Profession

Tipping point

Sevastopol was a fairly small city, with a population of about 300,000. Well, that was before the occupation, the number recorded during the last census. And it was still the largest city in the Crimea. Again, before the invasion by the Russians, where the precise number of additional Russian soldiers and sailors was known only to the Russian authorities. But they seemed to be everywhere, perhaps increasing the population by half, on their various duty stations, taking their ease off duty at the few restaurants that were still open, in the movie theaters, walking through the districts. It put the citizens on edge more than anything, and they were getting bold with the success of their occupation. They demanded that shopkeepers give them what they wanted with out paying for it; food, mostly. And the shopkeepers complained to the authorities, who pretty much just shrugged, according to our patients. One particularly heavy night in the ER featured a woman who'd been beaten for refusing to hand over loaves of fresh bread. Well, in the occupied city, bread sold for almost triple what it had in peacetime due to the shortages of the ingredients. The bakery was one of just four still in operation, and they were all only barely hanging in there. Giving the soldiers the bread would have serious financial repercussions. We treated her for a fractured skull, severe lacerations and bruising, and broken bones in her hand. You could still see the boot print on the back of her hand.

I went to bed after my shift worried about the temperature of the city; it was still freezing, but tempers were flaring. I woke up to news that touched us personally. In broad daylight, one of our OB nurses went out to a delivery; we encouraged the local midwives and our nurses to go out for childbirth because it was a lower-stress environment for the mother than having to go through the city, usually on foot, with those sailors everywhere. Our nurse had been stopped and... mishandled. The reason why she wasn't taken aside and raped was, we believed, because she screamed when they put their hands on her and the citizens came to her aid. Greatly outnumbered by incensed Crimeans, they pushed her away and shoved through the crowd. She was a true nurse to her core; although shaken and upset, she went on to her patient, escorted by several people to see her there safe. The delivery was routine and safe. It took quite a lot of nerve, but she walked back to the hospital on her own. The head of the mission took off for the general's office like he was shot on a rocket. He returned, still angry, with a half-hearted apology and an empty promise to look into the situation. We were instantly issued new orders. No one was to leave the grounds unless we were headed toward a patient or other business for the Order, and if we left, we had to go in at least pairs. Safety in numbers.

That night, I was helping the surgeon with a ruptured appendix when I was distracted by a background noise. It was faint through the walls of the hospital into the operating theater, but the volume was just enough to be irritating. Not just to me; the anesthesiologist snapped, "Now what?"

"We have to finish up with this guy before we find out what fresh hell we're in now," the surgeon said glumly as he flushed the abdomen to get rid of the bacteria that could lead to a fatal infection. "I'm starting to think I should have taken the Order up on its offer to void my contract. Sutures, nurse." I turned to my tray. As the last stitch was placed and the dressing applied, the anesthesiologist wrapped up things on her end and I double-checked to make sure all instruments and mops were accounted for; nobody wanted to leave anything in the patient. Finally I nodded and the orderly came forward to take the patient to a recovery room. For a surgery, we could justify keeping a patient at least overnight. It had been an easy surgery, no worries, and the doctors left after removing their surgical gowns and personal protective equipment. I loitered, doing the cleaning instead of leaving it for another nurse, not really wanting to find out what was going on out there. It couldn't be good. But at length, I'd disposed of all the medical waste, taken care of the laundry, cleaned the room, and took the instruments to be cleaned and autoclaved.