Young Writers Society

"He's gone, there's nothing left you can do for him." I said. The young medic looked up at me, his hands still putting on the casualties wound. "No, no, no, there has to be something, can't you help him?" His voice cracked, and for a moment, it sounded as if a child was speaking. This kid was only 18, probably only graduated high school a year ago. And here he was, with me. "I'm sorry, but we have to move on. Tag the body and cover him." I was about to get up when the medic grabbed onto my arm. "No, please, you have to do something." I gently pulled my arm out of his grasp and let his hand slide down limp as he started to cry.

I got up and walked away. I pulled my gloves off and threw them in the nearest trash. I looked around in the field hospital, dozens of orderly medics and nurses were running around treating the wounded. Another stretcher was brought in by some infantrymen, a bloodied corpse laying on it. They placed him on the closest open bed, then left, weaving their way past the oblivious and focused medical staff.

"Doctor, we have several new trauma's coming in that need a surgical assessment and resuscitation." I almost didn't see the nurse come up behind me, carrying a blood covered clip board. She was flipping through pages and pages of soaked paperwork. "What are you going to do?"

I've heard that so many times before. It is a question that has defined my life. I heard it when I went to medical school and had to deal with patients for the first time. I heard it as a surgical intern. I heard it as a resident. I heard it as a practicing Trauma Surgeon. And even when I joined the Army. My position is one that is very unique. I came in as a professional. And as such, the commanders of the units I was assigned to treated me as one, and in times of hardship, they confided in me, as I was the only one they could go to. Men who were supposed to set an example and lead, and I was the only person who they could show their weakness to... the only one they could show their pain to. I never once asked them what they were going to do. I wasn't going to put that burden on them. But when they asked me what I thought they should do, I always gave an answer, I always took that burden.

My dad is an Army vet. He was an armor officer who drove tanks during the gulf wars. He saw his fair share. Before I left, he sat me down and explained to me what war would be like. He told me what being an officer was going to be like. He said that as a doctor that other officers, especially combat officers, would confide in me because I was the only one that they could. It would put a burden on me that would be unique. It would add a lot of stress and could lead to a great deal of trauma. So when I went in to my first deployment, I thought that I was going to be scared. But the only thing that I was afraid of, was the fact that I wasn't. Even when a new war came around, and a new enemy in a different part of the world, and a whole new level of chaos and destruction, I wasn't afraid. I saw new weapons of war that utterly desecrated men and women. I saw destruction unlike anything seen in the world before. But I wasn't afraid. I saw it as a job that I had to do. The only other soldiers that I saw that had a similar mindset were those the various special operations units that I saw. Many people said that it was a scary thing to see someone who had compartmentalized everything, but I never saw it that way. I saw it as an opportunity. When young soldiers would see someone that wasn't afraid, it would instill hope in them. They saw that someone could take the heat, could take their own burden and the burdens of others. And when I was asked if I ever needed help, my answer was no. Because my job as a doctor was to help others. And I wasn't going to let anything stand in my way, and wasn't going to let anything stop me. I wasn't afraid of anything. The only thing that I wasn't afraid of.... was that I wasn't.