“Get to the back!” a man yelled, shoving me hard.
I was a billiard ball, bouncing off one person and into another. It was in the midst of the smells and pushes that I realized how right Burke and Craig were. We couldn’t have brought Sam to the station. No way. But right then I wasn’t there seeking aid for myself, I was there for medication. If I could only make it into the actual set up, surely I could find someone who could give me what I need.
I edged to my left, to my right; I used the tosses of my body to propel me further ahead. The sounds changed and that clued me in that I was nearing my destination. I could hear calls for ‘medication’, and ‘medic over here!’ I was almost there. My heart beat stronger, I moved more determined, keeping my focus ahead.
“Hey, watch it!” Someone screamed at me.
“Stupid bitch, I was here first!”
Wham!
Every ounce of air wheezed out of me when I felt the painful blow strike just below my ribcage. My knees buckled, everyone seemed to spin around me. I turned and saw the face of whom I guessed was my assailant. His face was bloody, dirty, his fist raised high in an aim at me.
I saw it coming, but by the grace of God I was shoved again. This time, it stumbled me forward. In a total state of pain and confusion, half unable to breathe, my hands reached out for someone, anyone, to help me regain my footing.
An arm. I felt an arm and I gripped it. My clasping fingers caused a shrill scream of agony, and had I not been wearing gloves I probably would have felt the reason for the cry. My eyes saw it at the same time my gloved hand sunk into the charred flesh of the woman I grabbed.
She jerked away her limb, leaving black, flaky remnants on my hand. My mouth opened in a long silent scream, as I backed up as fast as I could.
Then finally… air. With no crowd to forge into, I fell to the ground. Quickly, I picked myself up, and flung the glove from my hand, wiping my palm on the leg of my jeans as if the flesh oozed through the cloth of the glove. I wanted to cry out, but only an ache of a moan seeped from me as I did some sort of shuddering dance of disgust.
I had to grab my bearings. A mission had to be completed. Foregoing the glove, I turned around. It all had to be a nightmare. To question where all the people came from was inane. The answers were all around. Aside from the lines of individuals, military trucks hauled masses of injured into the camp. Dumping them carelessly like garbage onto tarps that lay upon the ground. Then just leaving them.
My mind was in a fantasy fog because I truly believed all I had to do was ask someone for help and they’d quickly oblige.
How wrong I was.
I set my sights on military personal and anyone who looked as if they were medically helping.
The first soldier I approached didn’t see me. The second looked my way for split second then brushed by.
Bodily I blocked people, calling out, just trying to get some attention. “Excuse me. Excuse me can you…”
Gone. They walked away.
Another individual spotted, I rushed to them. “Excuse me, can you tell me.”
“Lady, move.” He said then abruptly walked away.
I spotted a rectangular table perched just before a tent labeled ‘Three’. Two men sat there, and no injured appeared to be waiting in line. I found out why when I made my approach.
A soldier stopped me. “No civilians.”
“But I just need to ask something.”
“If you’re looking for an individual, then you need that table.” The soldier pointed to a line of tables, rows deep with people waiting.
“I’m not looking for someone, I’m looking for help.”
“Then go somewhere else,” he ordered. “This isn’t the place.”
“Can’t you just…”
“Go!” he said firm.
“Fine.” I took two steps back, huffed in frustration and spun. When I did, the flap to tent three opened and I saw inside. I caught glimpse of a doctor and knew that was where I had to go. Looking over my shoulder I checked on the soldier who instructed me to leave. When I saw he was busy, I darted in the tent.
My focus on the doctor immediately went elsewhere when I emerged inside. It was bigger than it appeared, and filled with cots. Not a single one of them empty. They lined from front to back, with barely any walking room between them.
I heard a rushed ‘excuse me’, and that snapped me from my stare. I turned, it was him. The doctor. At least he looked like a doctor. Younger, but no older than forty, he wore soiled hospital scrubs, his brown hair was a mess, and he moved with a rush. I followed him. He worked on a patient.
I stood across from him on the other side of the cart. “Excuse me.”
“Give me one CC…”
“I’m not a nurse.”
He finally looked up at me. “Are you looking for someone? Because I can’t help you.”
“No. See my husband is sick. And…”
“Is he in here? I’m sure I’ll get to him.” He aimed his voice elsewhere. “Nurse.”
“No, he’s home.”
“Nurse.” He called again for assistance. “What do you want?” he asked me.
“He’s needs help.”
“I can’t…” Disgusted, the doctor’s hands stopped moving. “Shit.” He shook his head and raised the sheet over the patient’s head.
I was mortified. A man died before me and I didn’t even notice. For a second I was caught in a stare of the covered body, and then I realized the doctor walked away. “Wait.” I pursued him.
He spoke as he walked backwards. “I can’t help you. Sorry.” He turned and went to another patient.
I wasn’t giving up. There had to be another health care worker in that tent. I started the search and then I spotted her. She was at the far end of the tent. “Oh, my God,” I whispered. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Yu, an older Asian woman lived six houses up the street from me. I spoke to her only on occasion, usually a ‘how are you’, and I discovered her name when Matty sold her Girl Scout cookies. I’d wave to her often, when I saw her leaving for work, dressed in white. Mrs. Yu was in tent three. Not as a victim, but as a worker. She was a nurse. She knew me, she would help. Filled with optimism, I hurried her way.
She left one patient and moved to another.
“Mrs. Yu!” I called her. “Mrs. Yu.”
She glanced up, peered around, then focused again on her patient.
Out of breath, I arrived. “Thank God. Thank God. Mrs. Yu?”
She looked at me as if she didn’t know who I was.
“I’m Jo. Jo, your neighbor from down the street.”
“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “Please step back. This patient convulses.”
I moved back an inch. “Mrs. Yu. Can you help me? My husband Sam is sick. Very sick.”
“Where is he, I will go to him in a moment.”
“He’s home.”
“Then you need to bring him here.”
“He’s too sick to bring here.”
“Then I cannot help him,” she said firm, almost annoyed. She stepped to the next cart.
I followed. “Please.”
Mrs. Yu paid me no mind. I understood her focus, I did. I just needed her attention for one second. Her hands moved to the neck of a woman, and to the bandage there. As soon as Mrs. Yu lifted the bandage, like a fountain, a stream of blood shot up at her. She quickly recovered the injury. “Dr. Niles! Cot seven! Bleeder.”
I looked for whom she called, and saw it was the same doctor I had just spoken to.
“Look,” she spoke stern to me. “You are going to have to leave.”
I nodded and stepped away slowly.