Broken Leg, Injured Back,
Perforated Intestine
Dr Nguyen Trung Khanh, M.D. 1st Lieutenant
It was like a thunderbolt. I had no rest and now had to go with troops on an operation again. However, at the same time, I was anxious about a colleague's fate. In fact, it was not the first time that a Marine Doctor had been a casualty. Dr. Truong Ba Han and Dr. Le Huu Sanh had been killed.
The next afternoon, a helicopter brought me to the place where the 1st Marine Battalion had been positioned. I presented myself to Lieutenant Colonel Tri, the commander of the Battalion. He told me that Dr. Long had come to play Chinese chess with him the previous day and stayed overnight.
The VC had shelled that very same night. Dr. Long received a fragment in the spine. His wound had been so remarkably severe that he could become disabled for the rest of his life. Long had been transferred to Saigon for treatment.
The next day, Battalion 1 moved. It was a normal day, without any preliminary sign of coming events which would disturb my life.
I still clearly recalled that it had been a nice day. Troops zealously moved across rice fields and occasionally had opportunity to rest under coconut trees on sides of a road. Two friendly US advisors initiated conversations with me. They seemed to be specifically sympathetic to me with some respect. I did not understand why it was really so.
At about 4.00pm, the Battalion stopped at a barren heath. The Battalion command post was on an earthen mound with some low shrubs. Around the area were rice fields. I stood looking at the terrain and saw a small group of soldiers quarrelling with one another about places for hanging hammocks. Suddenly, I heard a loud deafening explosion. I felt that my left foot was like electrocuted and an invisible force pushed me down towards the ground. Everybody around me was in disorder. Somebody shouted: "Be careful. They had set up claymore mine."
My chief medic came to me and helped me to look at my wound. Pulling down my pants, I saw a small entry wound on my right groin. I analysed by myself:
- My God! The fragment entered on the right side and I had pains on the left foot. So it had diagonally transfixed the lower abdomen. My bladder and large intestine may have been minced. However, I still could move both legs. That meant my nerves were still working and I would not be paralysed.
I recalled Captain Tien. When he had been wounded in battle at Long Khanh, his greatest fear was to have a leg amputated. Lying on a stretcher, he repeatedly requested me:
- Doctor, tell them not to amputate my wounded lower limb. It would be so ugly to dance with a prosthetic wooden leg in the future.
He had been shot in a leg. A bullet had broken its tibia (the main bone of a leg). The fracture and the wound had been healed without sequelae after some months. There had been no disability. This time, it was my turn. Since the day I had started accompanying Marines in operation I had always carried with me a small Beretta pistol. If a wound would cause me to have to live in dependence of others, I would have no hesitancy in pointing it in my temple and pull its trigger. That is why I carefully judged my wound now. I saw my hypogastrium slowly and slowly swelling up with a rose colour. It meant that internal bleeding had been occurring. A sharp pain arrived. I sweated. I ordered my medic to perfuse a bottle of normal saline and to inject a Demerol to stop the pain as well as penicillin to prevent injections. I heard American advisors calling an urgent medevac and I felt reassured. When a helicopter arrived, three wounded including me were carried up into the helicopter. Lieutenant Colonel Tri ordered a medic to accompany me.
The helicopter landed half an hour later. I recognised that it was Can Tho airport. They uploaded the wounded. When it would be my turn, two Americans stopped the uploading. They pulled the medic up and the helicopter took off again. I thought: they were probably transferring me to Saigon. However, only 10 minutes later, the helicopter landed again. I looked out but could not recognise what this place was. I saw that the people who were running toward the helicopter were all American G.I.s. They carried me into an air-conditioned room. I felt cold and clattered my teeth. I asked an American medic to catheter my bladder and let me have a look at the urine.
He fulfilled my request. When I saw that my urine was completely clear and not at all blood-tinged, I was so glad that I fainted. I knew that, at that time in Vietnam a broken bladder was very difficult to treat.
The military Medical Corps in Saigon was stunned by the news that two doctors had been severely wounded in two consecutive days. However, the strangest thing was that, on the first day, no one knew where I had been. The Marine Division headquarters telegrammed asking all Vietnamese Military Hospitals. They could not find my name in the list of patients. Some people thought that the Americans had brought me to the 7th Fleet and it was probable that I had already been inside a shark's stomach. Finally the Battalion advisors contacted the pilot of that helicopter. The latter replied that he had executed an order - I did not know of whom - to bring me to the American Field Hospital in Binh Thuy.
When I recovered my consciousness, I found that I had been in an air-conditioned room. A number of tubes emitted out of my nose, forearms and bladder. A man with meek brown eyes was looking at me, smiling. He introduced himself to me:
- I am Dr. Boese, and a Major. I have operated on you. How do you feel now?
I looked at my surgeon. He was about 30 years old, with sparse dark brown hairs, a little bit bald and wearing myopic glasses. He was of average stature, not as big as other Americans. He advised me to stay lying in bed and rest and he told me that he would re-visit me the next morning.
I then fell in a half conscious condition for another day. The next day, I felt much better. Dr. Boese visited me and said:
- I had to cut about half a meter of your small intestine. The mine fragment pierced through it and severed a small vessel. Other organs were intact. I had to spend a lot of time to collect all rice grains scattering everywhere inside your abdomen.
He smiled saying the last sentence. I also moved my lips to smile with him. It was fortunate that on the day I had been wounded, I ate my lunch at 2.00pm, but a very small quantity. Dr. Boese asked me:
- Are you having pains in three toes in the left foot?
I nodded. He explained:
- That's because the mine fragment hit a nerve. It is still stuck there, unable to be removed at the moment. You would stay here for some days so I can continue to take care of your abdominal wound. Then you would be transferred to Saigon for removal of that fragment.
Some days later, my mother managed to arrive and visit me. Looking at her white hair, I burst into tears. I knew that I had caused so much sadness to her due to my careless character. I quietly thought: if I were to survive this injury, I would marry so she could have a grandchild to cuddle and I would do everything I could to please her. Of my whole family, only my mother visited me. Other members of my family did not, partly because they had busied themselves in making their livings and partly because they had for a long time considered me as a reckless playboy. Under their eyes, I may have been paying, by my death, for my worthless, irresponsible life. I, also for long time, had considered my relatives as non-existent. So I could not blame them for not visiting me.
I stayed in a post-operative room for about a week. I killed my time by reading books and magazines. The abdominal wound slowly healed, but my left foot became more and more painful. The medic who had been taking care of me visited me daily and conversed with me about anything so I felt less bored.
One day Dr. Boese came to visit me, leading a Vietnamese girl, about 19-20 years old. She was sweet, not beautiful, but meek and charming. Dr. Boese introduced her as a secretary and interpreter of this hospital. He hesitantly asked me to help him with something. She had applied for a visa to study in USA. All papers had been lodged, but there was no reply for a long time.
- There would be an aircraft bringing you to Saigon tomorrow. I would be very grateful if you could help her go and study in USA, the sooner the better.
I was surprisingly stunned. These people may have thought that I had had a great power in Saigon. I sincerely told him the truth:
- Unfortunately I had not a single authority in this matter. However, I would try my best to help her as you wanted. Thank you for having conscientiously treated me.
The next day, a caribou aircraft transported me to Saigon. After the wound had healed, I contacted some friends who had been working in Foreign Affairs ministry and Internal Ministry and asked them where the girl's file had been.
Because of the war situation, I could not follow up the case thoroughly. I was also filled with remorse for my failure to help them, forever. I did not know where Dr. Boese and that pretty secretary had been since then. I wished them happy days together.
I was brought into the Marine Hospital Le Huu Sanh in Thi Nghe. The day I had stayed here were the darkest days of my life.
I could not eat or drink anything. I had continuous diarrhoea. The worst thing was that my left foot became more and more painful. I had to use a walking stick to limp. I requested to have Demerol injections daily. After each injection, the pains were no more staying inside my body, but were gliding near the outside of my body. There were so many sleepless nights. I had to ask a perfusion of Pentothal to help me to sleep.
So it went for about 2 weeks. I was emaciated. One day I said to myself:
- You have a nearly disabled wounded leg and now you have used drugs to addiction. It cannot continue so you have to resist.
On that same day, I decided to stop the Demerol injection. When the withdrawal symptoms arrived, my upper and lower limbs contracted. My whole body shook in coldness. I recalled my uncles' words:
"When I was fighting against the Frenchmen, I got malaria without any medicine. Whenever a malaria attack arrived, I lay in a prone position, extending all my limbs to prohibit them to shake. Therefore, after few days, my malaria disappeared, without help of any medication." I fought against withdrawal syndromes and I won. Since then, I never let my body receive Demerol injections again.
Then I was transferred to American Field Hospital in Long Binh. They wanted to try to remove the mine fragment out of my body. They performed numerous x-rays and blood tests.
In this hospital, I met Dr. Long who had been wounded before me. I looked at him, he at me. One with a wounded abdomen, the other with a spinal cord injury. Both choked and could not utter a single word. His young pretty wife conscientiously cared for him. Watching her concerns about him, I felt pity for myself. However, at the same time, I had immense pity for her. Sometimes I caught an expression on her face which showed that she had been falling into a trance and that she was repulsing a nightmare. Then, inner mostly I was glad that I had not married.
This American hospital also treated a number of Vietnamese villager-patients. The latter were brought here from remote villages. There were elderly women who had accompanied their grand children or children and who freely spat the bright-red-blood-colour betel-nut mixture after having chewed it in their mouths, on the ground, no matter where. Some people squatted on toilet porcelain bowls, putting feets on the upper border of it.
Some American GI cleaners discussed to one another:
- It is so strange! I am certain that he has been in the toilet, but I cannot understand where his legs are now?
- And some of them have been washing their faces in urinary bowls.
I was at the same time ashamed and tickled to death. I tried to fix the matter smoothly and explained to my compatriots how to use these devilish bizarre facilities which they had never seen in their lives.
About a week later, two US military Doctors came and discussed with me. They told me that they would be able to remove that mine fragment, but the operation might be difficult. I pondered over:
- Right now, the wound is going to be healed. When it would become a scar, hopefully there would be no more pains in that foot. The operation to remove that fragment would create another painful wound for another period of time. If I am unlucky, these surgeons would accidentally sever that nerve and I would spend the rest of my life in disability. Oh no!
Thus, I decided not to have another operation. I requested to become discharged and I called Captain Tien to collect me. He had become Rear Base commander and frequently supported me.
That evening, the two of us went to Queen Bee, a musical night club to listen to singers. However, I sat there to drink with Captain Tien who had carried a bottle of Courvoisier with him. After having finished more than half of that Cognac bottle, I went home and had a very deep sleep. The next day, when I awoke, there were no more pains in my left foot. I could walk normally. I threw my walking stick away.
Oh! Courvoisier, you were a divine medication! Right now, after dinner, I regularly drink a small glass of it to help digestion
.
Dr. Nguyen Trung Khanh, M. D,.1st Lieutenant
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