Turn Away If You Don't Want To See My Darkside

Here's my story.





On one of the rare patrols we had that I was not leading the lead truck called back on the radio, "Send Doc and Combatkevin forward we got at least one casualty here- looks bad, an abdominal wound-blood is everywhere." I ordered my driver to collapse onto the scene from the flank security position we'd been holding. As I approached a car full of civilians with Doc we saw a small girl bent over at the waist. She was wearing nice clothes that seemed threadbare and obviously hand me downs and was holding a white prayer cloth against her abdomen. The cloth was about half covered with bright red blood and was partially black from flies. Her clothes absolutely swallowed her and made her seem even more alone small and fragile. I had her princely, smug little brother who was wearing new western style clothes removed from the car. After saying Hello and it's going to be OK in terrible Arabic I said in English with my softest most gentle tone,"Here baby let me see. I can help you. My daughter is about your age..." and had to step back in surprise to widen my field of view when I saw no visible wound to her abdomen and did not feel anything, but sweat on her back. I then saw her thickly clubbed nails and simultaneously realised she was the size yes of a seven year old , but was probably closer to twelve. And then it hit me- that sweet sickly smell of overwhelming tuberculosis infection- she had TB plus probably a genetic heart defect. She had been coughing blood up onto the cloth. We gathered a history from the parents and since she was in danger of losing her life we knew we could request she be allowed to be brought in for treatment. Everything went well until TB was mentioned- no isolation facilities available.





The parents reported they'd already attempted to take her to the hospital in Fallujah after leaving a wedding, but turned around when they saw an insurgent roadblock. "Cool- let's go kill those fools and escort 'em to the Fallujah hospital." someone said.





Again back to the radio and again request denied although this time higher up allowed us to escort them to a nearby village which had a small clinic.





She was deteriorating before our eyes turning a ghastly pale as she struggled just to breath.





We shagged out to the village where a crowd starting forming rapidly while someone went to look for the guy referred to as a physicians assistant. The father let her get out of the car and try try to walk by herself. I snapped my fingers at him and motioned for him to pick her up. He gave me what I thought was the stupidest look I'd ever seen and stood there starely blankly at me as she struggled to breath and walk. "Mark, tell that jackass to pick her up before I buttstroke him and carry her before she dies right here in front of us" I barked at our interpreter. "Gawd almighty. Animals- daughter so sick she can't walk and you have to tell the father to carry her?!" Doc said.





The father half dropped her under a crepe myrtle tree her legs splayed out to her sides, her head hanging over blood and drool flowing from that tiny mouth. She was absolutely gray- worn out from just the effort to breathe and dying in front of us. There were crepe myrtle blossoms all over the ground which had dropped from the heat earlier in the day. The blossoms were being blown around by a cool breeze coming off the lake- just swirling all around her. Those red and pink blossoms mixed with that poor babies blood. She was so alone- utterly alone in her suffering and the crowd of gawkers continued to grow.









"Mark tell these people to get back. Get 'em away from me. I don't want them anywhere near me. Tell them to go home."





"What can I do for her Kev.?" Doc asked when we realised the PA may not come. I named off the three drugs that would give her some relief- one to pull fluids from her body another to dry remaining fluids up and a third to strengthen her heart and to ease her pain. "I got all that. What kinda doses should I use man?" he asked ripping his aid bag open. I rattled off the doses of two meds off quickly and informed him I'd calculate the other if he wanted me to then said,"Man, I'm not going to leave you hanging- you know I won't, but this child is dying. There is nothing we can do to stop the fact she will be dead in two or three hours. Before the sun sets she'll be dead. She'll be dead and I promise you since we gave her the meds her parents will blame us and three weeks from now we'll watch everybody else leave for the states while we wait in Kuwait for an investigation to be completed." "Oh my God. You are right- they'll charge us." "Probably won't charge us, but there will be an investigation." I said.




"F#@K that!" he said zipping his bag back up.




We roared off shortly after this exchange since the PA had returned and started to immediately run some IV fluids on her wide open- the absolute worst thing he could have done especially since he indicated that was all he was going to do for her. He was essentially drowning her.




On the way home we were all quiet- alone with our thoughts. I tried to will the sun to set so I'd know she was dead since I knew by the time it set she'd be gone and her suffering would be over and functionally that was all I did to relieve her agony. I was only vaguely surprised I felt nothing for her that would compensate for me being away from my family for one more minute.




My heart felt cold- literally cold and hard and in that moment I knew where the expression cold hearted came from.

I simply did not care.

In the following days guys came up who were on the periphery of the scene doing security and so did not know everything that transpired- they simply knew we took a sick child off a highway and took her to a clinic. They would come up to me and say,"Good job with that kid- it's good to help people for a change huh?" etc. I would look at them like they were a bug and walk away.

Doc and I are the only only ones carrying that poor, tiny girl's soul around- even senior leadership on the ground don't know the whole story.

Only the two of us- healers each of us known as Doctor Mister in the villages we had visited in the past for our impromptu clinics on the hood of a HUMVEE.

That night I was filled with something that I'll have to call grief for lack of a better term. It's rare I'm at a loss to describe my feelings, but that's the best I can do. After tossing and turning for hours I went out to the smoke pit to see if there was anyone I knew there to talk to get my head together. No one was there just a fire in the burn barrel- it oddly seemed lonely without humans. I walked off into the desert at first not sure why. When I realised I needed to cry I went even further. When I was out of any ambient light I stopped and felt tears start to burn my eyes. I dropped to my knees on the ground and choked up like I was going to bawl like a baby- and then it stopped. That was it- nothing. I looked around surprised and unsure what was going on- maybe that was all I needed or that was all I had to give, I don't know. I went back to the tent and slept- I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.




It's been nearly five years since that day. A red crepe myrtle tree that's dropped it's blossoms on the ground can still stop me dead in my tracks.

Stone Sour: Bother
I wish I were too dead to cry
My self affliction fades
Stones to throw at my creator
Masochists to which I cater
I wish I was too dead to care
If indeed I cared at all
I wish I had a reason
My flaws are open season
For this I gave up trying
One good turn deserves my dying.