Waiting: One Wife's Year of the Vietnam War

Chapter 23

{Chapter 23} By early fall, I had become an overachiever in the obstetrics clinic, often arriving before the staff. It did not significantly decrease the actual waiting ; I simply waited earlier. Still, it gave me a certain sense of satisfaction to challenge the system. At my mid-September visit, my arms looked like those of a heroin addict by the time the lab technician finally struck the mother lode, which siphoned off all the new blood I had generated since my last visit. When the lab technician applied the gauze pad, it turned red, so he gave me another. By the time he reached for the fourth one, we were both convinced the vein had no off button. “Here, hold your arm like this,” he instructed, doubling my forearm onto my upper arm and hoisting my elbow above my head. I had a hell of a time changing from the hospital smock to my street clothes, but the medic was right. As long as I kept my arm bent and my elbow skyward, the bleeding ceased. Each time I brought it down, the blood surged. I nevertheless located the floor where the Vietnam wounded recuperated , so I could look up Lee’s friend, because it occurred to me that this manhadseenLeesinceIhad.Iremindedmyselfthatthiscaptainhadbeen wounded in July and, therefore, not seen Lee for almost two months. Still, his time with Lee was more current than mine, which somehow seemed unfair, but I would settle for any additional information I could get. The minute I stepped off the elevator, my nerve deserted me as an orderly pushed a gurney by me. On it lay an unconscious man. When I looked up, my impression of the open ward was of one of casts in traction , limbs in absentia, warriors bled sheet-white. I thought for a moment [156] chapter 23 that, as with my trek into Chinatown, I would be nauseated both from the hospital smell of disinfectant and the sight of such gross injuries. I steeled myself and marched forward, finding a nurse and asking for directions. I was not going to fail Lee, and I was not about to prove the Red Cross right about whether I should be in the war recovery wards. I counted beds until I reached the designated one. Only then did I move my eyes upward where they encountered the cool stare of Bernie Petrocelli . I tried to smile despite the inventory of casts, traction equipment, and other items attached to his body. He did not acknowledge me, which was awkward and unfriendly. But he also did not blink. I waited. Still his eyelids did not move. A slow dread crept into my stomach. This man was dead, and nobody had noticed. I looked for help, but attracting no attention with my silent plea, I turned back to the body. With great relief, I caught the ever-soslight rise and fall of the sheet over his chest. I moved around the bed and whispered, “Captain Petrocelli?” The puffed and bruised face did not respond, and the eyes continued their unrelenting stare toward the foot of the bed. I repeated the name. Nothing. Clearly this man had bigger problems than the broken leg suspended in mid-air. Maybe he couldn’t hear. Maybe I had unwittingly stumbled into the psycho ward. These contraptions might be restraining devices. The groans in the room seemed to be louder than before. Unnerved, I slowly began backing into the center of the ward. The man I had come to visit never moved except to breathe. When I reached the ward entrance, I met the nurse again. “Did you find Petrocelli?” she asked breezily. I hesitated. “He didn’t seem to hear me. Maybe there’s something wrong, you know.” I pointed at my ears. “Nah,” she swatted my idea away with the swing of her arm. “Petrocelli hears fine. He’s probably asleep.” “But his eyes are open,” I explained. “Maybe he doesn’t want company right now.” “Sure he does,” the nurse countered. “Let’s wake him.” When I caught up with her, the nurse was shaking her patient. “Hey, Petrocelli,” she said too loudly. “You’ve got company.” September 1969 [157] The eyes finally blinked and went instantly from glazed to focused. Bernie Petrocelli slowly rolled his head toward the nurse and then at me. He squinted and closed his eyes as if to correct his vision. I...