Tam biet ("good-bye"), Vietnam.
Tonight on the flight deck Vietnamese VIPs arrived to thank us and bid adieu. The low-rising mountains before which sit the villages faded into darkness. The endless stalls of colorful fruits and vegetables (that taste wonderful but whose identities I cannot pinpoint) tended to by women in conical hats, and the delicious neon green and blue drinks sold in plastic baggies, will soon be a memory. I listened to the military band and saw a falling star streak across the sky.
The night before last I had an opportunity to visit the pediatric section and hug a very sick child. Last night I helped an old man urinate via catheter and he was so relieved (sorry, couldn't resist) he hugged me. Today, while querying one of my patients, a grey-haired matron sitting in the opposite bed smiled at me and said, "thank you, doctor," and I was hopeful she knew English (the interpreters supplied by Vietnam are young military men and do not know rudimentary English). I corrected the matron ("I am a nurse") and asked whether I may impose on her to translate for me. The old lady smiled, nodded, then turned to my patient and said, "thank you, doctor." Undaunted - quick wit that I am - I again explained to the matron, this time more slowly, what I needed. After asking whether she understood she again smiled, nodded, then turned to my patient and said, "thank you, doctor."
A subsistence fisherman, working nearby, accidentally sliced through the tendons and nerves on his arm. Under any other circumstances I would not consider this man lucky, but in this case his injury near the USNS Mercy was a lottery win because the surgeons operated with alacrity and his arm was saved. The fisherman and his wife spent the night on the ship and he received free medicines to take home with him to ensure a complete recovery.
I have had my hands kissed, I have been hugged, I have cared pre- and post- surgery for patients with gall bladder problems, cataracts, dental issues, Cancer, ovarian cysts, neck tumors, burns, a thyroid mass, and hernias. I assisted a man with a cleft palate whose surgery enabled him to close his mouth properly for the first time. I comforted a young woman facing surgery that may render her unable to bear children.
The last time I was ashore a group of us scrubbed and cleaned to create examination areas for medical treatments. Villagers who saw us began to gather, rubbing their eyes, their heads, or their stomachs, which indicated to us that word of our mission had spread. A large group of school children joyously waved and shouted, "hello! hello!"
While in the field I ate my first MRE (Meal, Ready to Eat) and its ingeniousness intrigued me. An MRE is a field ration, a thick packet the size of a small novel, encased in plastic and containing about 3,000 calories of food and drink. By adding a few tablespoons of water, a chemical reaction creates the equivalent of a miniature microwave and, sans electricity, I heated up a chicken breast meal with macaroni and cheese. Packets added to water create everything from carbonated beverages to milkshakes (albeit warm ones). Postcards are sometimes printed on the cardboard in the MRE and I was lucky enough to get the gold standard for field negotiations: M&M candies.
I am the sole Project HOPE nurse on my ward and work alongside nurses from Singapore, Australia, and Canada. Most of the nurses on my unit are in the reserves (this mission is being used as their training exercise) and I have the privilege of working with active duty nurses. Many of the personnel were kind enough to share their stories from Iraq and Afghanistan.
Each of us had a unique Vietnam experience influenced by duty station, medical site, and area of expertise. In addition to our work we take turns attending events such as visiting nearby foreign ships and attending ceremonies. Unfortunately, accidents also happen. Yesterday one of the military personnel was injured when the rolling stairs leading up to the ship trapped her leg and rolled over her foot (she is recuperating in one of the wards). We climb a lot of stairs (I see them in my sleep) and the work we do requires very long hours and a lot of hard work and yet, universally, there is a spirit of gratitude to be part of this mission; it is an honor to be here.
In the next few days we'll sail through the South China Sea and into the Gulf of Thailand to begin working in Cambodia. While underway ("steaming"), we'll practice drills, hear lectures, take malaria prophylaxis, and prepare the wards for the next batch of patients.
Tam biet, Vietnam.
