The Combat Nurse
Far from the sterile white hospitals
with immaculate polished floors
and crisp white sheets
The combat nurse contemplates the dirt floor of her ward
Her starched white uniform just another memory
Shelved in the back of her mind
As she stands in grime encrusted cammies,
with blood on her boots and dust in her hair...
No sophisticated equipment is at hand for her
No well-stocked central supply
No CAT scans, no MRIs,
no fresh-faced eager young interns
anxious to make their first diagnosis....
There is no overhead music or soft voiced operators
Just the distant sound of small arms fire,
The constant roar of incoming dustoff choppers
and the moans of her patients
No orderly progression of patients sent upstairs from the ER
No scheduled admits or planned workups....
Just the cacaphony of chaotic offloading
as the helicopters disgorge yet another load of
bloodied teenagers
onto the dusty ground
But...as she stands in the opening of the tented ward,
She remembers why she is there....
Because nursing is caring, and she cares deeply
For these fresh faced children in soldiers' uniforms
The faces of her patients will haunt her for the rest of her days
Their grateful smiles and dying cries
There is courage in her caring,
for in her gentle touch she comforts her patients
while she tears yet another hole in her heart.
Love,
Diana E. Anderson, RN
copyright © 1997, by Diana E. Anderson, all rights reserved
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