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SNAFU Part 16

by Angharad

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

I had just got out of the shower and was busy drying myself. I was a tad tender down below, but otherwise, things felt good. The numbness was lessening, and it stopped feeling as I was having erections. I suppose the nerves were beginning to settle down and my body was reconfiguring them as best it could, sort of ‘this bit now goes in instead of sticking out’.

It’s a very strange sensation at first, for your body to be confused about something physical, but I suppose it’s similar to the problems amputees have with phantom limb syndrome.

I had nursed patients who had had legs removed from below the knee and who occasionally would writhe in agony because they had cramp in toes they didn’t have. Sorry if that sounds a bit Irish, but it happens. I’ve also been asked to scratch an itch on a leg that was no longer there. Thankfully, most of them see the funny side, at least some of the time.

I hadn’t had much amputated, well only some of the inner tissue, but all the same, the sensations can be weird. When you start weeing through a shortened urethra and it sprays everywhere, it makes you wonder if it will ever come right. Okay, so you get used to washing your bum every time you wee, at least the water is warm. Then one day you find it didn’t happen quite so often, then less and less and you know things are becoming normal, swelling is decreasing and the tissues are adjusting.

I celebrated with an extra cup of tea the day I realised I was no longer irrigating my buttocks.

I digress, the phone was ringing and I was dripping wet, wrapped in towels, as I scurried to answer it. The time was unusual for anyone to call and I hoped it might be John.

It wasn’t! “Hello Jamie, it’s Captain Brice. Can you pop by my office first thing?” I agreed that I could. “See you in about half an hour then.”

I returned to my meagre bathroom. Why I called it that escaped me. There was no bath, but we all tend to call it that. I had to hurry, half an hour would not be very long to dry my hair, put it up and get dressed as well as have something quick to eat. However, needs must when the devil drives, so I did manage it even if the way I scoffed down my Sugar Puffs was a trifle inelegant. I also left the dirty bowl in the sink. My mother would kill me if she knew I did such things.

I presented myself at Captain Brice’s door at exactly eight-thirty. She glanced at the clock on her desk and smiled at me. She had told me to wear my uniform, so I did.
“Your punctuality is refreshing Nurse Curtis, please come in.” Her formal approach meant she had someone else there, and sure enough, she did. “This is Captain Smith, who is nurse-manager of a field army hospital based in Basra.”

I saluted her, and then we shook hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Nurse Curtis.” I nodded to show I’d heard and understood what she had said, but as yet had not been told to reply. I was keeping it very formal, at the same time my stomach was doing somersaults, could this be about John?

“Captain Smith is looking for volunteers to do a short stint at her hospital. You could do with making up some clinical hours, and it could be a very interesting way of doing it. What do you think?”

So it wasn’t about John, if it had been, it could have been bad news. “Might I ask how long the posting is?”

Vera Smith responded to my question. “We’re looking at a month, six weeks tops. We’ve got a few staff who have done a very long tour and are due some leave. I’m looking for some temporary help, and Captain Brice said you were her star student.” I looked away and blushed. “I’m also aware that you have a reputation for coping in an emergency.”

I wasn’t sure what I felt, but I knew Sheila wouldn’t drop me in it. So she must think it’s in my interests to go. “Captain Smith knows about your bravery award.” Added my C.O.

“I haven’t got it yet, ma’am.” I replied still blushing.

“A little birdie tells me that you will, but that’s confidential.” She continued, I nodded my understanding.

“I need nurses who are capable of coping under pressure, and I believe your record speaks for you. Are you up to the challenge?”

“I think I’d like to hear a bit more about the challenge, and I need to remind you that I am still a student, so of limited skills and experience.” I knew I would have to go anyway, but thought I’d try and learn as much as I could before I went, it’s too late after the event.

“Basra is in Iraq, as I’m sure you already know.” I nodded. “It is relatively calm there now but we do have the occasional hothead who sees anyone in a British uniform as a legitimate target. As we are trying to help, it’s sad but a fact of life. It is still potentially dangerous, so I won’t lie to you. In the last few months, we’ve had a doctor and two nurses hurt by insurgents. It happens, but there is probably more risk in drinking the water.” She smiled at me and I could see the commitment in her eyes.

“Apart from an opportunity to live dangerously for a few weeks, I am also giving you a chance to see some of the real world. Oh, you get a bit in a place like this but come with me and I’ll show you things which you’ll never see here.”

“Captain Smith is absolutely right, Jamie. You will get more experience of what this job is all about than you ever will here. This is a wonderful opportunity to see the world at HM Government’s expense, and to gain some marvellous experience and develop some new skills.” Captain Brice was positively exuberant.

“We don’t just see military cases. One day you might be working on someone who has been injured clearing mines, then helping a local woman with a difficult birth, or trying to save a child with malnutrition. It’s the real world, it’s a cruel place sometimes but can also be a very beautiful place. People here don’t know they’re born. They’ve got too much of everything and complain that they don’t have enough. A crisis is having the telly conk out so you can’t watch your favourite soap.”

I agreed entirely with her. I was aware that we had got very self indulgent in the west, and we didn’t appreciate what life was really about anymore. At the same time, I didn’t want to give up my comfortable life on a long term basis, although I was perhaps prepared to see how the other half lives.

“Come with me and I’ll show you what life is actually about, even if it is only for a few weeks. What say you, you in or what?”

I looked from her to Captain Brice, who was nodding her head and imploring me to go with her eyes. Then back to Captain Smith, who had fixed me with her large brown eyes. I hadn’t noticed the colour before. “I don’t think I have much choice. I shall come, but I may be only of limited use.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll find uses for you. Welcome on board.” With that she took my hand and we shook firmly, none of your girly stuff this time, she took my hand in both hers and squeezed.

“Well done Jamie, I think you’ll find it the experience of a lifetime. Keep this to yourself, we can’t let everyone go.” I gave my understanding to Captain Brice. “You’ll need some shots. Take this up to outpatients, they’ll sort you out. If you hurry, you’ll just about make the midday train.”

“Midday train ma’am.”

“The train for home, you have a three-day pass.”

“Back here for fifteen hundred hours on Friday, we fly out on Saturday.” Added Captain Smith.

If stuffing a few knickers, bras and tops into a case can be described as packing. Then I packed. My mother would be horrified. She was, however, pleased to learn of my intended visit. There were no more text messages from John or anyone else. It was so unlike him, I was worried, but could do little about it.

On the train, which I caught by the skin of my teeth – what a stupid expression, there is no skin on my teeth, I clean them twice a day – I sat rubbing my sore arms and somewhere else. When I went to the toilet, I was able to see the size of the bruise I was developing on my derriere. It neither pleased me nor made life any more comfortable. Quite what sort of needle they had used, was mind-boggling, probably an industrial knitting one. I’m sure a camel could pass through its eye. Bloody nurses.

Talking of camels, in a few days I should see a lot of them, might even manage a ride on one of them, ‘Florence of Arabia’, here we come! Despite my excitement, the feeling soon palled and I was back to worrying about John. This cloak and dagger stuff frightened me. I wondered if I could persuade him to do something safer, or was that being selfish?

The rhythmic motion of the train caused me to nod off. I only made my station because the guard announces them over a speaker system. I woke up with a jolt, grabbed my case and coat and handbag, jumped off the train. Then realising I’d left my library book on the seat, had to dash back for it. I was getting forgetful, or was I? I can’t remember.

Mum met me at the station, it was near enough three o’clock. We hugged and pecked each other’s cheek. Then into the car and off home. “How is John?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I’ve not heard anything for at least two weeks. I went to RMP headquarters and they told me they didn’t know him. So that was a waste of time.”

“He might just be very busy.” She was trying to cheer me up.

“He works for SIS, he could be anywhere.”

“Well we can’t do anything about it can we, except hope he’s safe.”

“I sent him a text to say I was coming home for a few days.”

“How come you had this leave. You didn’t say if there was a reason.”

“I’ve got a temporary posting.”

“Where, somewhere nice I hope.”

“Should be warm.”

“Where?”

“Middle East.”

“Not Iraq.” She gasped.

“Yep, right on the head. You win a prize.”

“I’m sorry, but I am not one bit happy about my child being sent to a war zone. What is Sheila Brice thinking of?”

“It isn’t a war zone.”

“So why have we still got troops there, same with the Americans.”

“We are helping to keep the peace and restore the infrastructure. Like we are in Bosnia.”

“So why can’t they send you to Bosnia then?”

“Mum, I’m going to Basra. It’s only for four to six weeks, and Sheila Brice did not make the decision. I did.”

“What?” said my mum. “You volunteered?”

“Yes, and wasn’t that our house back there?”

“Oh Jamie, you’ve got me all of a twitter.” She said as she stopped the car and turned back to our close.”

My father was equally pleased to hear my news. He was tempted to call Sheila to protest but I managed to stop him. I didn’t think it would be this hard. I suppose it shows they care, but I am eighteen and by law an autonomous adult. You wouldn’t think it at times if you listen to them.

My mother spent a lot of time on the phone the next day. She said she was going to work from home while I was there. She also said we would go shopping one afternoon.

I’m starting to enjoy ‘retail therapy’, I don’t have to buy anything, just looking and having a snack somewhere is enough. Mum, however, likes to buy me stuff, which I may have mentioned before. At times I’m grateful but at others it irks me. Today was the former.

We ended up in Monsoon, a relatively up-market chain of boutiques. They have some nice clobber, but I usually think it beyond my price range. Today we went in and browsed as usual. I saw several things I liked until I saw how much they were. I tend not to say anything to mum, or it gets bought.

“They have some lovely stuff here, Jamie.”

“Yes, Mum, they do, but I don’t need anything at the moment do I?”

“Oh didn’t I tell you, we’ve been invited over to the Johns' for supper tonight.”

“No, Mum, you didn’t.” I hated the thought of seeing our neighbours. It was over a year since my change of lifestyle, and I hadn’t actually talked to any of them despite having been home several times. Then I seemed to be ill or recuperating or just alone. The need to speak to them didn’t arise. I’m not ashamed of what has happened, but I’m not ecstatic about justifying myself either. I am me, I don’t need anyone’s permission or consent. If they don’t like it they can bloody well lump it.

“I’m sorry love, but I accepted for all of us.”

“Why? You go with dad, tell them I’ve got Lassa fever or something.”

“You shouldn’t joke about such things.” I considered myself told off. “They want to see you, they’ve been at me for ages. So when you came home this time I mentioned it and they invited us. So we need to get you something to wear. What about this cream dress?”

“Yuck,” I said, it went for the whole set up as well as that dress. No pressure, I thought to myself. “What do you think?” I asked her holding up a grey two-piece in a suede-like material. I knew it would go with a pair of boots I have. The skirt was mid-calf and the top was sleeveless, with a vee neck. It was also a hundred quid.
When I saw the price tag I nearly put it back, but mum insisted I try it on. To keep the peace I did as she wanted. It looked very nice, mind you, it should for that money.

Okay so it may not seem that much, but I spend less than that on food for a month, well if I don’t include chocolate. Alright, it isn’t that much, but for one night?

Mum liked it and within a second of me coming out of the changing rooms, it was in the bag. “What about jewellery?”

“I’m okay I think.” I’d collected my pearls from the safe on the way out. I thought they would be safer at home in dad’s little wall safe. I hadn’t shown them to either of my parent’s yet. Tonight would be the night.

About three, we ended up in a hair salon, which had been pre-booked as a treat. I was getting suspicious about these coincidences. Nevertheless, I’d not had my hair cut for ages, so a trim would be useful. I had a shampoo and trim, the stylist asked if I’d ever tried a French plait, so we did and it looked really good. So that was that.
We got home and I went to the bathroom and had a bath. Yes, a bathroom with a tub in situ. I soaked for maybe a quarter of an hour and shaved my legs and under my arms. Then got dressed. My make up was very simple as always. It was a supper not a nightclub, so it was basic mascara, brow liner and lippy. I did use a tiny amount of blusher and decided after seeing the outfit on, that may be a bit of blue eye pencil under the lower lid, just to emphasise my blue eyes. It was hardly noticeable but it did make my eyes look bluer. It also made me look very different to the last time I saw my neighbours. Then I was a boy with short hair and trousers. This was going to be an ordeal.

I put the pearls around my neck and inserted the drop earrings. The effect was amazing. I wondered if they might look over the top, but they blended in, they looked really good. Real class shows itself and can be worn with anything. These were in the top class. A squirt of Miss Chanel’s eponymous perfume and I was ready. I picked up a small grey handbag, apart from a hankie and my lipstick it was empty, but it gave me something to do with my hands (rather than strangling my mother).
When I came down into the lounge, my dad was already there and changed from his working gear, into a smart shirt and trousers. We hugged and kissed. Well he kissed me and I kissed the air by his cheek, it seemed better than getting lip gloss all over him.

“Hey, those are nice.” He said touching my pearls. “Where did you get them?”

“Why?” I asked.

“These are very nice. They’re not cultured ones are they?”

“No. I leave the culture to you, Daddy.”

“Very funny. Have you insured them?”

“Not yet.”

“Where did you get them? Have you just borrowed them?”

“They are mine, and why does it matter where I got them?”

“Jamie, you are probably wearing several thousand pounds worth of jewellery. I didn’t buy it, nor did your mother. John may love you but not that much. So where did you get them?”

“I got them from a client?” I was getting a bit cross now.

“A client?”

“Yeah, since I had the op, I’ve been earning a little on the side.”

“Are you telling me you have been selling yourself in prostitution?” This was getting very heavy.

“No. It’s a joke, Daddy.” He wasn’t laughing.

“So where did they come from?”

“Dr Fellowes wanted me to have them. They belonged to his wife. I did try to stop him but he insisted.”

“Why didn’t you just say so in the beginning?”

“Why did you give me the third degree?”

“Point taken. Did you know what they were worth?”

“Not exactly, but they have been in a safe.”

“Tomorrow, they go for valuation and then to the safe at the bank.”

“Why can’t they just go in our safe?”

“Because they are too valuable.”

“What’s too valuable dear?” Enquired my mother. “Oh those look nice, dear, are they cultured ones?” A feeling of impending disaster began to encroach on the evening.
I just had time to set the video to record ‘Bridget Jones’ Diary’, a hoot of a film even if it is a bit dated. My father liked it too, but as he said,’ if they took the ‘F’ word out of it, there’d be precious little dialogue’. I must read the book sometime to see how it compares.

The ordeal of Willow Close was beginning. How could my parents, who claim to love me, subject me to this….this… squalid event? Sensing my reluctance, they each grabbed an arm and practically frog-marched me over the road. My senses were heightened, and I was aware of every step as my heels clicked on the tarmac.
It was just as well that I’d spritzed with perfume, well eau de toilette, because I could feel myself getting hot and little rivulets of sweat ran down my back.

Then two minutes later we were at the door, my mother rang the bell. I thought I had only a couple of seconds to bring on a myocardial infarct. Quickly, I urged my body to stop living. But as usual, it ignored me. I saw a shadow the other side of the glass door. Too late, bugger! The door opened.

“Hello, Jamie, how nice to see you looking so well. Tom, Anna.” It was Gwen Johns. She threw her arms around me, and we air-kissed. Yuck. “You do look nice, I always thought you were wasted as a boy. Come on in, we’re in the lounge.”

I knew where the lounge was, I’d been there often enough in days gone by. I led the way as she shut the front door. I opened the lounge door and nearly died. There were probably a dozen or even twenty people there. “Here she is,” someone called. Then before I could say anything, they all started singing, “For she’s a jolly good fellow.” I did my famous impression of a radioactive beetroot with its mouth open, while I stood transfixed to the spot in total embarrassment. It was awesome. No, make that awful. I wondered if I could find something sharp enough to slash my wrists before they finished.

As I glanced around the room, almost dribbling with terror, I could see all the clients of ‘Curtis babysitting limited’. This was obviously revenge-time. My heart was in my throat, and my bowels were doing their own version of the jitterbug. I had visions of them all turning into werewolves and ripping me to shreds, devouring my body as my life ebbed away. For a moment the absurdity of that situation and my taught nerves made me snigger. I thought that’s rich, werewolves eating a were-lioness! It would be more likely the other way around. It had some appeal, at least it would stop the dreadful noise.

Suddenly the noise stopped. Brian Johns stepped forward and began a speech. Oh, could things get any worse? I was about to find out.

“Friends, children and esteemed guest.” Who? I thought. “We are here this evening to welcome Jamie back to Willow Close and to celebrate her metamorphosis from the caterpillar of boyhood to the butterfly of womanhood. I think it’s only fair to say that we all thought she should have been a girl then, and many of us actually regarded her as more girl than boy. However, it takes great courage to do what she has done in making her changeover, but we knew she could do it. She has also demonstrated that she has plenty of courage in her handling of the nightclub siege, for which I am led to believe, she will receive an award for bravery.

"We all know and love her, and wish her well in her nursing career. So please ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses to our local heroine, to Jamie.”

There was a general murmur of, “To Jamie.” Then someone shouted, “Three cheers for Jamie…..Hip hip.” In answer to my earlier question, yes it had got worse. Why couldn’t an earthquake cause the floor to open up and swallow me? I just hated this, it was cringe-making in the extreme.

Dr Johns hadn’t finished yet, “We all know how modest she is, and perhaps a little shy, but I’m sure we’d all like her to say a few words to the party.” They all clapped, “Speech, speech,” became the chant. Oh, double shit.

“Go on girl,” my father exhorted me and pushed me forward, into the centre of the room. What on earth do I say? Help please, anybody.

I cleared my throat, there was silence. That was frightening. Here goes. “Dr and Mrs Johns, neighbours and kids, what do I say to a build-up like that? Perhaps I could start by defining what courage is.” I felt the warmth growing inside me, I knew my call for help was answered, I would have the strength to do this. ‘Thanks’, I said in my mind to my guardian spirit.

“Courage is something which is not easily defined, because it depends upon a very individual and subjective assessment, so one person’s courage may be another’s desperation. I am not aware of having done anything courageous in my life, well not until I came here tonight.” A general titter ran through the throng. “I just did what I felt was required at the time. I didn’t think about anything, except what was necessary at the time. They say, whoever ‘they’ actually are, that actions speak louder than words. I might care to disagree, especially standing here.” More titters. “I think I can honestly say, that I am overwhelmed at your generosity, in fact, my whelm has never been so over.” More titters. “

At this point I noticed a small statuette on an occasional table. I reached over and picked it up. I had some inspiration.

Holding it as if I’d just been presented with it, I began. “I’m knocked out at winning this award. I’d like to thank my producer for finding the money and paying my rehab bills.” There was a startled silence then some loud laughter. I was flying. “I’d also like to thank the director. Without his directions, no one would have found this place. I’d like to say thanks to my hairdresser, but she isn’t here. I’d like to thank my parents and their dirty weekend in Bognor, without which I wouldn’t be here.”

The laughter was now all around me, even my parents found it funny. “Thanks once again for this award, I shall cherish it, and keep it with all the others in a cardboard box under the stairs. Well, it’s easier to fill the Oxfam bag from there.” I was waving the statuette in the air, like an Oscar winner.

“I thank you all for coming and for this wonderful party. Thank you so much.”

My heart was beating at something well above its normal level, my blood pressure was also probably close to danger level and the adrenaline (epinephrine) was surging through my system. I also noted my respiration was faster and shallower than usual. I was getting very warm and the room was beginning to spin, I could feel myself beginning to float, when Dr Johns spoiled my swoon, by dashing up with a glass of brandy and making me drink it. He helped me to a chair, and I began to recover.

Then, it was seconds out round two, as the crowd of kids descended upon me, led by Linnie. We all hugged, and I heard her say, “I always wanted a big sister like you, Jamie. Looks like I’ve got one now.” We laughed.

To be fair, the children were really nice. After the initial charge, Linnie came back with a huge bunch of flowers and presented them to me. I was now nearly in tears, so touched was I. We hugged again and I kissed her on the cheek.

Then I was saved by the bell as the food was declared available. It was a fabulous buffet, but I wasn’t hungry for some reason. Gwen Johns brought me a plate with a sandwich and chicken leg on it, but I only nibbled at it. My tummy was still doing impressions of a Catherine wheel.

Music was started, and the adults came to say their bit. Pauline Hewett was the first, she of district nurse fame. “Hi Jamie.” We hugged. “I’m so glad for you. You were simply too pretty to be a boy. If you remember, I thought you were a girl in the beginning. Looks like I might have been closer to the truth than either of us thought.”

“I remember you fixed me up after I came off my bike. You did a good job and I’m glad you did, now more than ever.”

She looked carefully at my face, “It doesn’t show. You are really pretty. You could be a model if you wanted to.” I blushed and looked away. “Really, you could. How’s the training going?”

“It’s okay I guess. I did well in the exams but I have to get some more practical hours in. I was off ill for a bit, I got meningitis.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Natural talent, I s’pose.”

“So are they giving you some extra ward time?”

“Yeah, it’s all been arranged. I fly out on Saturday.”

“You’re flying out ? Where for god’s sake?” she looked incredulous.

“Basra.”

“Jesus! Oops, sorry I hope you're not religious?” I shook my head. “What the hell are they sending you to Iraq for?”

“I think they’ve obviously heard how I disarm gunmen and thought I could solve all their problems in a couple of weeks. I just need to wear my knickers over my tights and slip my cape on.” At this she pushed me and we both laughed. “They’re short-staffed and they thought it might be an interesting experience.”

“It could certainly be that. Well, good luck anyway.”

“Thanks.” I said and we hugged again.

The evening went on in this vein for some time. They were all very nice and pledged their support, for which I was grateful. They all knew I was really a girl, even the kids said so. How could they all have been so wrong? I wasn’t a girl, not until the army stepped in and SNAFU happened!

I was still ruminating on this when it ended and my parents escorted me home. “That went very well,” said my mum, to which my dad agreed. They asked me and I grunted, which they could take however they wished.

Had they all got it wrong or had I? I tossed and turned about it all night. The next morning I realised the futility of it all. I was worrying about the past, the present was already here and I was female whether I liked it or not. The future was about making the best of it and hopefully with John. His absence did worry me. I had a bad feeling about things and about him.

About half-past nine, the doorbell rang. This was not a spontaneous gesture of solidarity but caused by someone pressing it. Well, that was my deduction. I’m quick like that. It was Gwen Johns.

“I’m glad I caught you, Jamie. Your little speech last night was so funny we, that is Brian and I, thought you might like this as a reminder.” With that, she presented me with the statuette.

“That’s really kind of you, but I only picked it up as a joke. It was just a prop.”

“We know that, but we’d both still like you to have it.” She, as good as shoved it into my hands.

“What can I say?” I blushed. It is an improvement on crying, which is my normal expression of emotion. “I’d like to thank my producer….” We both laughed, I kissed her and she stayed for a coffee.

The next day I was on a train heading for what I hoped would be an adventure. I was not to be disappointed.