He was usually stationed in the post-op ward. He gave shots to prevent infection, assisted men to the chow line, and scrubbed bedpans. He never saw large volumes of blood.
JD couldn't forget the way blood stained everything it touched. In the early days of the Bulge, it seemed to coat his hands and discolored his fingernails. He hated kneeling over bleeding men, searching for a pulse. He hated assisting battlefield operations.
As long as he wasn't caring for those men on the field or in pre-operations, JD didn't think he would ever complain about changing bedpans again.
YOU ARE READING
Cigarettes and Penicillin
Historical FictionWar turns boys into men. It takes moments of your life and changes you forever. It's the little things that follow you. Snapshots. Stories you can tell your mother. Your father. Your aunt. Your son. Your granddaughter. There are good stories. Mome...
