The surgical practice has closed, but the requests for records still come in. Just recently, I ferried a request for records from a former patient. At first I didn't remember the patient, but after looking through their chart, it all came back.Cancer.
We'd operated, she went through chemo. She was cured.
But the request for records signaled problems.
Over the years, we had many patients. Most, we cured. Others, we shepherded through to a dignified end. Many left an imprint on us, changed us in some way, reminded us of needs other than our own. I found her chart, wished her well, and mailed it.
Then, I opened the email.
The Hubs sent me a photo of one of his littlest patients. He wanted to thank me for sending some small shirts to replace the ones that were cut off when they came to the clinic with injuries. But wait a minute ...I knew that shirt. It had been our daughter's, and now a little girl in Afghanistan was wearing it in the hospital unit.
The war came crashing upon me.
I wished this shirt could be a Talisman for her. Because unlike our daughter, who wore it before her, this little girl hasn't gone to school. She hasn't lived a life -- free from fear she'd be blown up, maimed or have family members disappear. This little girl was born into chaos.And I wished that by wearing it, her life could be different.
I wished the shirt magically could bring back the leg, which the team had to amputate.
I wished the shirt were a time wizard that could set back her life by a day, make her take a different route, so that none of this ever happened.
But it won't.
And that's the shitty thing about war. The consequences can be the bitterest of syrups for us to swallow and live with. We grapple for thoughts, especially those of us watching it from afar, not able to do anything, except wait, watch and hope.
The team is trying to get her to Jalalabad via private means to be fit with a prothesis.
I'm sure for the team and for The Hubs there will be many cases like this.
But for me, this little girl wearing my daughter's shirt, in a makeshift unit in a remote part of Afghanistan, one leg amputated, is the person imprinted on me.
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8 comments:
The Thunder Run has linked to this post in the blog post From the Front: 09/04/2009 News and Personal dispatches from the front and the home front.
Years ago I wrote a scene of a Viet girl who lost her leg to a shrapnel of a shell during the VN war. The scene was based on a true story. When she woke up from anesthesia and reached down to touch her lower limbs, she was horrified that one leg was missing.
But, like you, I do wish the little Afghanistan girl the best of luck.
I know her story is not unique. However, I think that most Americans cannot conceive of sending their kids out to play, and having them come upon a land mine. One of the sad realities of her world, that hopefully, someday sanity can prevail and those things are gloomy history.
Hubs should tell her how special that shirt is. It might help her to know she has a personal touch with the Dr.
that poor little darling girl. I hope that the prosthesis will work out.. may that shirt be a talisman for her future, bright and happy. But for now, I'll just cry a little for her.
LAW
Good post!
It must make her feel special to know that someone so far away, who has never met her cares for her. Hope it is inspiration to make her life extraordinary..
I don't know that it makes her feel special. Apparently, she only smiled when The Hubs gave her a stuffed animal 2 weeks after her operation. I hope her life is extraordinary too.
You've seen so much of this Chris. I don't know if you can ever get any of these cases outta your brain.
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