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SNAFU Part 24

by Angharad

This is a work of fiction any resemblance to anyone alive or dead is unintentional.

*****

I was set on ending my misery, I stepped out of the shower to fetch my penknife. A Swiss Army one with a razor-sharp blade. There was blood running down my wrist from my previous wound. I felt no pain. My senses seemed on hold. My heart was pounding. I felt nothing, I saw nothing, including the small plastic bag which had somehow been left on the bathroom floor.

As I placed my wet foot upon it, so it stuck to my foot, but not the dry floor. I had a vague recollection of flying, of being on my back in mid-air, all of it in slow motion. Then falling, a numbing sensation as my head hit something hard, the sound of a scream, and a full-body impact. Blackness engulfed me.

I next remember a strange voice calling me, and shaking me. I didn’t want to respond, so I didn’t. I wanted to sleep and be left alone.

The voice persisted, so did the shaking. I heard bits of the conversation, but I really wanted to ignore it. Something about, “…..head injury…..stitches…. .concussion…..casualty……put her on the van…..vitals are okay.”

Next, I felt myself being wrapped up in something and lifted onto something then carried on it. I think I must have slept then because the next thing I sort of recall was bright lights and someone prodding me again and calling my name. I could answer if I wanted, but I don’t want. I want to sleep again, and maybe never wake. Yeah, that would be good.

I stopped listening to the voices, but I felt pricks in my arms so knew they were taking blood or putting something in. I didn’t care. I think I was put on a cold bed of some sort, so they probably did X-rays. Who cares?

I drifted in and out of my sleep, which was a nuisance, I just wanted to sleep but they kept waking me up. Then I felt sick, then I was sick, then they rolled me over and I was sick again. In vomiting, I had opened my eyes, that was a mistake, now they knew I was there.

I couldn’t see anything except a glare, my eyes wouldn’t focus, so I closed them again, but they knew.

More prodding and calling of my name. I think I heard my mother’s voice and possibly my father’s was John’s there too. He was the last person I wanted to see or hear from.

My life was over, why couldn’t they let me die in peace? Bloody doctors, I have to work with them, can’t they leave me alone when I’m off duty. I was off duty, wasn’t I? I couldn’t remember, and I couldn’t be arsed to work it out, ‘cos then I’d have to think what day it was, and that was too much.

I think I was lying on my side, I was sick again and my head hurt. It had hurt before, but now it was pounding and someone was playing with a very sore part. I wondered if they were suturing it.

Laymen talk of stitches, but we professionals, we call it suturing. God my head hurt, why can’t they let me sleep. That’s all I want to sleep, to dream no more. Just like Hamlet, shuffle off this mortal whatever. Christ it hurts, I’m going to be sick again, oh bugger!

Why is my gran standing beside me? “What do you want, Gran? Have you come to take me? I shall be glad to be gone from here, this world is only pain and suffering. Take me away with you, I’ll be a good girl, I promise. I’ll do my sewing and eat my greens.”

She’s walking away from me shaking her head. Why? Does that mean I’m going somewhere else? Do I care? I don’t, as long as this pain in my head stops. I guess that means I must be alive still, oh shit!

Someone is poking about with my head again, why don’t they stop? Why don’t I tell them to stop, I will, that’s what I’ll do, I’ll tell them. I can’t I can’t find my mouth. Oho, my breathing feels strange, I can’t breathe. I should feel upset but all I feel is relieved, it will soon be over and I can go. Now someone is shouting, can’t they be more respectful of the dead. I think I shall like being dead, no more pain.

Here comes the tunnel, oh good, this is the real thing at last. I’m floating, upwards. It feels good, I can’t feel my body anymore, my head doesn’t hurt anymore. I like this, now I can sleep.

I found myself in a beautiful garden, sitting by a pool. I seemed to be alone, but I wasn’t too worried. Was I dead? If I was it felt okay. I wondered if it was allowed for me to explore. I looked around, I couldn’t see any gates, pearly or otherwise. I could see someone walking towards me, it was Lisa, the lovely girl I let die, so long ago.
She didn’t look too happy, maybe she remembered my lack of skills at the accident allowing her to die. I suddenly felt very guilty.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded of me.

“I don’t know. I guess I died.”

“You had things to do. We spent much time and effort teaching you special skills, giving you special powers, and now you’ve wasted it. We’ve spent so much time on you and you’ve let us down.”

I felt awful. I began to cry, but she was inured to my tears. “I’m sorry,” it was all I could say by way of reply. I had done many terrible things and was a disappointment. I had taken life and let others down, I was worthless. I wanted to make up for it, to pay back the effort.

“Lisa, I am sorry for disappointing you and wasting all your effort. I have been bad or worse. I killed some people. I deserve whatever I get as punishment, but I wish I could repay your belief in me.”

She stood with her arms crossed, humming and ha-ing.

“Can I say sorry to the people I killed? I didn’t mean to. No that’s not quite true, I did mean to but it wasn’t my original intention. Yes, that’s right. I only killed them because they were trying to kill me.” I felt a little better now until I remembered the lioness taking their souls. Oops. Perhaps I’d better be quiet.

“I’m sorry that…”

“Oh do shut up,” scolded Lisa, and I burst into tears.

“There is one way you can make amends.”

“Yes, anything, I’ll take it.”

“The Committee has decided you will go back and finish your original task.”

“Go back? Go back where?” What committee was she on about.”

“Go back to your body, to your life, finish the job for once.”

“What? No chance.” I wasn’t going back to all that, I was dead, I had rights.

“Too late, arrangements have been made. Goodbye.” She turned and walked away. I was dismissed.

I sat down again and sulked. Surely they couldn’t make me do it against my will, could they? I suspected I was about to find out.

Nothing happening so far. Maybe they’ve given up on me. I might get a chance to talk to my gran yet, I wonder if Beryl Fellowes is up here? Maybe I should talk to her if I get the chance.

Oh well, I wonder if they do lunches up here, I didn’t have much breakfast. “What the fu….” I felt myself sucked backwards at enormous speed, even faster than my bike goes! I was falling backwards, and I knew where this was going.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” I heard myself scream, and the pounding in my head returned.
I woke up sometime later, drips in arms, head in bandages pounding like a drum. I could see, but it was blurry.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Said a cheery female voice. It could only be a nurse.

“Could I have a drink, please?”

“Course.” She replied and lifted some water to me, which I sipped through a straw.

“How long have I been here?”

“A couple of days. You had a head injury, a subdural haematoma and you arrested. They thought they had lost you.”

“I should be so lucky.”

“I’m sorry,” she threw back at me.

“Nothing.”

“You are very lucky, we had a consultant traumatologist on-site, he worked with a neurosurgeon to reduce the bleed. If they hadn’t you could have died or been paraplegic. They think you’ll probably make a full recovery.”

“Thank you. More water please.” I sipped half a glass of aqua, but my thirst wasn’t quenched.

“What do you do?” asked my carer.

“I’ve got a terrible job. They make me do all sorts of unpleasant things to people, hurting them until they scream.”

“Ooh,” she winced, what do you do then?

I knew that laughing was going to hurt, but I wanted to. “I’m a nurse.” I laughed. “Oh shit, it did hurt.”

“You,” she scolded me, then, “Where?”

“With the army at Barbury.”

“One of them is a regular hero, isn’t she? I read about it in a nursing journal, decorated for action in Iraq and something with gunmen in Barbury. Do you know her?”

“No. I try to avoid heroes and heroines, too dangerous.”

“Yeah, so would I. So how did you hit your head?”

“Dunno. Can’t remember, fell I suppose. I wasn’t in an RTA was I?”

“Not as far as I know. You rest now, I promised to ring your parents, there’ll be a cuppa along soon.”

“Thanks.”

Mum and Dad came soon after. I was drinking my tea when they arrived. “Am I pleased to see you doing that,” declared my mother.

“In which case, could you get me another?” I replied. She huffed and puffed but indulged me.

“We seem to spend half our lives in hospitals with you, kiddo,” said my dad kissing me.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I woke up in here. Last thing I recall was talking to John about something in the paper. You were arguing with him, I think.”

“He was running down some transsexual. His intolerance surprised me.”

“Yeah, and me. It’s not going to work is it?” I felt a tear come to my eye.

“Not unless he changes his attitude. It’s just as well you didn’t tell him.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Where is he now?”

“I don’t know, home or at work I presume. He did come to the hospital to see you but you were unconscious, he left some flowers.” Dad indicated a big bunch in a vase on the locker. Moving my head hurt. “He asked us to let him know any change.”

“Have you?”

“Not yet. We came straight here.”

“Don’t. I don’t want to see him.”

“You can’t just do that, he’ll have to know why.”

“So tell him anything. Tell him I died.” I was crying silently, and it was doing nothing for my headache.

“Jamie, I won’t lie for anybody.”

“So tell him the truth. His bit of totty is like the bloke in the paper. That should do it.”

“Shouldn’t you tell him yourself?”

“I don’t think I ever want to see him again.”

“I thought you loved him.”

“ I do,” I sobbed, “which is why I can’t see him ever again. Please, Daddy, tell him for me.”

“Excuse me, but if you are upsetting her, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.” My nurse seeing my distress intervened.

“It’s okay, nurse, he’s not upsetting me. It’s something he’s helping me with.”

“You’re supposed to rest, so be warned.”

“Yes boss.” I saluted until my arm hurt.

Mum reappeared with three cups of tea. “I thought I’d get us all one.”

“What’s the matter sweetheart, why are you crying?” she handed the tray to Dad and hugged me as best she could. He explained, and she held my hand nodding. They had evidently talked about it.

They were going away to think about it but meanwhile would suggest that I was too sick to be visited. It was as big a cop-out as mine.

Dad told me he had spoken to Sheila Brice who sent best wishes, she hoped I would be well enough to continue my studies. Part of me was still wanting out of the army and nursing, maybe I could go on these health grounds. On the other hand, we were treated more like student nurses than soldiers. I don’t think most of the squaddies had the same holidays we got, but then we were doing something useful. No, it was down to women being given special treatment, for which I was extremely grateful.
However, I needed to stop this business of being as much in hospitals as a patient as I was as a nurse. I wouldn’t be home for a few days, this time. I had a hole in my skull that would have to heal before they could let me go.

I know it feels strange to think that some stranger has been poking about in your body while you were asleep but to think they were poking about in my brain. Ugh, I wonder if they found one? I must be feeling better, my sense of humour is returning, now if only I could laugh my way out of sorting out my love life.

My father told me about the plastic bag on my foot, which they think caused me to fall. They think I hit my head on the bath, it’s a cast iron, enamel one. It’s pretty solid. But then I thought my head was.

The memory of my encounter with a less than happy Lisa came back as I tried to sleep. I was very tired, a feeling which suddenly overwhelmed me. Understandable, I suppose. I kept thinking about what Lisa had said, about not finishing my task, and the special skills and powers they had given me. I hoped I still had them.

I asked Mum to bring in my Sekhmet figurine, it was special and reminded me of a special man. I think I was gently crying when I went to sleep.

Two days later, and they say I can go home tomorrow. I decided to try my ‘special powers’ and concentrated on healing the wound on my arm. In an hour the mark was gone. I tried it on my head wound. It took longer and much more effort, but the surgeon was amazed to see it had halved in size. When I asked him if I could go home, he told me when it was healed. I asked him to come by tomorrow, it would be. He asked how I knew, I told him, I had instructed it to heal by his round tomorrow. He bet me a fiver, it wouldn’t be. I took his wager. Tomorrow, I shall take his money.
I have written John a short letter:

Dear John,
Before reading any further, know that I love you very much. I have a secret however, which I feel will destroy us as a couple. Think about the article which caused such an argument with my father on Sunday. Now think why he was so insistent on his viewpoint. I don’t need to say anything else, other than I love you dearly.
Goodbye,
Jamie.

My mother posted it for me, she read it first and sadly agreed with the contents. She wasn’t happy that I should send John, a ‘dear john’ letter, rather that I should tell him face to face. I am too frightened to do that, the pain would be unbearable. I’d rather die. Hell. Now I remember how I came to fall, gee whiz, that was close.

I got home as predicted, a fiver better off – actually I wasn’t, I told him to put it in the hospital friends charity box. I was glad to be home, there is nowhere quite like it. I looked forward to cycling again, but that would need a week or two yet.

I came home to cards and presents from the children in the close, I was moved to tears. In some ways, I feel I have been lucky to know them as I won’t have children of my own, so I suppose that means, I shall be a career girl. Lucky me, not.

I had been home a matter of hours when Sheila Brice called. Mum took the call, I was cagey because I didn’t want to speak to John, at least not yet. I did speak to Sheila.

“I’m glad you’re coming on so well. Look, I had John Anderson in here earlier. He showed me a letter you had written him. He asked me if you were transsexual, I told him not in the usual sense and then explained some of your history as I knew it.
He found it hard to take. He was visibly upset. I know how fond you are of him and I think he is of you. I think he feels you deceived him, which makes it even harder for him.

"I did try to support your case, by asking him how he would feel in your shoes. He said something rather unhelpful at this. So I asked him to leave. I’m sorry Jamie, he’s a nice bloke essentially, but like many of them, has hang-ups about what is or isn’t male and female. He doesn’t appreciate the continuum which is the reality, and he certainly didn’t understand that you had been instructed to be female by HM Government. It could only happen in the army.”

We chatted for a bit longer but it was just chatter. It looked as if I was right in realising it wouldn’t have worked.

Two nights later, we were awakened by a frantic ringing of the doorbell. My father went to deal with it. I stood at the top of the stairs with my mother.

It was John, and he had been drinking.

“I can’t let you in, John.” Said my father firmly.

“It’s not you, I want to see, it’s your son.”

“I don’t have a son, and you know it.”

“Oh sorry, he’s now your daughter. Can I talk to him?”

“No. Please go home.”

“I want to talk to your son. I’m not going anywhere until I speak to your son.”

I shrugged past my mother’s attempt to stop me and went to the front door. I asked my father to let him in, but to stay nearby.

“You wanted to see me?” I said, as calmly as I could.

“Yes, I do.” He said, speaking slowly.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“So what?”

“If you’ve been driving while under the influence, it could cause an accident.”

“What do you care?”

“I care a great deal,” I felt very close to tears.

“I’m not sure I can believe you.”

“That’s your choice, I can only say what I feel.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a boy?”

“I was, I’m not now.”

“How do I know that?”

“I wanted to prove it to you the other week.”

“Once a boy, always a boy. That’s what I say. You can’t change sex.”

“Fine, if that’s how you feel, then that’s how you feel. You are entitled to your opinion. I am to mine.”

“ You lied to me.”

“When?”

“You told me you were a girl.”

“I didn’t, you assumed it.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I think quite a lot, you obviously don’t.”

“Bloody right I don’t. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What difference would it have made? I fell for you at our first meeting.”

“I’m not queer you know. I don’t fancy boys, even girly boys.”

“Neither am I, I’m female and I fancy men, one in particular, who captured my heart and is now breaking it.” There were tears now freely running down my face.

“You’re a girly boy. That’s an end to it.”

I stood there in my nightdress, and thought, ‘what the hell’. I pulled it off over my head. John had never seen my body before, it looks very female.

“Take a good look John, does that look like the body of any boy you have ever seen?”

He looked away, “I don’t want to see a naked boy with tits.”

“I’m a woman John, look again.”

He glanced at me several times, each one lasting longer. My father was in the next room, probably doing his crunch.

“Okay, so you’ve got a nice body. Surgeons can do wonders.”

“Surgeons did help me, but I was never a man. I didn’t go through a male puberty. I’ve had this voice for most of my life. I’ve never shaved or had a hairy chest.”

“You had a penis.”

“Yes.”

“So you were male.”

“It only ever functioned as a urinary thing.”

“You don’t menstruate?”

“No, nor can I have children. I told you that some time ago. It is my greatest regret, that and losing you.”

I dressed again, having made my point. It was in vain.

“I have to go now,” he said, moving towards the door.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t drive tonight, you’re committing an offence and worse you could get hurt.”

“What do you care?”

“I care a great deal. I still love you.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I thought I loved a girl called Jamie, but it turned out I loved a boy called Jamie who looked like a girl. I was mistaken.”

“Please don’t drive tonight, it’s too dangerous.”

“What’s the alternative? Stay here with a house full of freaks? No thanks.”

“Is that what you think I am? A freak?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“Well thank you for being honest. Goodbye.” I turned and walked away crying bitterly. The scene I had wanted to avoid had happened, the pain I wanted to avoid was ripping through my heart. I wished I was dead, but every time I try to end it, something stops me. Now I think I could go to bed and die of a broken heart.
I mounted the stairs on leaden legs, my mother helped me up and hugged me, helping me back to bed. I cried all night.

The next morning, my mother came up and woke me. “John’s car is still on the drive.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know, your father’s gone out to look.”

I got up and after washing my face, I looked like death anyway, put on a robe and went downstairs. My father was just coming in.

“He slept in his car, bloody fool. He could have stayed here, in the house.”

“I know, I told him that.”

“Yes, and I heard his reply. No matter what he thinks, you are my, I mean our, daughter and we love you to bits.”

“I know, Daddy.” He hugged me and I felt tears in my eyes, I think his looked a bit watery too.

“Should I wake him up?” he asked me.

“I’ll take him out a cup of strong coffee and invite him in for breakfast.”

“He won’t accept.”

“Maybe not, but I’ll bet he would like to use the bathroom.”

I looked in his car, he was lying under a coat on the back seat. I knocked on the window and saw him stir. “Room service,” I called out.

He sat up rubbing his eyes, he peered at me as he worked out where he was. He eventually registered who it was and why. He opened the door, “I thought you might like a cup of hot coffee.”

“Thanks.” He accepted it.

“If you’d like some breakfast or use the bathroom, feel free.”

“I’m sorry about last night.” He said, looking at the floor, “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do, you were angry and upset. You have every right. You think I deceived you, so you were angry. I don’t think I did, but we’ll have to disagree on that one.”

“Did you stand there naked at one point?”

“Yes.”

“You have a lovely body.”

“Thank you.”

“Unfortunately, as far as I am concerned it still belongs to a boy.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion. Thank you for the nice times we had together. Sorry I didn’t pass the medical.” I sniffed and used a tissue to mop my eyes. “Bathroom and breakfast, the offer still stands. By the way, I may be some sort of freak in your eyes, my parents aren’t, they’re just doing the best they can.” With that, I left and went back up to my bedroom and lay on the bed sobbing my heart out. It was all over.

I lay there thinking, “Why does life do this to me? The one person I have met who is real and honest is a homophobe and thinks I’m a boy. I love him, I thought he loved me. However, the first test of his love, and he failed.” I sobbed some more, “Why is life so bloody unfair?”

I thought I heard the car pull off the drive, he had gone. Typical, absolutely typical! I wanted to swear and shout and scream with rage, but I didn’t, I wanted to die. I still had my penknife, I picked it up. Suddenly, I saw Lisa telling me what she had earlier, about being special, about finishing my task. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t hurt her again, whatever it was I had to do, I would see it through. I just wish they would tell me.

I spent the rest of the morning dozing and crying, it was probably as bad as life could get. Logic told me I would recover, my heart told me I wouldn’t be the same ever again. Deep inside me, I felt a loss that would never heal, like I had somebody use a massive drill on my heart and soul, one of those they use for taking geological bore samples. The pain was unbearable, and I half expected it to set my headaches off again. It didn’t, just the raw pain of my broken heart.

My parents were so good. They gave me time to grieve and space. They brought me food and drinks and took the same away again, untouched. In three days I lost half a stone.

On day four, my mother came in and threatened to call the doctor if I didn’t eat or drink something. I was so sleepy, it was ridiculous. To keep the peace I had a milky coffee, but then I was sick soon afterwards.

I just had sugary water for the rest of the day.

Day five and I got up and showered, I had a cup of tea and a piece of toast. From then on, I began to improve and within another day or two was back to eating small but regular meals. I still moped about quite a lot, but I was taking some exercise- some walks, I couldn’t face the bike, besides, I didn’t have the energy.

In a few more days, I’d have to return to Barbury for my new year of tuition. I half dreaded it. Sharon had called once or twice during the holiday, most recently during my period of post-relationship grief. She tried to cheer me up. I didn’t tell her the full story, just that John and I had split up, and I was distraught. She understood, she was a whole year older than me in physical terms, and about twenty in emotional ones.

She had looked after me during the beginning of the course and I had helped her academically, and saved her life in Iraq, perhaps at the nightclub as well. I know she’d have done the same for me.

We were told that we had to be more military this term, so it was parades and drill as well as nurse training. It eventually dawned on me why. They wanted to present nursing awards to the current senior year, so it had to be done in an army-like way, with a parade and all the usual pomp and ceremony. We can’t compete with the Americans for firepower and technology, but no one can touch the Brits for formal pomp and ceremony.

So in the first week back, we were on parade every night. The exercise did me good, we must have marched miles, making sure the lines were ruler-straight in both directions. We practised so much, that I’m sure we even slept in straight lines.
Week two was like week one, with blisters. Then we learned, that the passing out parade as such was the following week. It was apparently done in front of the whole school of nursing, and the nursing certificates to the seniors would be presented by someone from the military hierarchy, a real VIP but whose identity was kept quiet until the event.

It was all mind-numbingly boring stuff, but as I felt the same inside, it suited me fine. In the days before we were busy pressing and polishing uniforms and shoes. I swear my buttons had never shone so much, and my shoes were like mirrors. The night before, I was so tired that I went to bed early and slept deeply until the alarm went off.

We had a practice session of how the actual award winners would leave the body of the main group as they were called. A dozen of us were asked to stand in for them, and we peeled off and stood in a line in front of the dais, when called, we had to march up to the stand-in VIP, stand at attention and salute. Receive, the award, shake hands, salute and walk back to the ranks. Then the next, ad nauseum. Why we were being drilled in this I didn’t know, but it’s the army, nothing much makes sense. In fact, if it does, then you know you did something wrong.

After a morning of inspections, we were told that prize winners for our year would also be receiving their awards at this ceremony, and whaddya know, it was the dozen of us who had practised this the day before.

Sharon got the prize for ‘best improver’, which I thought was patronising, but she was happy, her parents were coming to watch. I got the prize for ‘medicine’ and so on. My parents had been invited too, but I knew nothing about it, or was I so mind-numbed that I hadn’t noticed? God knows, anyway, there would be a bun fight after, so we could mingle then.

The troops gathered, along with a band from nearby Barbury camp. We stood in the cool breeze waiting for the VIPs, all of us thinking, “get a move on”. Finally, a party of people moved from behind the dais and took their seats. There were probably about thirty or more of them. I recognised several of the top brass, including Major Collins and Captain Brice, then the Chief Constable, local mayor, and jeez, the Princess Royal was presenting the awards. So the geezer to her left must be the Lord Lieutenant of the county.

Secreted about the place were, special ops personnel and some of the SIS. I wondered if John was there, part of me hoped he was, part hoped he wasn’t. Actually, part of me wished I wasn’t there, no make that all of me. “Bloody hell get on with it.”

First off the national anthem, somehow it often brings tears to my eyes, today being no exception. We marched for about ten minutes after this, which made us feel warmer and brought nods of approval from the VIPs. The MC for the event reminded everyone that we were officially military personnel, and that like the regulars we could also march in straight lines. We could too and proved it.

Finally, we got to the awards. About twenty-five seniors received their nursing diplomas which they could upgrade to degree status by an extra year at one of several universities. We all applauded, partly because we all knew the seniors involved, and partly because it helped to keep us warm.

Next it was our turn, I was positioned last to receive. I didn’t know why because the others had been in a different order. Don’t ask questions, just do or die.

We were now the front row, the others funnelling in behind us as we moved forward. Believe me, it worked okay. When Sharon went up to meet the princess, I felt so proud for her. Perhaps she deserved a prize just for being Sharon, what she would say to her parents afterwards kept me smiling long after she came back to the line. Suddenly, it was the person next to me, Karen, who had won the practical nursing prize. She went up, shook hands with Princess Anne and had a piece of paper in her hand.

Goodness, it was getting hot, my head was feeling very distant. No, I must stick with it, I mustn’t faint, they’ll shoot me. My name was called. “Oh shit.”

I wheeled, marched, wheeled, marched up the steps. Stood to attention and saluted. The princess held out her hand, I shook it and received my piece of paper. Then before I could march away, the voice told me to wait. “Oh bugger.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, Nurse Curtis has also been awarded a Distinguished Conduct Medal for courage under fire while serving in Iraq. Her quick thinking and action saved the lives of six of her colleagues. I would now ask Her Royal Highness to present Nurse Curtis with her medal.”

“Oh shit, what do I do?” I took my lead from the princess who stood facing me, saluted me, which I returned, she then pinned the medal on my uniform and, shook my hand and while doing so said, “Well done, Curtis, it does morale good for a nurse to get a gong.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” was my short reply.

“Before you go, Jamie, we would like Her Royal Highness to present one more award to you.” I continued to stand at attention, partly because I was now running on autopilot and my legs had gone stiff anyway. I couldn’t move from sheer terror.

“May I introduce, Sir David Wicks, Chief Constable who would like to say a few words about this young lady.”

“Oh no,” I thought, “I know what ‘s coming next.”

“Your Royal Highness, distinguished guests, ladies gentlemen and nurses, the award I am going to ask Her Royal Highness to present is one for courage, again under fire.

This young lady helped to disarm two of three armed thugs at a nightclub, where they had already killed one man. She managed to escape when used as a human shield, gave us valuable information about the remaining gunmen, then ignoring advice went back into the club, because her friends and colleagues were still under threat. There she single-handedly disarmed the remaining gunman.” A sound of ‘aw’ came from the assembled mass.

“This pre-dated her spell in Iraq, and she had given an undertaking not to be so reckless again, but I think we all agree she had good reason to act with such courage for the second time.” This time a titter ran through the audience.

I would therefore like to ask Her Royal Highness to present this award, which began as a police award, but after consultation with the Prime Minister’s Office, has been changed to the George Medal, in recognition for outstanding courage in the face of serious personal danger.”

“Gee-zus” I thought, “what chance now of anonymity? I thought they only gave it to civilians, I’m military. Don’t ask. Accept and get the hell out of it.”

“It also has the quality of being awardable to both military and civilian personnel.”

Once more I saluted, and the princess saluted back, then she pinned the second gong on my chest. We shook hands and she said, “Well done, Nurse Curtis, carry on like this and you’ll run out of room on your tunic.”

I smiled at her little joke, “Thank you, Ma’am,” I said and left after once more saluting and then wheeling, then down the steps, trying not to fall down them, then, wheel at the bottom, then return to my line, wheel stand at attention. Then wheel and lead off to stand behind the other ranks.

There was a short address by the Princess and the Colonel from Barbury camp, then the national anthem, and three cheers for the Princess, after which, we were dismissed and suddenly I wanted to be sick.

However, I couldn’t I was surrounded by well-wishers, who were patting me on the back and examining the medals on my chest. I gazed down on the ribbons holding them, the one red with a single blue stripe, the other red with several fine blue stripes. “Geezuz, get me out of here.”

After the throng thinned out a bit, my parents were able to find me (just look for the crowd) and we hugged and kissed. They both had tears in their eyes. “We are so proud of you,” said my mum.

“I thought they overreacted, I’m not worth either of these,” I responded, and I believed it, “this is political correctness gone mad. It’s only because I’m a nurse.”

“Come on,” said my dad, “Let's go get something to eat and drink.”

We entered the refectory where it was being held, only for my embarrassment to reach new heights, as we walked in, my parents stepped back, the crowd parted before me and to my extreme discomfort began to clap and pat me on the back as I walked down the room. For me, it was like running the gauntlet.

I have never felt so embarrassed in my life. If this is what acting brave does for you, then from now on I am a committed coward. It had a cringe factor off the scale.

“You’ll have to change your stationery now to include, GM, DCM after your name.” Offered one bystander I didn’t recognise.

“Well done girl, what’s next a Victoria Cross?”

“No, I thought Victoria station and a train to France, where no one knows me.”

I endured the next two hours, with the unflagging support of my parents. I/we posed for photographs, not to mention the ones taken during the presentation, which were probably being sent off to the various papers.

At one point, Sheila Brice came up, shook my hand and with a hand on my shoulder said, “Sorry about the surprise element, but we knew that if you had known what was coming you’d have become ill. I know how much you hate all this.”

“Why didn’t you tell them then?”

“I did, which only encouraged them. They don’t want blasé heroes, they want ordinary folk, to encourage and motivate young people.”

“They have just pinned on me, two of the most prestigious medals this country can offer. What have I done to deserve them?”

“I think you know that,” she retorted,” just because you disagree doesn’t invalidate the award.”

“But it does. Previous winners have done something very courageous, several gave their lives. What I did was on the spur of the moment stuff. I didn’t think, I just acted.”

“Precisely. You risked your life twice, on each occasion to save your colleagues. Why do you think they clapped you into the room, to thank you for your courage and quickness of mind. This is an enormously popular award, all those who were asked about it from both the nightclub and the Basra group gave their full support of it. Each of the awards, informs the other. It was the PM, who made the decision for the George Medal. It was his personal decision, there’s a letter from him waiting for you in my office. You have no choice, but to accept your fate.

"Some time ago, I told you, you had been marked out for something special, now everyone knows. Use them, these awards will open doors in the future, make sure you use them.”

“I hadn’t thought of it quite like that,” I admitted, “maybe there is a purpose for this after all, other than to frighten the crap out of me.”

Sheila laughed, “I’m glad you’re human after all, but a very special one. A woman of destiny.”

After that what could I say? Nothing? So that’s what I did, said now’t to ‘owt.
The day came to an end with the exit of my parents, after they left, I went too, back to my room. I was on my way back when a familiar voice called to me.

“Hello, John,” I replied.

“I thought I would come and add my congratulations in person and in private.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Maybe it’s just as well we’re no longer together, having a girlfriend with gongs like those would embarrass the hell out of me, especially in the sergeant’s mess.”

“Except I’m not a girl, remember.” I felt a mixture of emotions. He would be embarrassed, how does he think I feel wearing these bits of silver. They mark me out as extraordinary. I just want to be ordinary, but life won’t let it happen.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I’ve been thinking, that I was wrong about some things, or I was too hasty and spoke without thinking things through. I had never considered how difficult it must have been for you to go through all that you have, surgery notwithstanding. So I want to say I’m sorry for what I said and did.”

“I think it’s my parents who deserve the apology, not me.”

“I’ve already spoken to them.”

“Fine. Look, I’m done in, and need to get to bed.”

“Am I forgiven?” he looked like a small boy, who had upset his mother. Why do men do this to us? I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him.

“For what, speaking your truth?”

“No for failing to see another’s need and viewpoint.”

Christ this was major stuff, even if it was too late. “In which case you are forgiven. Now can I go to bed?”

He went to hug me, but I stopped him. “Sorry, too many memories too much pain.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. Well done on the gongs, you deserve them.”

“Thanks, goodnight.” I walked away from him, my eyes welling up with tears. I mustn’t let him see me cry. I’m an official heroine now, mustn’t cry, must remember those hugs and kisses, keep walking, don’t look back, ignore the pain, just keep going.