I am posting, for a few days, as a tribute to all military field medical personnel, a series of stories by a Vietnam combat nurse, Ann Watts. All of these stories are taken from VVA Veteran's Magazine...VVA representing Vietnam Veterans of America.
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The Yellow Ribbon
Multiple shards of shrapnel had torn into the right side of the face of eight-year-old Hue and peppered her leg. Her shattered bones left no option but amputation just below the knee. Her parents and little brother had been k**led in the same gunship attack; the child was timid, withdrawn, and given to tearful bouts.
In an attempt to hide the ugly scarring that puckered her soft cheek, Hue insisted on wearing her thick, glossy air combed forward onto her face. She never played or talked much with the other children and generally could be found sitting on a wooden bench, face turned to the wall.
One afternoon a U.S. Army general arrived to learn more about our project and how his men could help. His driver, barely out of his teens, sat with shoulders hunched, head down, clearly a damaged soul. I offered him a soft drink. "No thank you, ma'am," he stuttered, looking up briefly with haunted eyes.
Over the next few weeks, the general and his driver visited regularly, and a friendship developed between Hue and the traumatized soldier. Hesitantly and cautiously, he began to alight from the Jeep, raise his head, look around nervously for Hue. She, in turn, began to notice the strange young man who spoke to no one, and she looked for his visits.
A tentative smile was exchanged between them, then another. Slowly, he gained her confidence. Then one day he sat down in the dirt, removed his boots and started cutting them up. He fashioned a crude sling out of the canvas boots and painstakingly fitted it to the ragged stump which had once been her leg.
It took several visits, much concentration, and the addition of buckles, straps, and laces. Then he cut a piece of aluminum pipe to size. The protective rubber tip on the end of the pipe was carved from the heel of his boot. Hue cooperated and became increasingly excited as her new leg took shape.
Slowly, he taught her to walk. Back straight, head up, no limping. Well, not much.
Then he went to the local market and bought a small mirror, a comb, a length of yellow ribbon and a piece of elastic. Gently coaxing the curtain of hair from her scarred face, he slipped the yellow ribbon over her head. Tilting her chin upward, he smiled at the child, took her hand, and together they walked the length of the compound. Hesitantly at first, then gaining confidence, Hue held up her head, laughing into his anxious face and limping awkwardly but happily on her new leg.
No longer silent and withdrawn, the soldier began to smile and talk. He spoke of his parents and his eight-year-old sister he loved so much. He hadn't dared hope that he might live to see his family again. Hue had give him the spark that had made him embrace the possibility that he might actually survive and make it back home.
He was back, and so was Hue. He had made her feel the way a pretty little girl should. Each had broken through the paralysis caused by the horrors they'd experienced.
Quakerwidow wrote:
sharing
Did you notice my first by Ann Watts yesterday, titled 'Letter From Home?'
slatten49 wrote:
Did you notice my first by Ann Watts yesterday, titled 'Letter From Home?'
Not sure: yesterday was a busy day, and I do not have time to read all the posts here on OPP.
slatten49 wrote:
Understood.
Found it: another good one.
slatten49 wrote:
I am posting, for a few days, as a tribute to all military field medical personnel, a series of stories by a Vietnam combat nurse, Ann Watts. All of these stories are taken from VVA Veteran's Magazine...VVA representing Vietnam Veterans of America.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The Yellow Ribbon
Multiple shards of shrapnel had torn into the right side of the face of eight-year-old Hue and peppered her leg. Her shattered bones left no option but amputation just below the knee. Her parents and little brother had been k**led in the same gunship attack; the child was timid, withdrawn, and given to tearful bouts.
In an attempt to hide the ugly scarring that puckered her soft cheek, Hue insisted on wearing her thick, glossy air combed forward onto her face. She never played or talked much with the other children and generally could be found sitting on a wooden bench, face turned to the wall.
One afternoon a U.S. Army general arrived to learn more about our project and how his men could help. His driver, barely out of his teens, sat with shoulders hunched, head down, clearly a damaged soul. I offered him a soft drink. "No thank you, ma'am," he stuttered, looking up briefly with haunted eyes.
Over the next few weeks, the general and his driver visited regularly, and a friendship developed between Hue and the traumatized soldier. Hesitantly and cautiously, he began to alight from the Jeep, raise his head, look around nervously for Hue. She, in turn, began to notice the strange young man who spoke to no one, and she looked for his visits.
A tentative smile was exchanged between them, then another. Slowly, he gained her confidence. Then one day he sat down in the dirt, removed his boots and started cutting them up. He fashioned a crude sling out of the canvas boots and painstakingly fitted it to the ragged stump which had once been her leg.
It took several visits, much concentration, and the addition of buckles, straps, and laces. Then he cut a piece of aluminum pipe to size. The protective rubber tip on the end of the pipe was carved from the heel of his boot. Hue cooperated and became increasingly excited as her new leg took shape.
Slowly, he taught her to walk. Back straight, head up, no limping. Well, not much.
Then he went to the local market and bought a small mirror, a comb, a length of yellow ribbon and a piece of elastic. Gently coaxing the curtain of hair from her scarred face, he slipped the yellow ribbon over her head. Tilting her chin upward, he smiled at the child, took her hand, and together they walked the length of the compound. Hesitantly at first, then gaining confidence, Hue held up her head, laughing into his anxious face and limping awkwardly but happily on her new leg.
No longer silent and withdrawn, the soldier began to smile and talk. He spoke of his parents and his eight-year-old sister he loved so much. He hadn't dared hope that he might live to see his family again. Hue had give him the spark that had made him embrace the possibility that he might actually survive and make it back home.
He was back, and so was Hue. He had made her feel the way a pretty little girl should. Each had broken through the paralysis caused by the horrors they'd experienced.
I am posting, for a few days, as a tribute to all ... (
show quote)
Excellent and a timely reminder for us all. Listening and observing in silence, almost always provides much more true knowledge than running one's mouth in ignorance, and provides opportunities to put into practice a forgotten maxim: Giving without taking, or thought of reward, always lets one walk away with far more than one gave, in unexpected and intimate ways that one could not have imagined on one's own.
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