Page 51 of Healing Hazel

He pointed to the boxes the men had brought. “Camila and Hazel, sort the supplies. See if there is additional material that can be used as bandages.”

“Attend to the medication,” he muttered in English to Hazel. “We have a limited supply.”

She nodded her understanding.

“Dr. Laurent, you, Lucía, and I will determine who requires the most immediate attention and who can wait.”

The long-faced leader stepped in front of them, speaking to Lucía and jabbing his finger as he pointed around the camp.

She replied in a calm voice, likely reassuring the man that they knew how to proceed and translating for Jim.

The three argued back and forth until Jim raised his voice. “Enough. Each moment we waste could mean the difference between a man’s life and death. If you want our assistance, you must trust that we will do all we can to save as many of your people as we are able. Now, will you help us, or did you bring us all this way to argue?”

Lucía translated his words.

The leader scowled, but he stepped back, motioning for Jim to continue.

Jim nodded. “I need water, and it must be boiled.”

Lucía translated, and the man shook his head as he replied. He folded his arms, his voice sounding decisive.

“There is a stream,” Lucía told Jim, pointing beyond the structures. “But he said there are to be no fires. The smoke will announce their location to the Spanish Army.” The corners of her eyes wrinkled as if she were asking Jim to understand.

Hazel realized how difficult it must be for her. These were her people, and yet she was treated as an outsider because of her relationship with the Red Cross Hospital. She was torn between her loyalty to them and her duty as a nurse.

Jim opened his mouth, ready to argue, but seeing Lucía’s expression, he stopped, letting out a sigh through his nose. “Alcohol, then,” he said. “To clean the instruments.”

Hazel and Camila laid out a blanket and arranged the medical tools and supplies, making it easy to find the various instruments as well as see at a glance how many bandages, towels, and dressings were available.

The men who had accompanied them from the wagon stood guard, watching their movements, but they seemed more curious than anything. And Hazel imagined they were concerned for their friends.

She emptied a medical kit and filled it with the bottles of medication and chloroform, closing it and keeping it beside her. She glanced around the camp and saw there were men stationed around the edges of the tree line, their rifles at the ready. The sight made her insides tremble. She tried not to glance in the direction of those men, not wanting to draw further attention, but it was impossible to forget they were there, standing all around the camp, watching, guarding.

Once they had finished organizing the supplies, the nurses got to work.

At Lucía’s orders, some of the rebels converted one of the small structures into an operating room. Dr. Jackson and Dr. Laurent established which of the patients required surgery and in what order, and having the space and resources to perform only one surgery at a time, they took turns, with Camila managing the chloroform when sedation was needed.

With Lucía’s help, the doctors directed men with stretchers, moving patients in and out of the surgery, putting patients with similar needs close together. Some they laid in the sunshine and others in the shade, making sure to keep those with any sort of illness away from the others.

Hazel and Camila cleaned and dressed wounds, treated burns with ointments and compresses, and placed cool towels on fevered brows. In between patients, they took turns cleaning instruments and washing bloody towels in a bucket of cold water. The towels were wrung out and laid over rocks in the sun, but they had little hope of drying before they were needed again. The guards continued to watch.

When a doctor wasn’t in the surgery, he managed smaller procedures such as removing shallow shrapnel and stitching lacerations. Hazel and Camila took turns assisting.

It was well past nightfall by the time the last patient was tended to. Dr. Laurent and Camila helped a man with a fractured wrist, setting the bone and splinting it into place.

Hazel held a lantern and a pail of clean water as she moved among the patients. She noted with approval how they had been moved into orderly rows. She stopped at an outstretched hand and helped a young man lean forward and drink. Crouching beside another man, she poured the cool water onto a towel, returning it to his heated forehead.

Hearing a cry, she moved down a row, stopping beside a boy and kneeling beside him. He could have been no older than eleven. The boy was soaked with sweat, tossing on his mat and crying out in feverous delirium. Hazel wiped his brow, pulling over him the blanket he’d kicked away. The frigid air on his wet clothing worried her, and she considered whether it would be better to allow the cold to cool his fever or remove the wet clothes and cover him with blankets. She’d never tended to a feverish patient in the winter air before. She wiped his face with a cool towel, deciding to consult with one of the doctors, but as she moved to rise, the boy clasped her arm. His eyes were open now, and he stared at her. “Ama?”

Hazel didn’t need a translation to understand the boy’s word. In his state, he believed her to be his mother. She knelt back down, wincing as her bruised knees pressed against the hard dirt. “Hush, now.” She spoke in a gentle voice, brushing the wet curls from his forehead. She stroked his cheek with a soft finger. “It will all be well. You need to rest, dear.” As she had the other young man, Hazel helped him lean forward enough to drink.

“Ama,” he said again much quieter. He closed his eyes, and his face relaxed.

Hazel covered him with the blanket, rising. She lifted the lantern and started when she illuminated the face of a man. It was one of the guards, and he stood very near, watching her closely. In the lantern light, she could see the man’s face was tanned, as if he spent every moment of his life outside. He had a fresh scar beneath his jaw that was only partly covered by a bandanna tied around his neck. Small wrinkles spread from the corners of his eyes, as if he squinted often. Or perhaps they were from smiling. He was certainly not smiling now. He watched her with a curious gaze.

Seeing that she needed to move past him, the guard stood to the side, and Hazel scooted around him, hurrying to find Dr. Laurent to inquire about treating the boy with the fever. At the doctor’s instructions, she kept the boy loosely covered and reapplied the cool cloth to his forehead.

An hour later, they repacked the medical supplies, covering the boxes with a section of oiled canvas to keep them dry. Jim carried the kit with the medicines, and the group of doctors and nurses gathered together.

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