Dec 15 2008
THE SCENE: Iraq, Afghanistan, or anywhere where U.S. troops are risking life and limb.
THE TIME: The not-too-distant-future. Maybe even 2009.
Joe is on patrol.
It’s the middle of summer in the desert town. The air hangs heavy, hot, dry and dusty, like a blast furnace firing steel. The heat penetrates Joe’s 80 lb pack in much the same way the heat from boiling water penetrates the shell of an unfortunate lobster. Joe’s heart races. His squad is on edge; their eyes dart furiously to and fro, looking for the deadly threat that might lurk in the shadows. Every shadow is a potential source of death, every alley a refuge from which the enemy can attack and kill him or his buddies, every rooftop a fortress from which the enemy can rain death upon the squad. The area is known to be thick with terrorists and insurgents. Joe pictured them waiting unseen from every nook and cranny for the opportunity to attack. The skin on Joe’s back is all prickly. He distinctly feels as though he has a huge bullseye pointed on his back. He feels a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead and onto his eyelid, all slimy and salty. Joe desperately wants to wipe it away, but that would necessitate removing one of his hands from his weapon. The split second it would take for him to put it back might mean the difference between life and death for him or one of his buddies.
A loud roar fills Joe’s ears, and suddenly he feels as though he has no weight. The scene unfolds in slow motion, just like in the movies. Dazed, Joe hears a tumult as though from a great distance, but can see nothing. Yelling and gunfire all around, he becomes conscious enough to realize that he’s lying flat on his back. He feels searing pain in his legs and a hot liquid oozing around them. It occurs to Joe that it must be his own blood or even perhaps his own urine, but he’s just too dazed to care.
“Medic!” Joe hears someone scream. He feels someone pull his helmet from his head and realizes that the sound of gunfire and yelling is receding. His unit must be driving away the ambushers. Good! He thinks. Give those assholes hell, guys! He opens his eyes, and realizes that his buddy’s got his back, and turns to see another man, a medic, drop to his knees at his side. His uniform is stained a disturbing red. Joe feels the medic wrapping something around his thigh. It’s a tourniquet, and Joe cries out in pain as he feels it constricting around his upper thigh.
“Bleeding’s better!” Joe hears the medic say to his buddy. “I’ll take it from here.” Joe’s buddy runs off to join the rest of his unit, and the medic moves his face close to Joe’s. He feels himself being moved from side to side and then his legs being moved. More pain. Joe cries out.
The medic leans in to talk to Joe, “I think we’ve got the bleeding under control for now. I put a tourniquet on your leg. Let’s get you out of here. The docs’ll patch you up in no time.” Joe is vaguely aware of another corpsmen with a stretcher nearby. The medic leans in again, “Are you in pain, soldier?”
“What do you think? My leg hurts like a sonofabitch! I could really use something for the pain,” Joe hears himself yelling, again as if from a distance. Pain is shooting through his leg, setting every nerve on fire, and the tourniquet is biting into raw muscle through the edge of a wound that comes all the way up to his groin. The flayed edges of his skin shoot fire to his brain, and he can feel his broken bones grinding against each other every time he moves in spite of the splint.
“I’ve got something better that’ll help,” the medic screams over the din.
Better? Joe thinks. I’m in agony here. I need something! Anything!
The medic pulls a small box out of his pack. Joe sees that it’s a small case. He opens it. Its contents look something like this:
Joe is puzzled. Where’s the morphine? He wonders. “What are those needles?” Joe asks. “What are you doing? I’ve never seen syringes that look like that before!”
“Acupuncture,” replies the medic. “I’ll take care of you.”
“What are you going to do with them?” Joe replies.
“Stick them into your earlobe. It’ll take the pain away really fast.”
“Are you shittin’ me?” Joe screeches, trying to get up to grab the medic by the front of his uniform. “My leg’s a bloody mess, I’m in agony, and you’re tellin’ me you’re gonna stick little needles in my ear and make it all better? Like that‘s going to do anything! I need real pain medicine! Give me morphine! NOW!”
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