so many of their customers. Chelsea and Lynn spoke at length about the absurdity of war and the carnage that it took on the young lives with whom they came into contact. Tim Giacomo sat in on one of the young women’s discussions.
“You two sound almost like the war protestors that lined up in front of the recruiting center in Omaha. The recruiters brought big dogs to work, so the protests never got very far, but you guys sound just like them,” Tim said one evening while relaxing in Chelsea and Lisa’ s CHU. Lisa responded, “I’m not a pacifist or anything like that. I believe that our country has a role in the world as the last great superpower, but God Almighty Tim. You should see what we see! You should see the mangled bodies and the shed blood. It’s not nauseating anymore because I’m used to it but it still seems…” Lisa’s voice trailed away.
Chelsea spoke up. “It seems like a waste, is what she’s trying to say. Young, torn-up bodies that we can only try to make better. But a lot of these folks are never going to be whole again, or anything like it. We patch them up and if they’re lucky they go home with a limp or scar or something wrong with them that can’t be seen from the outside. If they’re not lucky they go back to it and we just have to pray that we don’t see them again.” Tim rubbed his head.
“I get it, but I’m fourth generation Army. My great granddaddy fought in the Spanish American War. My grandpa landed on Omaha Beach. Serving the country is no different in my family than going to high school is in some families. It’s just something that we do.” Lisa Glenn put her hand on Tim’s leg. “We’re not judging you, Tim. It’s something that everyone has to think about on their own and come to their own conclusion. Chels and I aren’t going to desert and run off with a Jeep like some kind of Army Thelma and Louise.
“We just need to blow off some steam once in a while, and this is a better way of doing it than knocking down the cooking sherry, falling in a heap on the floor and cracking our damn fool heads open.”
Tim laughed ruefully. “I wouldn’t be no help if you did that. I can fix the timing chain on a Rolls Royce plane engine and change the tires on the landing gear, but I’m no account at all when it comes to patching heads.”
Though the day to day activities of a combat nurse have changed some in the last 20 years (downloading the latest education in treatment techniques into the unit’s ASUS All-in-One hard drive being a relatively new example) one thing that has never changed is the thrill a soldier gets when a letter from home arrives. Once in a great while service men and women are able to have a video chat but those are always too short and subject to the needs that the rest of the unit had for broadband space.
A letter was another matter entirely. An old-fashioned on paper letter was something that those in the service of their country cherished, carried on their person, and reread until the ink faded. Then they would read it one more time since the contents were committed to memory anyway. Chelsea got just such a blessing from home one early April day. Her mother wrote and told her about life stateside. In the letter, she shared some exciting news.
Dear Chelsea, How are you, honey? I just wanted to tell you that I miss you and to tell you some of the things that are going on around here. Your brothers are fine. Thomas is completing his first year at Penn State. Nathan is finishing high school and looking forward to graduation next month.”
Chelsea put the letter in her lap. Was that even possible? It seemed like just yesterday that the boys were playing with Legos. Chelsea read on,
“I am doing great. I met a gentleman when I was a chaperone at Nathan’s Winter Ball. His name is James Edward. He is sweet and kind and everything that I need at this point in my life. We love spending time with each other, and I’m very happy. I
“You two sound almost like the war protestors that lined up in front of the recruiting center in Omaha. The recruiters brought big dogs to work, so the protests never got very far, but you guys sound just like them,” Tim said one evening while relaxing in Chelsea and Lisa’ s CHU. Lisa responded, “I’m not a pacifist or anything like that. I believe that our country has a role in the world as the last great superpower, but God Almighty Tim. You should see what we see! You should see the mangled bodies and the shed blood. It’s not nauseating anymore because I’m used to it but it still seems…” Lisa’s voice trailed away.
Chelsea spoke up. “It seems like a waste, is what she’s trying to say. Young, torn-up bodies that we can only try to make better. But a lot of these folks are never going to be whole again, or anything like it. We patch them up and if they’re lucky they go home with a limp or scar or something wrong with them that can’t be seen from the outside. If they’re not lucky they go back to it and we just have to pray that we don’t see them again.” Tim rubbed his head.
“I get it, but I’m fourth generation Army. My great granddaddy fought in the Spanish American War. My grandpa landed on Omaha Beach. Serving the country is no different in my family than going to high school is in some families. It’s just something that we do.” Lisa Glenn put her hand on Tim’s leg. “We’re not judging you, Tim. It’s something that everyone has to think about on their own and come to their own conclusion. Chels and I aren’t going to desert and run off with a Jeep like some kind of Army Thelma and Louise.
“We just need to blow off some steam once in a while, and this is a better way of doing it than knocking down the cooking sherry, falling in a heap on the floor and cracking our damn fool heads open.”
Tim laughed ruefully. “I wouldn’t be no help if you did that. I can fix the timing chain on a Rolls Royce plane engine and change the tires on the landing gear, but I’m no account at all when it comes to patching heads.”
Though the day to day activities of a combat nurse have changed some in the last 20 years (downloading the latest education in treatment techniques into the unit’s ASUS All-in-One hard drive being a relatively new example) one thing that has never changed is the thrill a soldier gets when a letter from home arrives. Once in a great while service men and women are able to have a video chat but those are always too short and subject to the needs that the rest of the unit had for broadband space.
A letter was another matter entirely. An old-fashioned on paper letter was something that those in the service of their country cherished, carried on their person, and reread until the ink faded. Then they would read it one more time since the contents were committed to memory anyway. Chelsea got just such a blessing from home one early April day. Her mother wrote and told her about life stateside. In the letter, she shared some exciting news.
Dear Chelsea, How are you, honey? I just wanted to tell you that I miss you and to tell you some of the things that are going on around here. Your brothers are fine. Thomas is completing his first year at Penn State. Nathan is finishing high school and looking forward to graduation next month.”
Chelsea put the letter in her lap. Was that even possible? It seemed like just yesterday that the boys were playing with Legos. Chelsea read on,
“I am doing great. I met a gentleman when I was a chaperone at Nathan’s Winter Ball. His name is James Edward. He is sweet and kind and everything that I need at this point in my life. We love spending time with each other, and I’m very happy. I
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