1030 HOURS 2 OCTOBER 1942
There is a smell of pain, Lieutenant (J.G.) Joanne Miller, NNC, thought. He's sweating because of the pain I'm causing him, and the sweat smells of pain.
"Am I hurting you?" she asked as she bent his lower leg back until it would flex no more. She pressed harder, raising his hips off the bed.
"I'm all right," John said.
"Don't be a goddamn hero," Lieutenant Colonel M. J. Godofski, MC, USA, said. "You're not going to impress Joanne with some manly bullshit about not feeling pain. If it hurts, say so."
Godofski was leaning against the bedroom wall, puffing on a cigar.
"OK, Colonel, it hurts," John said.
"Good," Godofski said. "It should hurt a little. Not to the point where you can't stand it. We're trying to make your blood vessels down there take more blood than they're used to taking. They have to be trained to replace the ones you lost. Understand?"
"Yes, Sir."
Joanne counted thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and stopped.
"That's fifteen, Doctor."
"Can you take five more, son?"
"Yes, Sir."
Colonel Godofski nodded.
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, ninetetn, twenty.
Honey, I'm sorry!
"Twenty, Doctor."
Godofski went to the bed and probed John's muscles with his fingers.
"Just give him fifteen on the other leg," he said. "It was damaged more than the other one. We don't want to overdo it."
"Yes, Doctor."
"I'll see you tomorrow, son," Godofski said. He looked at Joanne. "I think he's out of the woods with the malaria. No sweats. No diarrhea. His temperatures seem constant. We'll leave him on the Atabrine regimen for a couple more days and see what happens."
"Yes, Doctor."
"They called up from Melbourne about you yesterday. Wanted to know when they can have you back. You must be a pretty good gas passer."
Joanne nodded.
"They're getting in a bunch of wounded from New Guinea," Godofski said.
"I didn't ask for this assignment," Joanne said.
"I didn't ask for mine, either," he said and walked out of the room.
"But are you sorry you came?" John asked as he picked up his ankle. "That's what it sounded like."
"Shut up," Joanne said.
One, she began to count, two.
She saw the sweat suddenly pop out on his forehead.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.
"Jesus!" John said.
Oh, honey, I'm sorry.
She sat on the bed beside him and wiped the sweat from his face and neck.
"I like that," he said, then caught her hand and kissed it.
She slapped him on the buttocks and stood up.
"Go take a bath, you stink."
"I like that, too," he said.
"Will you stop? Barbara will hear you."
"You don't think she doesn't know?" John asked.
The doorbell went off, it was an old-fashioned Turn-to-ring device.
"That's probably the Colonel," John said. "He's had second thoughts. He wants you to give me twenty." He rolled onto his back. She put her hand on his cheek.
He caught it and used it for support as he pulled himself to a sitting position. Next he swung his legs out of bed; the movement made him wince.
"You're all right? You're not going to fall down in there?"
"No," he said as he made his way into the bathroom.
She was pulling the sweaty sheets from his bed when Barbara put her head in the door.
"Taking a shower," Joanne said. "If that's what you were about to ask."
Barbara, who looked upset, walked to the bathroom and opened the door.