The Surgeon: A Civil War Story

by Schwartz, Richard Alan

  “Nothing’s changed I’m aware of. If it’s quiet tomorrow, I’ll travel to the recovery hospital. You and I can examine some of the patients then discuss this further.”

  * * *

  A sergeant stood in front of the men’s ward at the recovery hospital. “Sorry miss. You can’t enter. It’s an all-male ward.”

  “I’m Doctor Kaplan.”

  He laughed. “And I’m the king of England.”

  “Dr. Connolly asked me to come here.”

  “Say what you want, lady. Dr. Connolly says no women in the men’s ward so despite your britches…you ain’t getting in”

  “Shit. This is so goddamned frustrating.”

  “So I guess you ain’t no lady either.”

  Fuming, Abbey returned to her quarters at the field hospital and sent Dr. Connelly a note explaining her difficulty in gaining access to the patients.

  “More crap because I’m female,” she thought. “Does it never end? I have so much work to perform and shouldn’t be wasting my time on this. Will I spend the whole damn war demonstrating that I’m just as capable as a man?”

  * * *

  “There are male and female wards at the recovery hospital.” Abbey said. She and Doctor Connolly stood in the middle of her tent.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “And you’ve setup restrictions such that male doctors are allowed to visit their female patients in the female ward but a female doctor isn’t allowed to visit her male patients in their ward?”

  “You’re a woman. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  Abbey clenched her fists. “I operated on many, if not most, of them. Do you have any idea how damn stupid you must be to establish those rules?”

  His eyes grew large. “How dare you talk to me like that! You have no business being here in the first place. The very idea of a female doctor is abhorrent.” He stood tall. “I’m an officer and a gentleman who doesn’t appreciate nor will tolerate your language or tone of voice.” Dr. Connolly removed a leather glove from his belt. He slapped her across the cheek as if he were remonstrating a child. If he had ever seen Abbey’s father David’s expression when he became angry, the Captain would have known what was coming next. Red-faced and with fury in her eyes, Abbey slammed her right fist into the doctor’s face quick as a lightning strike. Blood spurted from his broken nose. He yelled and threw his hands up to his face. She used a left uppercut to his belly which doubled him over and had sufficient force to lift his heals off the ground. Dr. Kaplan straightened him up with a right to his jaw. He stumbled backwards toward the tent’s entrance but fell to his knees, gasping for air. Abbey picked him up by the back of his collar and trousers, then, with a grunt, threw him out the tent opening.

  She closed the tent flap. Abbey dropped into her desk chair still shaking with anger. The doctor heard the captain yell, “I’m fine. I don’t need help standing.”

  Someone said, “Sir, you’ve got blood on your face.”

  “Get away from me! Dammit. Get away.”

  “I’ll catch hell for this,” Abbey thought.

  * * *

  Lieutenants Smith and Scharf sat down across from her at evening meal the same day. Both grinning broadly.

  Lt. Smith said, “There’s a story going around, there was a little excitement in the officer’s area.”

  Without looking up from her mucket, she said, “Word travels fast.”

  “Something about a captain flying out of a tent like he was launched from a cannon.”

  “He slapped me.”

  “What?” Lt. Scharf stood with clenched fists…fury in his expression.

  “Sit,” Abbey told him. “It’s over.”

  “He had no right to strike you,” Lt. Scharf said while still clenching his fists. “You can press charges.”

  Abbey shrugged. “I should tell Dr. Fellows before the captain reports me.”

  “Not necessary,” Lt. Smith said while shaking his head.

  “The captain won’t tell anyone.”

  “Of course he will,” Abbey said. She motioned for Lt. Scharf to sit.

  The lieutenant slowly sat, then said, “You think he’s going to complain to a superior officer, after he slapped a woman, she knocked the crap out of him and launched him out of her tent like a sack of potatoes? I think not.”

  Abbey giggled while the lieutenants laughed.

  Two days later, another Captain arrived at the field hospital just as she was about to begin surgery.

  “I’m Doctor Anthony Milton. I’ve been assigned to head the recovery hospital as Captain Connolly has requested transfer to another assignment.”

  Abbey introduced herself.

  Dr. Milton said, “I believe you’ve been advised there is a problem with the use of chloroform and wish to visit your patients in the recovery hospital. If you give me a time, I will meet you there and we will investigate this further.”

  “I was refused entrance to the male wards last time I visited.”

  “I assure you, it will not happen again, Doctor.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You attempt to repair numerous gut-shot men. Many are surviving like the man whose appendix you removed. I’d like to discuss your procedure.”

  “I’ll send you my notes so we can discuss them when we meet. I have three surgeries to perform so I need to excuse myself. One of them is a gut-wound.”

  “May I observe?”

  Abbey was pleasantly surprised at his request and agreed.

  Following the surgeries, Dr. Milton said, “Thank you for letting me observe. I appreciate you teaching me new techniques.”

  “My pleasure,” she said. “I’ve been thinking, would you please address my lieutenants concerning the chloroform problem?”

  “Certainly.”

  Lt. Smith and Lt. Scharf reported to them. They stood just outside the main medical tent on a cool but sunny day. The red flag snapped several times in a stiff breeze.

  Dr. Milton explained, “A small number of post-surgical patients at the recovery hospital exhibited a loss of mental ability. Some experienced difficulty caring for themselves while others were incapable of the smallest tasks. We believe it may be due to overuse of chloroform.”

  “How many are we talking about?” Lt. Smith asked.

  “A handful after each battle. Nearly all post-surgery patients,” Abbey said.

  “We can try to watch Pvt. Laurence more closely but he takes his job seriously,” Lt. Scharf said. “Never seen him make a mistake.”

  Dr. Kaplan said, “Be aware we have a problem and if you see anything, let me know. We need to solve this.”

  She dismissed the lieutenants then addressed Dr. Winston, “Care to join me for lunch?

  He nodded and they proceeded to the officer’s mess area.

  “How are you holding up physically?” Dr. Milton asked.

  “Well enough.”

  “Care to expound?”

  “The usual new surgeon aches in the knees and hips plus being so tall, I have to bend over when I work. It’s led to lots of back pain.”

  “You’re in charge. If you wish, have your staff raise the surgical table.”

  “Should have thought of that…shows you how I’ve concentrated on the troops well-being instead of my own.”

  They ate for a bit.

  Dr. Milton said, “Does your team handle the horror of endless ghastly wounds adequately?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you?”

  Abbey thought for a while. “Occasional headaches but those may be from the weather.”

  “Sleep well?”

  “Most nights.”

  “If you’re having trouble sleeping, let someone know. We need to keep you in tiptop shape.”

  “I’ll keep your thoughts in mind.”

  He stood and said, “Recovery hospital tomorrow at one o’clock?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Don’t come alone. I hear Confederate sniper teams are roaming the countryside
.”

  Wounded

  Abbey walked to a small stream to relieve herself. She had just finished when the doctor felt as if a red-hot fire-poker was applied to the top of her thigh. A fraction of a second later, she heard a gunshot. She fell to her knees and saw a bullet had ripped diagonally across the top of her thigh. It bled profusely. She used her hands to bring the edges together and moaned at the pain this caused. Abbey realized whoever fired at her was likely reloading. She pulled herself along on her side with one arm and one leg while she tried to keep the wound closed with the other hand. Struggling to keep moving and becoming dizzy from the pain, Abbey prayed she wouldn’t pass out. She pulled herself into a stand of reeds. The doctor lay on her side in five-inches of cold water and mud. A light rain began.

  “Damn. If I don’t stop the bleeding, I could die here,” she thought then silently cursed. “No underskirt to tear into bandages this time. Damn this burns.”

  The doctor pulled and yanked on the shoulder seam of her shirt. Each movement causing fiery pain in her leg. She tugged and tugged but couldn’t pull it apart. Abbey stopped for a moment to let some of the pain subside then pulled the seam into her mouth and forcefully chewed on it until her jaws ached. Eventually, she created a small hole which Abbey enlarged sufficiently to tear the sleeve off. Wrapping the wound with the sleeve was sufficiently painful to cause tears to form.

  She heard voices from across the stream.

  “That damn Yank is out there but wounded.”

  “We need to search the far bank and finish him off.”

  Abbey took handfuls of mud and wiped her face, hands and the sleeveless arm. The sounds of men splashing across the stream reached her ears. She slowly rotated her head in their direction while removing her pistol from its holster. Each man carried a rifle with a long bayonet attached. They walked up and back along the streambank. One man entered the reeds where she was hiding. He opened the flap in his pants. Abbey, listening to his stream, felt an insect crawling across her neck. She experienced a tremendous desire to reach up and brush it off but knew she couldn’t. The bug crawled up to her ear then slowly walked across her cheek then stopped just below her nose. She slowly took in a breath then exhaled. The insect walked across her upper lip, crossed her lips to her chin and mercifully jumped off.

  The soldier closed the flap in his pants and began walking…close enough to Abbey, muddy water splashed into her nose. Her reflexes wanted her to exhale but she couldn’t risk movement. A trickle of water began working its way to the back of her nose. Abbey slowly rotated her head more nose down. She felt the water running forward. The doctor stifled multiple sneezes. Abbey exhaled slowly to help clear her nostrils. The soldier’s footsteps stopped. She froze. After what seemed like an interminable time, during which she dared not breath, he continued walking away from her.

  “I know he’s in here and I know I hit him,” one of them said.

  “We can’t spend all night trying to find one man,” a second man said. “The three of us are heading back to camp. You got five minutes more then you join us.”

  “Yes, Corporal.”

  Abbey began shivering, her body temperature dropping from the cold water she was laying in. The rainwater on her face combined with mud and ran into her eye. She jammed it shut, using all her self-control to avoid wiping it with her hand while listening to the soldier tramp up and back in the stream. Three minutes later, she heard the soldier retracing his steps then saw him entering the reeds.

  “There you are,” he said.

  The manner he held his rifle indicated he intended to bayonet her. The fiendish triumphal grin on his face was ripped from his expression as a bullet passed through his heart. He crumpled to the reed bed with a splash. Abbey closed her eyes, said a prayer, and placed the revolver back in its holster. She wiped her eye on her left sleeve. It still stung.

  “His friends may have heard the shot,” she thought. “I need to move.”

  With much effort and enduring sharp pain in her thigh with every movement, she side-crawled through the reeds and muck while dragging her wounded leg. She clawed her way as quietly as possible; her hands finding little purchase in the ooze. Abbey traveled at what seemed like a snail’s pace; many minutes later finally arriving at the edge of the reeds. She dragged herself onto solid ground. The doctor checked her thigh. The bandage was soaked in blood. Exhausted from the pain and loss of blood, Abbey lay still and rested for a while. Her heart beat rapidly and her chest and abdominal muscles ached from getting air into her lungs at such a rapid rate and for such a long time. She sucked in her breath and froze. In the fading light, a soldier was approaching. He kneeled. She slowly moved her hand to the pistol.

  Abbey heard a whispered, “Dr. Kaplan.”

  She closed her eyes then whispered, “Here!” and mouthed a rapid prayer.

  The man stayed low and moved to her side, his face and hands covered in mud making it difficult to see who it was. He carried a rifle and two cartridge boxes.

  “I’ve been shot in the thigh,” she whispered. “I covered the wound but it’s still bleeding.”

  “We need to get away from here but I’ll wrap your leg first.” She recognized Lt. Scharf’s voice.

  He lifted the cover of his cartridge box and removed bandage material. The lieutenant opened his folding knife, cut the sleeve and re-wrapped her wound with the fresh bandage.

  “It’s getting dark now,” he whispered. “Just some red sky in the west. I’ll carry you on my back.” He put his rifle and cartridge case straps over her shoulders.

  She moaned as he hoisted her.

  “Sorry,” the lieutenant said.

  They’d moved about twenty-yards when a shot rang out. The bullet went through the edge of a tree then slammed into Abbey’s hip with enough force to knock both of them to the ground. Lt. Scharf glanced back across the stream, watching the bushes wave in the evening breeze. He noted one bush moving opposite the others then chambered a round in his lever-action. Abbey’s helper fired a rapid five rounds. Abbey moaned. He checked the new wound, ripped open the cartridge case and pulled out another length of bandage which he quickly applied.

  “We need to keep moving,” he said.

  Her expression reflected the tremendous pain she was experiencing but she managed to nod.

  They heard soldiers approaching.

  Lt. Scharf aimed his rifle in their direction. “Only two rounds in the magazine and no time to reload.” His tightly wound body appeared to relax. “Brooklyn accents, thank God,” he whispered then shouted, “Over here. I need help with a wounded soldier.”

  A number of men came up and helped get Abbey to the medical tent.

  Once inside, Lt. Smith and Pvt. Lawrence placed her on the operating table. Lt Scharf began washing his hands.

  “I need surgery to close my leg wound and get the bullet out of my hip,” Abbey said. “Sober up Dr. Fellows.”

  “No time,” Lt. Scharf said.

  Abbey’s attempt at saying “No. You don’t know enough…” was stifled as Lt. Scharf held a chloroformed cloth across her nose and mouth.

  One Mystery Solved – Another Continues

  Feeling groggy, Abbey found herself back in her tent with her right hip and thigh wrapped in bandages. She saw Lt. Scharf at her desk reading and making notes. The doctor lifted her head. “Who removed the bullet and…sutured?”

  “Me.”

  Abbey laid back and closed her eyes.

  “Either I perform the work or you’d have bled out.”

  “I know.” She took a few deep breaths. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Roughly ten-hours.”

  “Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

  “You in pain?”

  “Not too bad. Pinches a bit when I move.”

  “Dr. Fellows gave me a white liquid if you need it.”

  She grinned briefly then said in a sarcastic voice, “He’s not indisposed?”

  “After we took care of you, Lt. Smith a
nd Pvt. Lawrence poured enough coffee down his gullet to drown an elephant.”

  Abbey giggled.

  “He sobered up when he was clear headed enough to realize you’d be off your feet for a while.” He held up a stoppered bottle. “So, you want the pain killer?”

  “Not now. Uh…I’m not wearing the same clothes.”

  “Your laundry lady and her daughter washed you and put you in clean clothes. You were still feeling the effects of the chloroform so may not remember.”

  “Thank you for all you did. And thank the team for me.” She folded her arm across her eyes. “Did they enjoy seeing me exposed?”

  “Lt. Smith or I would have punched the lights out of anyone who acted disrespectfully. We kept you covered as modestly as we could.” He stared at her for a while. “Dr. Kaplan, after you’ve saved so many soldier’s lives, the team respects you; even the men who don’t think you should be here. It was like caring for a sister.” He read for a bit then added, “By the way, when I inspected the wound in your quadriceps prior to closing it, there was no visible damage to your femur or quadriceps tendon.”

  “Thank you…how did you know to check…”

  He held up a book. “Been working through those medical texts.”

  Abbey smiled briefly, then asked, “Why wasn’t I moved to the recovery hospital?”

  “Dr. Fellows wanted you nearby so he could check on your progress and have one of the team keep an eye on you. Also something about the recovery hospital being overrun by gangrene.”

  “Sorry you’re assigned such boring duty.”

  “I volunteered.”

  “Why?”

  “I always watch out for our assistant surgeon.” He grinned.

  “It’s in my job description.”

  “Just you?”

  “Lt. Smith, Private Silver and Pvt. Lawrence also volunteered. They’ll rotate with me for a few days. They, like me, also volunteered to search for you with an infantry unit.”