbacks or distressing emotions. The memories and feelings that did resurface were pushed back into the dusty corner of her mind for later processing.