A snafu translated into a night in a local hotel in Qui Nohn, a coastal city on the Gulf of Tonkin. Restless, I awoke at 4 a.m. and walked on the beach. Although quite early, the beach was crowded with hundreds of Vietnamese swimming, performing exercises in slow motion, and buying and selling live eels and small crabs. We were told we were the topic of discussion at a Peoples' Committee Meeting (it didn't help that we did not have an exact count of how many volunteers are in our group) and several hours later we boarded buses for the port where we were marched through a military checkpoint and onto a small boat (called a "bandaid"). We sailed into the Gulf of Tonkin and entered the South China Sea en route to the USNS Mercy.
We passed fishing vessels, villages with pagodas, and a large statue of a soldier on the top of a hill. As we rounded a bend we caught site of our huge floating hospital, the USNS Mercy, painted white with the international symbol of peace and medical care (a red cross) on each side. It was a very exciting and emotional moment and I felt proud to be part of this mission to bring hope and health care to people who have never seen doctors or nurses.
After boarding the Mercy we walked in front of what looked like a camera on a tripod, a heat scan, to determine whether any of us were feverish (and if so would be quarantined). We completed paperwork and were given berthing assignments. All of us nurses drew top bunks ("racks") in a compact room of about 100 women. The navy is nothing if not efficient and our room mimicked an RV: no space was wasted.
The racks are stacked floor to ceiling with roughly the dimensions of a coffin. Each has a nightlight with a tiny mirror and a curtain to draw for privacy (reminiscent of the old timey railway cars). There is not enough room to sit up in bed so during our first night there was a cacophony comprised of older nurses jumping down stacks of 3 beds and groping in the dark for restrooms and volunteers muttering "ouch!" as they hit their heads on the ceiling or the bunk above. To enter my bed I had to shimmy up the wall, grabbing the footrests upon which each sailor draped her personal towel, and fling myself over the rail without hitting my head on the ceiling. I started giggling so hard I had to put my head in my pillow to avoid disturbing others.
We were each assigned a locker, located in a row at the end of the racks. The restrooms and showers are on one side of the room and, because hospital work involves shifts, lights are out until 4 p.m. to enable night shift people to sleep. The effect on us is that we unpacked in the dark before attending several briefings.
There are about 950 people aboard and that night visiting contingencies from Japan and Singapore were honored. The "mess deck" (dining room) was multilingual, friendly, and loud. We stood in a cafeteria-style line, took silverware, and pointed at our selections. The food is hearty and there were several choices of pasta, meat balls, and chicken. Then we carried our food across the hall to a huge spotless area of tables with plastic table clothes and every condiment known to human kind. There is a choice of sodas, juices, water, milk, tea, coffee (Starbucks, no less), salads, fresh fruit, and desserts. The food is wholesome, plentiful, and good. Several big screens (news, both commercial and military) are positioned around the room and add to the noise. Each table has a "lip" around its edge to prevent spills in the event of turbulent seas.
I spent a good portion of my time trying to orient myself. The good news is that everyone is so friendly that regardless of where I went sailors offered to assist me. Active duty military personnel are impressive. I met teenagers and young adults in their twenties with enormous responsibilities which they handled with great dignity. I asked a young woman who helped me whether she left family behind and she described her 3-month old newborn in San Diego. It took everything in me not to put my arm around this young child who was clearly homesick but admirably stoic and uncomplaining.
The Mercy is a small city divided into neighborhoods which can only be reached via main "highways" (stairwells). Imagine about 7 buildings of 7 stories each pasted next to each other and the only way to get from one building to another - this is a lesson learned from the Titanic - is to climb to the top of one "building" and then walk over to the next. There are no underwater compartments that stretch from one side of the ship to the other. I need to walk up the equivalent of 5 stories of stairs to reach the main hallway to traverse the ship and then descend 5 more stories of stairs to reach my ward. There was a reason they questioned all of us about whether we were in good physical shape! There are 3 gyms, divided into categories (cardio, spinning, weight), a library with telephones and computers for the use of active-duty personnel, and a lounge for each class of worker (enlisted, officer, etc.). There are 4 computers for civilians to share and because air space is a consideration, we are (understandably) not a priority. Conditions are sparse and the ship has the appearance of a 1950s high school, clean but shopworn. There is a lot of noise, a lot of walking, and an awful lot of hard work - which is why I'm here.
I started work today with an orientation and, in an hour, return for my night shift duties. This morning I woke early and strolled the decks outside, watching the sunrise on the South China Sea. My assignment tonight is to admit Vietnamese adults to the ship (although I've been told the interpreter doesn't know English - go figure) and taking care of them post-surgery and prior to their disembarkation. I am on a "med-surg" (non-emergency) ward and receive patients after cataract surgery, hysterectomy, and gall bladder removal. In two days I am "charge" which means I will supervise the ward.
Because part of this mission is diplomatic to reestablish ties with Vietnam, I was selected, with 3 other nurses, to give a presentation to Vietnamese VIPs on the standardization of nursing in the United States. Everyone is very aware of their role on this mission and no one on leave is allowed to wear a shirt with an American flag or the words "USNS Mercy" on caps or clothing. I lobbied (unsuccessfully) to gain permission to distribute the American flags I brought to the Vietnamese generals.
Can you imagine what a photograph that would have made?
