Mary E. Breed

WERE YOU THERE?

Soldiers salute at the Minnesota Vietnam Veterans Memorial.

Minnesota Vietnam Veterans Memorial | Memorial Day 2017. Photo by Katie Carpenter.

Early one morning I drive to the Minnesota Vietnam Veterans Memorial in St. Paul. I read the now familiar words, “We were young. We have died. Remember us.” Beneath the long clean row of names were some flowers and notes left by family and friends.

As I stood there reflecting, I wondered what those names would say if they could speak. How did their mothers withstand the news of their death? I thought of those still unaccounted for and remembered how important it was to see Don’s body, even though it was covered with glass to contain the smell.

Little did I know, two years later I would become acquainted with that smell.

Minnesota Vietnam Veterans Memorial | Memorial Day 2017. Photo by Katie Carpenter.

In 1968, my brother Dale served in Nam. Although wounded, he returned home to family and friends. In 1968, my friend Don died in DaNang. Feeling my brother and friend were worth saving, I joined the Army Nurse Corps in 1969, despite people saying, “If you take care of ‘those guys,’ the war will last longer.”

After 25 years, the memories can still bring smiles and tears. Now when people question my intentions, I ask… Were you there, when my first patients came into triage? They were two Vietnamese children with white phosphorus burns. They died… my very first patients died!

Shortly after, they were followed by five Marines who had hit a mine. I learned quickly what happened with land mines. I began to hate the words, “disartic of the hip.”

Some of my sorrowful memories include being around kids/men dying, without even knowing their names.

I remember when Dale came in, I was scrubbed in the OR with my back turned away from the OR table. The CRNA said, “Dale, you’re going to sleep. We’ll take good care of you.”

Upon hearing those words, I must have turned pale, because one of the doctors asked if I could do the case. I said I’d be fine. I knew my brother Dale was safe at home, I just needed a minute.

As I turned and saw the unbelievable dirt, mud, and blood blown into his body, I wanted to cry. Dale did the routine 2 a.m. bleed. We’d go to the ICU to pack and repack his wounds. Our evacs started at 5 a.m. We had lost three GIs before Dale came to us, so one of the doctors said, “Let’s load him up with blood and see if we can get him home.” I pinned a note to his pajamas. I know Dale made it to Japan, I don’t know if he made it home.

Were you there when…

…doctors decided who would receive the last available respirator?

…I held a Vietnamese baby dying from tetanus?

…our dust-off crews were told to stay away from the DMZ? (We were to wait for POWs. Three days later, no POWs. We did receive four injured Special Forces patients. I didn’t ask how many died in the attempt to free others.)

…we did cleft lip and palate repairs on Vietnamese children?

…I took the hand of the only survivor of an ambush? (I can still see the look in his eyes.)

…we worked on a GI who drowned during his in-country R&R?

…I saw the beauty of Vietnam from the top of Monkey Mountain? …a GI cursed me because we amputated both his legs secondary to gangrene? (He said he’d rather die. Maybe he did, from sepsis or at his own hands.)

…I sat with a young man who lost his arms from a booby trap? (The missing arms really disturbed me. Arms are for hugging.)

As choppers landed on both sides of the hospital in Quang Tri, David was the first young man I met in triage. Both of his eyes were burned. I quickly irrigated them and applied dressings. Since he was stable, I moved to the next GI.

As I continued to work, I’d call back to David to see how he was doing. Suddenly, I was reassigned to the other side of the hospital. I was told we received 75 wounded in 15 minutes. There was a kid with head injuries. Just before he became aphasic, I wrote his name on a tag (I think it was John). I learned quickly in Nam to ask their names and where they were from in the States. Some of my sorrowful memories include being around kids/men dying, without even knowing their names.

When I returned to the first triage area, David had been evacuated. Jackie said before he left, David called out, “Tell Mary goodbye.” I wish I could have said goodbye. I wonder how he’s doing.

One day a loach pilot landed on out helipad. How he made it, I’ll never know. By the time our corpsman got him out, he had seizure activity secondary to hypoxia. It was my turn to hang blood, so I did for his case.

Colorful flowers and American flag at the Minnesota Vietnam Veterans Memorial,

Flowers at the Minnesota Vietnam Veterans Memorial | Memorial Day 2017 | Photo by Katie Carpenter.

On the way back to my hootch, I stopped at the chapel to pray. Because I didn’t want to send another young man home who couldn’t recognize his family, I pleaded with God to let him die that night. The next day, a surgeon brought me to the pilot’s bedside, and had him do math problems. There was no brain damage.

It was like God had said,
“Mary, you NEVER decide who lives and dies in this war.
You are here to do the best work you can and that’s all.”

Vietnam taught me the horrors of war: For women, children and GIs alike. I would not wish a war on my worst enemy. If I had a daughter, I would not encourage her to join the military; although I would do it again. I could not sell out my brothers and friends like our government did.

I often wonder if things would have been different if Vietnam had oil. If anything good comes out of war, it’s the increase in medical knowledge. Knowledge of septic shock, ARDS and PTS are just a few of from ‘Nam, how healthy young men die, in body and spirit.

Vietnam showed me how a diverse group of people could work closely together as a team. Thank you to all of the medics, chopper crews, corpsmen, nurses, doctors, grave crews and cooks I had the privilege to work with. God grant you His peace.