That would make her father ashamed, she was sure. The fainting spell that she displayed in the surgery area had been more or less a ruse. She had been frozen in place by a panic attack and had fallen to the floor rather than admit to it. The pale complexion that Lieutenant McKay had noticed came with the territory for Wendy.
“I started getting severe panic attacks in the last three years. I had never had them before. I ended up going to the emergency room several times and was put on Zoloft by my doctor. I had them one after the other last year, but they went away for months and months when I was first on the medication. I figured I would never get them again and decided to join up. That was a big mistake! Now they have come back with a vengeance.
“I also had an EKG done showing numerous PVCs – it just means my heart stops for a second or two. It’s not that dangerous, but no fun either, because every time they happen I feel as if I'm going to die.”
Chelsea’s heart went out to Wendy. She had assumed that the young nurse was just one of those kinds of people who didn’t like to talk very much. Now she could see that Wendy was not anti-social. She was scared.
Chelsea walked over to Wendy and sat down next to her on the bed inside Wendy’s CHU. Wendy’s roommate was on a tour in surgery and wouldn’t be back for a while. That’s probably why Wendy opened up now, Chelsea thought. She’s hiding this from everyone. She’s even hiding it from her roommate. “Are you still on the Zoloft?” Chelsea asked.
“No, I’m not on anything. The Army is really strict about any kind of drugs. Even prescriptions. So I’m trying to get by without. I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to, though! I can feel myself cracking from the inside out!”
Wendy’s leaky eyes gave way to full-on desperate sobs. Chelsea rubbed her back and her neck but nothing that she could do seemed to help the wailing young lady beside her. Chelsea hearkened back to her psychology section when she was in college.
“Have you tried the non-medication techniques? You probably have. But did they do any good? Some people say that meditation, yoga, Tai-Chi, prayer, even diet changes can help.
“I saw a civilian herbalist just before I was deployed. I didn’t want anyone at work to know that there was anything wrong. She recommended that I completely do away with processed sugar. She said that the sugar heats up the nervous system and makes it more vulnerable to anxiety for people who are already prone to that kind of thing.”
Chelsea nodded, hoping that they were on to something. “Did getting rid of sugar help?”
Wendy laughed ruefully. “Not that I could tell. And the next time that I went for a complete physical they said that I was a touch hypoglycemic.”
Chelsea smiled. “Low blood sugar. Gee, I wonder why?”
Wendy looked at her new friend. ‘Thank you for listening, Chelsea. It actually helps a little to have someone to tell. I still don’t know what I’m going to do, but thanks anyway.”
Chelsea went back to her own CHU. People stateside don’t have any idea what being in a war zone is all about. They think that it’s getting shot at—or not in our case—and going home when it’s time to go home. There are a lot of people like Wendy, though. There are lots of lost souls that are just trying to get by.
Just as Chelsea drifted off to sleep she thought about Tim Giacomo and his brother. She couldn’t get the sight of Tim asleep with his head on his brother’s bed out of her mind. There was something so simple and yet so profound about the scene. Part of Chelsea was glad that she had the opportunity to see it. But another part of her wondered if she should have been privy to such a private moment.
I’ll go and see Tim’s brother tomorrow, Chelsea thought as she drifted away. It’s been a few days. I wonder how he’s doing?
She found Tim at one of the vending machines in Glynnis the next day, and told him what she had witnessed. Chelsea quickly found out that there was no issue with her having seen Tim and Gerald that night. In fact, what she thought had been Tim asleep was, in fact, Tim in prayer.
“I knew that you were there, Chels. I was just thanking the Man upstairs for keeping Gerald alive and me safe so far. You know the old expression, ‘There are no atheists in foxholes.’ Well, I guess it was really true for me. Don’t get me wrong. I was never a full-on atheist. But until this happened to my twin brother, I hadn’t given any time to God or prayer or anything in months…maybe years. But ever since he got hurt I can’t stop checking in with Him.”
Chelsea put her hand on Tim’s arm. “I know what you mean. The sick and dying people have made me find my spiritual center too. Would you like to join me some time for prayer? Just the two of us, I mean? We can pray for your brother.” Suddenly Chelsea realized that she had left out a very important part of the beginning of her conversation.
“How is he doing, anyway?” Tim smiled widely. “He’s doing great. He developed an infection just like we were told that he would, but the antibiotics that they gave him have it just about completely whipped. Do you want to go see him? He was flirting with a nurse when I left the room just a little bit ago.”
Gerald Giacomo had indeed perked up since Chelsea had last seen him. Chelsea had learned to detect the signs of a patient in real recovery, and Gerald had all of the earmarks. His eyes danced, and there was no hint of tremor in his movements. She was so glad for both Gerald and Tim that Gerald was going to be fine. Tim introduced Chelsea and told him the role that she had played in his treatment. He shook Chelsea’s proffered hand and invited her to sit down in the chair that had been recently occupied by Tim. “It’s okay,” Chelsea said. “I’ll go get another chair from the nurses’ station.”
“Nonsense,” Gerald said. You’re a hell of a lot prettier than my brother. You sit there, and he can go find another chair. Or he can just go away, and I can get to know you.”
Tim laughed. “Are you gonna be okay with this character, Chels? I need to call my wife anyway. I’ll meet you downstairs. Don’t tire him out,” Tim said, throwing a wink his brother’s way. Chelsea smiled at Gerald, but felt a little bad that she had taken the patient’s brother’s chair nevertheless.
It was apparent to her that Tim’s assertion that Gerald had been flirting with the nurses was probably based on fact. Gerald was a good looking guy, even in patient garb and was obviously at ease around females. Chelsea knew that it was a first impression, but her initial reaction was that Gerald was a little smooth for her taste. She preferred someone with a little more humility than what she was seeing from Gerald Giacomo.
Gerald was unaware that Chelsea’s initial assessment was anything but good. “So, you were one of the ones that fixed me up. Good on ya’ Chelsea. Thanks. I mean that.” Chelsea answered, “I’m so glad you’re feeling better. I was there, but it was Captain McGuire whom you should be thanking. He did most of the work.”
Gerald’s face turned serious. “Well, I’ll do just that if I see him. Truth be told, I don’t remember anything but what felt like a million hot needles being stuck in me and then a part of a bumpy helo ride. After that? Nothing until I woke up here.”
“It’s not too surprising that you don’t remember much. The anesthetic that we gave you has some amnesia qualities to it. You were conscious but sedated.”
“Well, I’m glad that you came by. I wouldn’t have wanted to forget someone as pretty as you.”
Oh brother, Chelsea thought. Young Mr. Giacomo is good.
Aloud she said, “I need to let you rest. I’ll come back in a day or two if you would like.”
“Oh, I would like. Anytime. Maybe we could go dancing,” he said indicating his legs that were still bandaged from his ankles to his crotch. Chelsea smiled. “Maybe.”
As she left Chelsea waved back toward the bed. Gerald was looking away by that time. When he wasn’t smiling there was something different about him. Chelsea noticed that his mouth turned down at the corners. Chelsea almost went back into the room to find out what was wrong, but she didn’t. She was sure that it was a trick of the light, or
something. Downstairs, Tim Giacomo was finishing a cup of what Glynnis called coffee. It was actually more like road tar than anything else but it was black, hot, and would do until Starbucks came to Bagram. Chelsea sat down next to her friend. “He’s a lot of fun, your brother.”
“He is most of the time. I’m glad that you talked to him. I worry about him.”
Chelsea looked quizzically at Tim. “The infections are all under control. I don’t think anyone is expecting anything for him but a full recovery and a return to his unit.”
Tim tossed his empty coffee cup into a trash can before answering. “It isn’t his injuries, or even the infections that came with them that I’m worrying about. My brother hasn’t seemed the same lately when we talk. He used to be pretty upbeat most of the time. You know, as he was when you first walked in. But he’s been…just different. I can’t explain it any better than that.”
“Tim, do you think it’s the stress of where we are? Anyone would have mood swings under the circumstances.”
“That could be it. I don’t know. Gerald used to write to me, email me, text me, something every three or four days. Then his unit went to Herat on maneuvers. They took some serious shelling from the rebels when they were there. It wasn’t the first, or even the worst, shelling that Gerald and A Company have taken. But it was right after that time out in the field that Gerald’s emails and texts became less frequent. And the things that he did send were different, ya’ know?
Chelsea leaned forward. “Different. Different how?
Tim shook his head in frustration and slapped the table with his hand. “I would tell you how if I could figure it out!”
Chelsea jumped a little and recoiled from her friend. Just as soon as he saw her reaction Tim apologized. “I’m so sorry, Chels. Please forgive me. It’s not your fault. I’m just trying to figure out if something is wrong with my brother. Or maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m cracking up!”
Chelsea put her hand over Tim’s. “It’s okay, Tim. Really. There are a lot of us that are going through a hard time right now.”
Chelsea thought about Wendy Shafer. She wouldn’t tell Tim about her because of the chance that the two knew each other, but the stress levels that Tim was manifesting right now sounded like what Wendy had talked about earlier. Chelsea began to wonder what this war was doing to the survivors, not to mention the casualties.
Two days later, Chelsea went back to visit with Gerald Giacomo again. He was quieter and more subdued, albeit still friendly. She asked if he had seen his brother recently.
“Yeah, he came by earlier. He said that he would be back tomorrow.”
Chelsea wanted to see if she could gather information to explain Tim’s outburst the other day. Additionally she hoped to get to know Gerald well enough to help Tim figure out what if anything had happened to his brother to make him display a personality change.
As Gerald looked away from Chelsea and out the window, she again saw the flash of something in his eyes that she had noticed when she was leaving his room two days earlier. There was sadness there, pain even. She wondered if Tim had been on to something.
“How are you feeling Gerald? I mean really…”
Chelsea’s voice trailed away. Why would the young man in the bed confide in her? she thought. She was still just somebody to float platitudes against, rather than share what was real. She was a stranger, really. If her detective work were to come to fruition, she would need a new avenue. She would have to be a little sneaky.
Gerald Giacomo hadn’t answered her question. He was still looking out the window and lost in his thoughts. Rather than be offended by Gerald’s apparent ignoring of her, Chelsea instinctively understood. He hadn’t even heard her, so buried was he in his own mind. She considered taking her leave, but just as she was about to stand, Gerald turned to her.
“Don’t go.”
Chelsea settled in her chair. There was a longing just behind Gerald’s eyes. She was moved by the naked emotion behind his two word request.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
Chelsea reached between the metal bars of the hospital bed. She placed her hand over Gerald’s hand and sat quietly. The two members of the armed forces, young in years. though veterans in fact, sat quietly. Gerald Giacomo drifted off to sleep but not before giving Chelsea’s hand an almost imperceptible squeeze.
After that, Chelsea came to see Gerald almost daily. Only when the medical unit was buried under casualties did Chelsea miss a day and even then she had Tim Giacomo take a message to him that she would be by soon.
Little by little, as they became friends, she was able to draw Gerald out. Never quite sure in what mood she would find him, Chelsea rolled with the tide. Physically, he was considerably past the danger point, but that didn’t mean that infections didn’t come and go. He would tell Chelsea when he wasn’t feeling in the pink, but soon she began to recognize the symptoms without him telling her. During those times, she would minister to him with her presence alone.
One day, when he was recovering from a particularly nasty bout with infection, he made Chelsea a deal. The first day that he was able to get clear of the hospital for good, he would take Chelsea to a restaurant that he knew in downtown Kabul. She reminded him that he still had some healing to do but agreed that, when the time came, they would go to the unique restaurant that Gerald had in mind.
Chelsea watched Gerald fall asleep with a smile on his face shortly after they had discussed the plans to get together for dinner. Before she got up to leave, Chelsea took a little personal inventory. She had decided to try to get into Gerald’s head as a favor to Tim. She remembered as she watched the moon cast a shaft of light across his face, her decision to “be a little sneaky.” Now, she regretted those thoughts.
She had grown fond of Specialist First Class Gerald Giacomo. She had moved beyond the nurse/ loyal friend stage into a friendship with the young man. If asked, she couldn’t have said when it had happened, but there was little point in denying that it had happened. She looked forward to getting to know him better. For his sake and her sake as well. Not just as a favor to Tim.
Exactly 66 days after Captain McGuire had removed most of the shrapnel from Gerald’s legs, the young man was declared far enough along on his physical therapy regimen to be allowed off base for an evening. He had turned out to be a man possessed in the therapy gym. Driving his body to, and past, the point of its own endurance he had mostly recovered the dexterity that had been compromised when the pipe bomb and it related detritus smashed into his lower body. He and Chelsea made plans for their night on the town in Afghanistan’s capital city.
Taverna du Liban is located in the north central part of Kabul, not far from the American embassy. Gerald and a few of his buddies had gone there for lunch, and Gerald knew that he would like to return again, but this time for a more formal dinner.
Several Lebanese restaurants have come and gone in Kabul; Taverna du Liban has stayed the course. Tables are laden with mezze (light appetizer dishes) like houmous, tabouleh and Lebanese salad, making it easy to fill up before hitting the grill for your main course. Chelsea allowed Gerald to take the lead. Soon, she realized that the young man’s appetite had not been seriously or permanently harmed by his recent ordeal. He came to the table with a platter-sized plate that was groaning under the weight of the Lebanese feast atop. By comparison, Chelsea looked like someone on a strict diet.
Chelsea smiled at Gerald’s evident enthusiasm for the food. He described the dishes that he was enjoying as he ate them. He told her that Bayd Bel-Banadoora was simply eggs, poached in a tomato sauce. He asked if she would like a taste. Her eyes widened at the marriage of spice and protein. Together they went through a pan of zaatar rolls. Chelsea’s mouth watered as she swallowed the herb and spice infused yeasty rolls. By the end of the dinner Chelsea’s earlier reticence in the face of the bill of fare had given way to a gastronomic pleasure that rivaled Gerald’s.
After dinner, the two young soldiers walked the streets
of Kabul. They listened to the sitar music as it cascaded out of the night clubs. They enjoyed an impromptu woodwind concert that was taking place in the park.
“This is really a fascinating city, isn’t it?” Chelsea said as they walked the path in the park and enjoyed the music under the warm moon.
Gerald didn’t answer. Chelsea started to ask the question again but was stopped by the faraway look in Gerald’s eyes. He had increased the distance between them by half and created even more distance by his stare into the distance. Chelsea held her tongue.
He’s gone, she thought. It happens every once in a while. I wonder where he goes.
A couple of silent minutes later, Gerald looked at her and said only. “Let’s go.”
The trip back to the base was mostly completed in silence. Gerald tried to participate in the conversational gambits that Chelsea started, but it was quickly apparent that his heart wasn’t in it. They separated in front of Chelsea’s CHU with a quick hug and a promise to “do it again, soon,” but Chelsea wondered if those were empty words. She went over the course of the evening in her mind but couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer.
He was there…until he wasn’t, was the extent of what she could gather.
Casualties rained down on Chelsea’s medical team like rain during a Seattle winter. Meaning relentlessly and without a break. Head injuries followed desert-borne illnesses, followed blunt force trauma. It seemed to Chelsea as if it would never end. The fact that it took her mind off of Gerald for a while was small comfort as she treated soldier after soldier and civilian after civilian. The medical team at Bagram Air Base had quickly outstripped the capabilities of the civilian medical centers for most trauma cases, and the beds were full of the sick, dying, and recovering.
Angel of Mercy Page 7
