Harry Parker - Anatomy of a Soldier

‘Please, David. I’m fine. It’ll pass.’

‘Won’t be long,’ he said and went for help.

A nurse came back with him.

‘Are you okay, Tom?’ she said.

‘I’m slightly uncomfortable. My leg hurts, and my back. I’ll manage, though.’

‘I’ve told you before, Tom, this isn’t an endurance test. No one’s judging you on how much you can tough out. You don’t need to be in any pain.’ She was smiling while studying your notes. ‘The pain is optional, and if I were you, I’d opt for none.’

She gave you something, you didn’t really register how but it wrapped around you and the pain went and it was wonderful. She said she might have given you a bit more than she should and winked.

Your brother told you about the family and how everyone was thinking of you. You told him about the future and what you would achieve. The drugs gave you confidence and you talked to him about where you’d been and what it had been like.

The drugs made you sway from euphoria to nausea. They’d separated you from your body; it was unnatural but better than the pain. The energy that let you talk was suddenly gone and you needed to sleep, so your brother left.

The bag hanging at the end of me was full, and while you slept a nurse came to unplug it and attach a new one. I’d been in you for three weeks now, during all your surgeries, when they washed your wounds and cut more of you away. Afterwards, I had been wiped clean of blood and bone dust.

When you next woke, the ward was quiet. You were uncomfortable and looked out of the window. You tried to move but the muscles you strained were either damaged or fixed in new, unnatural positions. Some were severed, others didn’t exist any more and synapses fired at nothing. Shocks speared back from the confusion of cut nerve endings among the trauma. You lay still as your foot was peeled open and salt was poured in and you looked down at the empty space of flat blanket where the pain bolted from.

You waited for it to pass. You could feel me snaking from your groin across your abdomen and you counted the cords and pipes that fed in or out of you, each one invading your sense of self. You would die in a sloppy pool of your own excrement and agony if you weren’t plugged into this wall of machines, if we weren’t here to take away discharge and feed the drugs and medicines into you. You understood how completely dependent you were.

While you’d slept, someone new had been brought into the bay. He was conscious and sitting up as his family and the doctors talked tenderly to him. They surrounded him and you watched them. White cotton pads were taped over his eyes and his head swept from side to side in disorientation. His family seemed worried and the doctors tried to explain.

*

Later, after the physiotherapist had told you how to squeeze a rubber ball with your only undamaged limb, after your parents had given you a cold yogurt, the lights were dimmed in the ward.

The man who had just arrived was silent but upright, leaning against a stack of pillows. You wondered if he was asleep. And then he moved.

‘Colonel, is that you?’ he said. ‘I’m going, Colonel.’

He moved his head and you watched him and wondered who he was talking to.

‘Are you okay, mate?’ you said. But your voice was still damaged and he didn’t hear you.

‘Zero Alpha, this is One Zero Delta, I’m moving. Over,’ he said. His head rolled. He chopped his arm down.

‘Where are they? No, don’t. Don’t do that,’ he said and was quiet for a while.

You pressed your help button and a nurse came over.

‘You okay, Tom?’ she said.

‘That new bloke has been saying a few odd things to himself.’

She looked over at him. ‘He’s been a bit confused since he got here, poor thing.’ She walked over and rested a hand on his arm. ‘John, it’s Mel, I’m a nurse—’

‘What? Get back,’ he said and lashed out blindly. She moved away.

‘John, it’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re in hospital in England.’

‘I need to get to the patrol base.’

They tried to calm him down but drugs and trauma kept him from the truth. They asked if you’d talk to him. You tried to call across the bay but your voice wouldn’t carry. They released the brakes on your bed and wheeled you over to him.

I hung down between the beds. He had one of me as well and you talked to him above us.

‘John, my name’s Tom,’ you said.

‘Who’s that?’ he said. ‘I need to speak to the colonel. Something’s gone wrong.’ The white pads stared past you.

‘I know, John. Can you hear me?’

‘I don’t know you. I must speak to the colonel. It’s dreadful. We must get back or he won’t make it.’

‘I know. I’m Tom Barnes. I’m a captain. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Okay. Listen to me. You’ve been injured. Do you realise that?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are home now, John. You’ve been flown back,’ you said. ‘We’re in hospital.’

‘I understand,’ he said. His head had dropped.

‘The colonel isn’t here. But everyone’s helping you now. You’re safe. Do you understand?’

‘Yes. Thank you, Captain Tom,’ he said. There were red pockmarks across his face and his lip was held together by black stitches. ‘I’m sorry. I was just confused.’

‘No worries, John. I’m injured too. They give us ketamine and other drugs that can make you see strange things. It’s not real. You’re safe now. I’m just across the ward from you. Give me a shout if you want to talk.’

The nurses wheeled you back and mouthed thank-yous and smiled. It had exhausted you.

*

In the morning they replaced my bag again and washed around your penis, holding me out so it was like a piece of meat on a skewer. You marvelled again at the deep purple bruise on it and wondered how much that must have hurt.

The doctors came and stood at the end of the bed to discuss you. It felt odd being below them, their notepads open as they talked about your injuries. You were flat and helpless and not part of it. One of them said you would be moving back up to L4 soon. You were ready; they were just waiting for a bed.

The man on the other side of the room was asleep when they came for us. They wheeled us through the corridors and my bag, half full of your piss, swayed beside the bed. People were moving around the hospital, normal people who’d come in through the front door: a decrepit man heading for a cigarette, rolling a drip beside him; a fat woman in a wheelchair complaining to a nurse, she was quiet when she saw you; and a bald child who never stopped staring. You felt odd being among people who noticed you were different.

We waited in the lift and then were in the new ward. We had been here before; you’d been very dehydrated and the urine that passed along me had been brown. You’d been in pain and they hadn’t realised how ill you were. That was before they had to cut away your remaining leg. I’d been there for that.

We were taken to a bay where four men were sitting on their beds or in wheelchairs. The nurses pushed you to a free space in the corner. One man was missing a leg and his stump was so short it didn’t cover the cushion he sat on. He’s had it bad, you thought.

You were introduced to each of them and they all said hello. One said they’d been waiting for a double amputee to come to their bay. He said between them they had five legs and eight arms, they were now beating bay 4. You smiled.

During visiting hours, the ward filled with people; friends and family of the other men. They all introduced themselves and said they were happy to have a new member of the team. They offered fruit and sweets and magazines. A shiny helium balloon floated over one of the tables.