I walked as fast as I could, my feet sticking and slipping in the mud as I hurried to where a small group of women had gathered around one, the bright red of her blood staining her otherwise mud-covered dress.
“What happened?” I asked, pushing through and kneeling beside the woman. Her sleeve was torn and a deep gash ran up the inside of her arm. “How did this happen?” I looked around to the others and then moved into action, taking hold of the torn sleeve and ripping it free of the seam at the shoulder and tying a tourniquet around her biceps. “We need to get you to sick bay. Now. This needs to be cleaned and dressed.”
“What is going on here?” a voice snapped.
There were gasps all around as everyone but me and the wounded woman scrambled to their feet.
“Elsa’s been hurt,” someone said.
“Show me,” she said and Elsa lifted her arm, her dirty face tear-streaked, lower lip trembling. The guard looked at me. “Take her to sick bay and then come right back. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I stood and helped the young woman to her feet, the two of us stumbling as our shoes stuck in the mud, the rain blinding us as we went. We were a sight as we entered sick bay, our clothes dripping and filthy, hair plastered to our faces, her blood now on the both of us.
“What happened?” a serious-looking man asked, hurrying over.
“I was digging,” Elsa said. “My hand slipped off the trowel and slid down the edge.”
“Come,” he said and led her away. A few steps in he stopped and turned back to me. “Are you coming?”
“I have to go back.”
“Are you not hurt too?” He motioned to the blood on my uniform.
“It’s hers,” I said.
He nodded and began to turn away again when once more he looked to me. “Did you do this?” He pointed to the makeshift tourniquet.
“Yes, sir. I’m a nurse.”
His eyes narrowed and then he did a quick glance around the rows of beds filled with patients. When he returned his gaze to me it dropped to my belly before raising to meet my eyes again.
“How far along are you?”
“I’m due early May.”
“I’m not doing you any favors, you got yourself that way. But you’d be doing me one. We’re short-staffed. Think you could get cleaned up and help out?”
My mouth opened and shut. I wanted to say yes. But I couldn’t imagine Aufseherin Bösel letting me out of trench duty.
“I’m to be digging,” I said.
He waved a hand. “I’ll take care of it. Stay there.”
A few minutes later he’d sent someone to inform theaufseherinthat my expertise was needed in sick bay. Indefinitely. I was led to a storage room, given a clean uniform, undergarments, and a coveted pair of shoes. And then I was shown to the shower room where I was allowed a quick shower in tepid but clean water.
I worked as fast as I could, lathering my hair and face and body with soap. Scrubbing under my arms and between my legs, savoring every second before I turned off the water, dried, and dressed in the cleanest clothes I’d worn since I’d arrived.
“You’ll need to attach that before you do anything,” the doctor said when I exited the restroom, my dirty uniform in my hands. He was pointing to the green triangle attached to the sleeve of the soiled dress. I nodded and was pointed in the direction of scissors and sewing supplies.
Ten minutes later, green patch attached to my clean uniform, I was helping dress Elsa’s wound, then moving down the line of beds, checking temperatures and injuries, cleaning scrapes and boils, and washing out bins filled with vomit.
My back still screamed, my feet still ached, my hands were sore...but I was clean, for the most part, dry, and I was doing something I was good at. Something that could help these women who came in tortured, terrorized, and scared. And I knew the care they received from me while I was tending to them might be the only kind words and touch they got all day. Maybe all month.
But there was something else I knew as well. Most of these women would die. Not from the infections or injuries, but from being too weakened to be of any use at the camp. The longer they stayed, the more likely they’d never go back to their barracks. And so as I checked each one, I made sure to give them my full attention, brushing my fingers across foreheads, holding hands, rubbing backs, and whispering words I hoped comforted them, and that they kept close to their hearts when they were eventually taken away, never to return.
43
