Nurse

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San Mateo Middle College High School

Nurse

Stephanie is a blond lady of 55 but is very young looking. She has cherry cheeks and bright blue eyes. She is soft spoken and very compassionate and articulate. She is very bright and cheery and has a light heart and a warm sense of humor.
"I was a nurse with the Army during Vietnam in 1965. At first, when I realized I would be going off to war, I flashed back to the lives that would be ruined because of this war. I was scared. At 12:32 exactly I was outside on my front porch waiting for the jeep that would bring me to my flight of sorrow and pain. I considered myself pretty lucky, not being male, not having to fight on foot. There was no time to complain all my friends were already in Vietnam.
"I was assigned to the 3rd field Hospital in Saigon. When I got there, I was petrified. I was now open to the most horrific sights I would ever experience. I thought, we aren't in Kansas anymore!
"Probably the most horrific and saddening sight I experienced during Vietnam was when two Lieutenants, Lt. Drazba and Lt. Jones (the two lieutenants in charge of the hospital) were in a helicopter crash near Saigon at exactly 1:48 AM February, 1966. This time and date runs through my head over and over again, being implaced in my long-term memory. I was the only nurse who actually knew what she was doing. All the other nurses came from a month or two of medical training not knowing very much. Moving on (she tears up) Lt. Jones and Drazba were my favorite people in the whole world. Lt. Jones was a tall muscular young man who had a very striking look. We had a very close relationship. Another reason why Vietnam is such a horrible memory for me operating on Lt. Jones and Drazba was Dr. Ray Jackson. He was a talented Surgeon who later died of gas poisoning. We worked so hard to save their lives (Pause-she starts to cry) but it wasn't working. Nothing did. (Another pause. She takes a tissue) "All their insides were turned out. I can't really talk about that part anymore.
"Another war story of mine was when I went to the city to help the Ambulance jeeps save some US soldiers. The soldiers were black. I was amazed because they never let us operate on African Americans, but that didn't matter to me at all. As I looked at him, his eyes returned my stare, his skin was black and mine was white but we didn't care at all. We were instantly unified; we could have been from one mother's womb. He grabbed my hand as he gasped for a breath and was bleeding and crying; he did not want to die. He began telling me his life story, of a wife and a baby due. He started to cry louder, (She stops for a moment), in pain, then a moan. We both had these wonderful lives before the war; they were filled with love and family. His legs were torn off and I knew he was not going to make it. And today I thank God because that man gave me inspiration to live longer and have hope when he handed me his pocket Bible. Till this day, I have it ant it reminds me that God has sheltered me from any more harm, any more pain.
"I could go on about the sights I saw, mangled limbs, a missing face, burns; it was all so insane. The young men came in and too often the bodies went out. I used to go to my hooch (hut) late at night and it was my turn to cry. I asked God night after night about all the valiant men that had to die.
"I returned home five years later when it was all over. I decided to work at Kansas City Hospital, considering myself to be one of the best. A month later I realized that I couldn't do it anymore. I needed to be alone. After the war, the only thing I thought about was death. But my husband, then my fiancé, showed me that both of us could help each other through this. I can't say that I don't have a happy life because that's a lie, I experienced much pain but my faith in God and in love, kept me fighting and struggling to live. The war won't be over for me till the day I die."

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