“Yes, ma’am,” the medic said. “Happens all the time.”
At last they pulled up to the door of the surgical hospital, and a small flock of nurses greeted Marion at the door. The other soldiers left, but Daniel stuck by her side.
“I don’t think they’ll let you stay when I’m operating,” she said.
“I’m going to be with you whenever it’s allowed.”
She still wasn’t sure how that would work, but she was comforted.
The nurses led Marion and Daniel to thechef d’administration, a tall, blond Frenchman who was all business. “Bonjour, Docteur et Majeure. Might I suggest, Majeure, that you go with my assistant now? You can speak with the guards outside the hospital while I give Dr. Hart a brief introduction ofl’hôpital. The guards will answer questions and show you the areas that will concern you.”
Daniel checked with Marion, and she gave him a look meant to reassure him. She watched him go, immediately feeling lost, but the chef didn’t appear to notice.
“Before we begin, I have spoken with other foreign medical experts, and they all concur with what I am about to say to you, so I hope you will not feel affronted.”
“Please,” she said, hoping she would remember everything. She still didn’t feel fully conscious.
“You can operate the way you are used to doing, but that will not encourage comradery, which you will need. Our best advice is that you incorporate civilian Vietnamese surgeons whenever possible, and share your expertise with the intern staff. They will have different solutions from what you know; however, you must remember that you are in their country. Constructive and useful criticism is welcome, but in the face of emergencies, which you will see on an ongoing basis, it is best to be calm, polite, and open with these local doctors. Remain patient and positive.Comprenez?”
“I do.”
“Have you any questions?”
A thousand, Marion thought. “Where will I sleep? I saw there’s construction going on by the hospital.”
“Yes. A walled compound for staff and visiting surgeons. Unfortunately, that is incomplete. We will show you to your accommodations after our tour here.”
Learning the compound hadn’t been built yet did nothing to instill confidence. “What is the schedule?”
“The general day shift begins at nine o’clock in the morning; we have a three-hour hiatus at noon; then the OR will close at five p.m. Of course nursing staff and anaesthetists will be here prior to that, and we expect surgeons to be scrubbed and ready to go before eight o’clock.”
“A hiatus?”
“Of course. A siesta, as they call it. But we also have night-duty surgeons and interns.”
“I see.”
“Come and I will introduce you to the hospital,” he said, and she followed him toward a number of interconnected buildings. “Attention.Watch your step.”
Marion hadn’t expected much from the Provincial Hospital in Da Nang, but right away she saw she should have anticipated worse. The first ward they encountered stopped her in her tracks. Bandaged bodies were everywhere, lying, sitting, crammed into every corner. More than one patient lay in each of the tightly packed cots.
“What is going on here?”
“We are, of course, always overcrowded. But everyone is cared for.”
She couldn’t stop staring, taking in the filth and the faces. “How overcrowded are you?”
“This hospital has five hundred beds. At the moment, we have approximately fifteen hundred patients.”
Holding her breath against the reek of the sick, wounded, and dying, she followed the chef through a labyrinth of wards, slightly panicked at the thought of navigating them by herself. The stench lessened within the wards, since every window was wide open, but that created its own problems. Therewas no glass, no screens or shutters, which explained why every surface was covered in a fine film of sand, blown in by helicopters landing or taking off. Partway down the hallway, Marion slapped her hand over her nose, repulsed by a solid stink coming from open toilets. Houseflies hovered and landed, and she swatted a couple out of her face.
“The children’s ward,” the chef announced, appearing not to notice the flies. He indicated the next room, and Marion felt her knees weaken. So many parents and relatives had come to take care of the little ones that the crowding was even worse, resulting in up to five youngsters on one cot.
“Can’t the parents go home? To make more room?”
He appeared confused by the question. “Who would prepare their meals and bathe them?” He gestured toward a row of large sinks. “Here is where they wash up.”
She sniffed and tried not to gag. “Why do I smell smoke?”
