“I can get the laundry lady.”
“Please. Don’t want to wait. I’m filthy and tired. Hell, I ache in places I didn’t know I had. I need help and I’d prefer it be you.” Abbey managed a weak smile and put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll pretend we’re on leave again.”
“I’m filthy as well,” he said then held up blackened hands.
“You clean up first.” Abbey nodded to a wash basin then gently lowered herself into a chair.
He pulled off his shirt and britches, poured water into the basin, then soaped up, rinsed and wiped off. He refilled it and washed his shirt and britches.
“Take a pair of my britches,” she said. “Don’t wear your wet ones.”
Buttoning a shirt, he said, “Ready to help.”
The lieutenant re-filled the basin then assisted while getting her britches and blouse off. She leaned on his arm and shoulder.
Washed and in clean clothing, Abbey was helped to her desk. She was about to sit but turned and wrapped her arms around him.
“Abbey…”
“Don’t say anything. Just hold me.”
After a few minutes he kissed her cheek.
She turned to her desk chair then slowly sat in it. He sat in a second chair.
“My Lord, I’m exhausted and my muscles ache all over,” she said.
Lt. Scharf shook his head. “So sad about Pvt. Theo. We made it back to our lines…”
“And our own soldiers cut him down.”
Abbey moved to her cot, then pulled out the drawing. “My wanted poster. Who the hell drew this?”
“Only Pvt. Tomlinson has that kind of skill as far as I know. I heard he died this morning. The military police said they found petechiae and bruising around his neck. They think he was killed.”
“Even so. How did the Confederates get the drawing?”
“A spy?” he said then seemed pensive and quiet for a while, just staring at Abbey. “I should go back to my own tent…”
“Stay here. You can use the other cot,” she said. “I’d prefer company.”
He nodded. “Cpl. Wilbur died a hero.”
“We need to write-up his actions.”
“I’ve had my fill of war,” he said.
She slowly shook her head. “When, dear God, will it end?”
Bromine
Late one evening, Abbey was called to the medical tent. A man in obvious discomfort was sitting on a cot.
“My feet are messed up. I can’t walk, Doc.”
Abbey unlaced his boots. The soldier grimaced and occasionally moaned as she removed them.
“This is a mess.” His feet were covered in blisters, infections and cuts.
“How many weeks were they like this?”
“Lost count.”
“I can clean this but you’ll have to be off your feet for a week or so to give these injuries time to heal.”
“If you could just give me something for the pain. I left my buddy at a guard post up yonder ridge but he’s alone.”
“How did you get down here?”
“Mostly crawled.” He winced as she cleaned the sores. “Have to get back in case we hit the shit. Lots of Confederate movement west of here.”
“Sorry but no. You need to give these wounds time to heal. Recovery hospital for you after I’m done.” The soldier didn’t reply.
Abbey cleaned out wounds, lanced blisters and wrapped his feet. “Get some sleep. You’ll be moved by ambulance in the morning.”
* * *
Early the following day, an ambulance driver approached Abbey in the center medical tent. “Someone needs a trip to the recovery hospital?”
“One patient. Has torn up feet.” She nodded toward one of the adjacent medical tents. “Check the medical tent over there.”
Abbey unwrapped the bandage covering her left forearm. She thought, “Damn, warm and looking worse…I wonder…I may have brushed this laceration against the gangrenous wound on the soldier I helped move at the recovery hospital. Is this the beginning of gangrene?” The doctor shuddered. “Could lose my arm, or worse, to that disease.”
The ambulance driver returned. “No one in the medical tent, Doctor.”
“Should be in there.”
“It’s empty except for a dead body…which had good feet. He couldn’t have gone anywhere. His feet were torn up so bad he couldn’t walk.”
“Where was his unit?”
“He said something about an observation post where he’d left a buddy by himself.”
They proceeded to the medical tent. Abbey pointed. “The soldier was in this cot last night.”
“Looks like he dragged himself out of here,” the soldier said pointing to the trail in the dusty earth.
“To get back to his buddy,” she said while shaking her head. “My God, their sense of duty is astounding. How does a soldier develop the attitude which would cause him to endure such pain to help his fellow soldiers?”
“Don’t have an answer. But Doc, that there lesion on your forearm don’t look too good.”
* * *
Abbey dug through the stacks of paper on her desk.
“It’s experimental but…” She thought as she perused numerous documents.
“Here…bromine treatment…applied four-times-a-day for two weeks then daily for four weeks. Initially tried on a man with severely diseased tissue on his lower upper arm, elbow, and forearm. Prior to treatment, only amputation considered as a cure.” She read further and muttered, “Injury fully healed, but severe warning on the tremendous pain when bromine applied. They ended up using chloroform during initial treatment.” Abbey reread the document. “My wound isn’t as large. Perhaps it won’t cause as much pain.” She examined the formula. “Bromine. Where the hell can I find bromine?”
Abbey proceeded to the communication tent where a telegraph was located.
“I need to get a message to the Medical Museum. I need a few jars of the chemical bromine.”
The operator suggested, “How about I also send the message to the supply house which provides chloroform?”
“Excellent idea, Corporal.”
Later the same day, a man came down the officer’s row of tents calling for Dr. Kaplan.
She left her tent. “I’m Dr. Kaplan.”
The telegraph operator approached and saluted.
“Telegram for you Ma’am.” “Thank you, Corporal”
Abbey read the message and smiled. “Yes. A messenger carrying bromine will be arriving by train from Philadelphia in one day.”
The Chemist
At the train station and near the freight office, Abbey sat on a bench reading a few documents while awaiting the arrival of the day’s train from Philly. She stood as it approached. A young woman, small-boned and short in height but possessed of an upright stature, descended from the train and marched to the freight office. Under her arm, she carried a small wooden box.
“I have a package I wish to deliver to Dr. Abbey Kaplan of the 222nd Massachusetts.”
Abbey rushed to her side.
“I’m Doctor Kaplan.”
“Melissa Morgenthau of Falstaff Chemical.” She extended her hand to Abbey then handed over the box. “This contains two jars of bromine. I have a document for you to sign.”
“There you are,” Abbey said as she signed then placed the box under her arm. “I didn’t expect a woman to accompany my request all the way out here.”
“Normally I wouldn’t deliver supplies but when I saw your name and thought you might be one of the scarce female doctors in this war, I decided I needed to meet you. As my father owns the company, I have freedom to do things like this.”
“Have time for lunch?”
“Definitely, Dr. Kaplan. Please call me Melissa.”
“Homestyle cooking at the hotel up the street and please call me Abbey.”
As they proceeded into town, their footwear made a hollow sound on the wooden planks of the walk which fronted all the buildings in town.
; “I’m curious and a bit surprised at your attire, Abbey.”
The doctor laughed. “I attended surgeries this morning and didn’t have time to change before rushing out here to meet the train. During a battle, where our position was overrun, I discovered britches and combat boots are more utilitarian when one is in a survival situation. In addition, I carry a pistol on my hip for the same reason.”
“Are you part of the military?”
“Yes but as a contract surgeon. I’m given the equivalent rank of lieutenant but don’t wear the insignia.”
They were seated at a table in the hotel’s restaurant.
“How did you decide to work in chemistry?” Abbey asked after reviewing the handwritten signboard with the day’s menu.
“My father is a chemist and, as I said, owns Falstaff Chemical. I’ve been around chemistry all my young life. Although I have a Masters in Chemistry, in truth, I consider my profession as a pharmacist.”
“A what?”
“Someone trained in the field of pharmacology. The drugs you receive from our company are certified by me as to the purity, accuracy of compounding, strength and contents of the formulation. We pharmacists are trying to move our field from the ad hoc nostrums of the past and bring scientific basis to the medicines we produce.”
“A laudable goal,” Abbey said. “The men in your field accept you?”
“Certainly not,” Melissa said but then added with a grin and a twinkle in her eye, “but, at least in my case, it helps being the owner’s daughter.”
Abbey laughed.
They each ordered the special of the day, consisting of baked rosemary chicken, garlic roasted red potatoes, and asparagus.
“Even my father,” Melissa continued, “resisted my desire to become a pharmacist but my mother is a strong woman and insisted he support my educational and professional goals.”
Abbey smiled remembering a fond memory. “My father talked to me about attending college from a young age. In our home it wasn’t a matter of…if…I would attend college but…which…college I would attend.”
Dr. Kaplan thought for a while then asked, “Do doctors accept your findings?”
Melissa sighed and shook her head. “Not many. The old- timers in particular are set in their ways.”
“How do you test the efficacy of new or, for that matter, old products?”
“To a huge degree, we depend on reports from doctors and hospitals. Many of which refuse to give us details on the success or failure of drugs and nostrums…certain ones we’ve found to be terribly toxic despite being widely utilized.”
“Which do you suggest I no longer use?”
“Calomel. A deadly concoction. I’d strongly recommend against using it.”
“The chemical which caused the controversy resulting in William Hammond being fired as surgeon general?”
Melissa replied, “Yes. He wanted it banned but the old- timers insisted on its continued use. The general put his career on the line for the sake of the troops and was forced to resign.”
“He did so much to modernize medicine. A pity he was forced out,” Abbey said.
“I’m learning that politics are most distasteful.”
Their lunch was served.
“Smells wonderful,” the doctor said.
“The toxic effects due to the mercury content in calomel are deadly. My research demonstrates it shouldn’t be used for any reason.”
“But…”
Melissa interrupted. “I know. Doctors have been using it for decades and refuse to give it up.”
“Why won’t they follow your advice?”
“Pharmacy is viewed as a subset of medicine rather than our own field. As such, our research holds little sway with those who see themselves as the only healers.”
Abbey shook her head. “I swear my chief surgeon believes medicine is an art rather than a science. He ignores the research I perform as well as the results of other’s work.”
Melissa asked, “And you? Accepted by your peers?”
“Grudgingly these days. Barely at all at first.” Abbey stared at her plate for a bit. “Initially, I was mocked and our chief surgeon did everything in his power to replace me. After struggling for many months, I ultimately received sufficient support, I can accomplish my task…consisting of putting my medical education to work, expanding my knowledge of medicine, surgery and altered mental status. Even our chief surgeon is allowing me to perform as I see fit.” Abbey thought for a while then asked, “Do you have a man in your life?”
“I was engaged.” Melissa showed a smile as if reliving a pleasant memory. The expression slowly turned dark. “We were unwrapping dishes we’d received as a wedding present from my grandmother. I mentioned women should be able to vote.”
“His reaction?”
Melissa stared at the floor as she explained, “He laughed for a good five-minutes then stated, ‘Women weren’t smart enough to vote’. I reminded him I graduated at the top of my nearly all male class. He ignored that and further stated, when we married, I’d have to give up my career.”
“I’ll bet that hurt.”
“Not as bad as his nose.”
Abbey was confused. “Nose? What does that have to do…”
“Somehow, one of grandmother’s gift china salad plates flew across the room and struck the bridge of his nose, breaking it.”
Abbey tried not to but burst out laughing. “Melissa…”
“Give up all the work I’d put into my career? Bullshit.”
Abbey laughed again. “I understand. I agree. We need the vote and those of us who wish to pursue careers need the freedom to do so.” The two finished their meal then sipped their coffee for a bit, each lost in her own thoughts.
“Melissa, do you think women having the vote would change men’s attitudes toward our professional goals?”
“Unlikely in our lifetime. Actually, I feel like we’d be fighting for our daughter’s future. I’ve met pitifully few men who think women having the vote is a good idea. At a minimum, as a voting-block, the politicians would have to respect women’s views.”
“That would be an improvement…”
The pharmacist sat up straight and said with conviction, “I’m also concerned about child labor and working conditions in mines and these new manufacturing businesses. All are quite cruel.”
“Melissa. You fascinate me. I hope we’ll stay in touch.”
“Thank you. I agree…staying in touch…we’ll work at that.”
Abbey smiled as she remembered Maggie. “I trained a mentally strong and driven doctor named Margret Herzog. We’d have made a formidable trio.”
They went back to sipping their coffee until Melissa said, “I’m curious about the bromine you requested. How do you intend to use it?”
“It will be used experimentally to cure diseased tissue.”
“Abbey, we’ve just met but I’d appreciate looking over your shoulder for a few days. I promise not to get in the way.”
“Combat wounds are terrible to observe as are the surgeries, most of which consist of amputations.”
“We produce chloroform for the military but I’ve never observed it’s use. I have vast experience in chemistry and I’ve been researching new pharmaceuticals; some of which I’ve brought with me.”
“Melissa, I’m going to be trying the bromine treatment on myself, beginning when I return to my quarters. I have a dime- sized-lesion which doesn’t seem to be healing. I’d appreciate it if you’d help apply it.”
“Glad to.”
“Besides the bromine, tell me about the pharmaceuticals you have and how should they be utilized?” Abbey asked.
“Among others, collodion. It comes as a liquid but forms an adhesive seal when it dries. When a Dr. Howard closed sucking-chest-wounds with sutures then placed alternating layers of lint and linen bandages, followed by a few drops of collodion, the soldiers could breathe normally and survival rates increased by a factor of four.”
Abbey’s
jaw dropped. “A factor of four, did you say?” Melissa nodded.
“Astounding. I rarely see a non-fatal sucking-chest-wound. And they occur in every battle. Your arrival is certainly propitious.” The doctor tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Where are you planning on staying?”
“The nearest hotel.”
“If you don’t mind primitive conditions, I have an extra cot in my tent…we do, however, exist near the front lines and occasionally take fire.”
The pharmacist’s face brightened. “Then, after this meal, we must proceed to the nearest dry goods establishment so I may procure britches and appropriate footwear.”
* * *
Abbey’s eyes watered and she moaned at the intense pain caused by the bromine. “My Lord, it feels like my arm is on fire.”
Her new friend said, “I believe chloroform must be administered when the bromine is applied to large wounds.”
“I understand why. This burns like hell. I have much to do today so let’s get this wrapped and we’ll treat it again in six- hours.”
The following morning, just when camp medical duty came to an end, a messenger arrived on horseback.
“Message for Dr. Kaplan or Dr. Fellows,” he shouted. “I’m Dr. Kaplan,” she called out.
He dismounted, saluted and handed her a document which she quickly read.
“A Connecticut regiment was ambushed early this morning. Their field hospital is overwhelmed as most of their medical helpers were killed. They’re requesting surgical assistance.”
She turned to the messenger. “Tell them I’ll be on my way with a surgical team within the hour.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He saluted, climbed on his horse and galloped away.
“Lt. Smith, I’ll need yourself, Corporals Evans, Silver, plus four general helpers, along with chloride of lime and our usual surgical supplies. In addition, teamsters with the necessary conveyance to transport us to the Connecticut regiment’s field hospital. We’ll meet back here in thirty minutes.”
The Surgeon: A Civil War Story Page 19
