The Twitch

THE TWITCH

I saw the bright red blood flowing from my abdomen before I felt the pain. It arrived conspicuously. It wasn’t a subtle knock. It was a fearless villain making its relentless presence known.

As fast as a muzzle flash he was there. Improbably, by my side almost nanoseconds after I screamed. I recognized my bellow as a blood curdling Spartan scream, loud and ferocious, from the very depths of my lungs. I didn’t know I could do that. It shocked me back to reality. This was unexpected pain. How could I possibly prepare for a bullet ripping across my stomach.

Before I had the chance to think or move, my squad leader was on his knees helping me by applying pressure and screaming for our combat medic. The look on his face made me panic. Deathly pale but precise, he worked with a rapid, cold efficiency, using the basic medical skills every Soldier hopes to have mastered after a decade of training.

Supine, I started breathing rapidly, causing blood to spurt. Nauseated by the sight, I began losing consciousness, but he wouldn’t let me close my eyes and used his command voice to keep my attention.

“Hey, hey. Sergeant. Carmen. Don’t do that. Stay awake. You must stay awake. I got you. I got you. Open your eyes and slow your breathing. Give me deep, controlled breaths. That’s how you get through this.”

Over his shoulder he screamed in a voice I didn’t recognize. It was high pitched and forceful, penetrating the overcast, dense night air, “Medic. Medic! MEDIC!”

Turning his attention back to me he kept saying, “Hold my hand, squeeze it. Keep listening to me, Carmen, I’m here.”

There was too much pain. I was valiantly trying to breathe slowly and deeply, just as Adam instructed. It was a struggle.

I looked at Adam and tried asking, “How? How did…,” I tapered off, not able to finish the sentence. He knew what I meant.

“I, I, ah, I don’t know what happened or why it happened, Carmen. Higher provided no actionable intelligence signaling a counter-patrol or a pending TIC,” using the military term for Troops In Contact.

We gave each other a frightful look. Eyes locked on each other, knowing exactly how serious my injury was and the additional complications only known to us. No words were spoken. None were needed.

Breaking our silence, like a machine, he robotically informed me, “You’re gonna be fine. Don’t think about it. Eyes on me. Keep squeezing my hand. Keep breathing. I got you. I promise, I got you.”

Then, almost like an afterthought, he softened his tone and added, “You are the most fearless, the most impossibly impressive Soldier I’ve ever known. That’s just two reasons why I love you. When I getcha to the hospital, while recovering, I’ll give you the unabridged list. Right now, your only job is to stay awake, breathe and help me save you. MEDIC!”

I watched Adam rip the handheld radio mic from the right shoulder of his body armor. He calmly keyed the button and purposefully broke in, stepping on the radio traffic, “Archer 6, this is Arrow 7, prepare to copy, 9-line to follow.”

It all went dark.

Disoriented, I woke to a cacophony of beeping sounds and inharmonious chatter while the Army standard sodium-vapor lamps coated every corner of the room in a harsh, jaundiced hue. The intensity was making my eyes water. My right arm felt cold and I traced the source to an I-V ringer pumping something into me. Pain medication? Antibiotics? Both? The oxygen mask hastily placed over my mouth and nose was irritating. I realize now that I must have successfully evacuated to a rear mobile field hospital, somewhere in Syria.

I touched the spot from where the pain was emanating and winced. I pulled my blanket down and my hospital gown up to see the large white gauze bandage, now stained crimson, applied over the wound. The pounding source of my pain.

A voice walking closer to me whispered, “Don’t touch it, Carmen. Leave it alone so you can start healing. Do you remember being shot? You were grazed across the lower left side of your abdomen. The surgery was long, but successful. I’ll call for your nurse and he can explain everything.”

Pulling off my oxygen mask, I spoke with a frail voice, “Wait, don’t leave me yet. Tell me, is…”

He raised a hand, cutting me off. “Carm, you’re alive, let’s start with that and we can get into the details after the nurse speaks to you. You were given a block, so you’re probably uncomfortable, but maybe not in pain, yet. But you will be, so, please, be gentle and think about the fancy Purple Heart you’ll get for this. I’ll be right back,” he offered as he gave me a forced smile then blew a hesitant kiss in my direction and walked out. I was already grateful for his fierce support and attention. He clearly had not left my side. Still in his blood stained OCPs, muddy boots, and his face streaked with fading camouflage, I was touched by his concern. Grateful, actually.

Through my medicated fog I drifted back to the incident. What happened? My forward operating ground unit was to execute an overnight routine roving patrol to gather intelligence and provide a SALUTE report. A member of the squad was still en route from Baghdad and expected to Return-To-Base after the patrol was to launch. Thinking I could help the team, Adam asked if I would volunteer to conduct the recon in Shadadi. I’ve done this type of patrol several times.

I know Adam didn’t like the idea. He needed me. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust me. Mostly, I believed his apprehension stemmed from me being his secret girlfriend, and not due to inferior skills. I had plenty of experience. Still, he was cautious.

After midnight, the squad moved out in a route step and eventually we took our designated positions as we fell into our V-formation. Adam took his leadership spot at the apex of the V. I was on his right flank, roughly 25 meters and 90 degrees apart; at his 3 O’clock. We maintained noise discipline as we scanned the environment for anything out of place that was noteworthy. After an hour of collection, it wasn’t surprising when Adam appeared next to me with instructions.

He whispered, “In 200 meters we’ll approach an unpaved road. Don’t cross. On my signal, we’ll fan out approximately 50 meters before the road. Maintain intervals. Take a knee. HQ will provide further guidance. Observe and report anything unusual. Watch your six.”

As we made our approach we got the signal from Adam. Watching him through the green halo of my night vision goggles, I observed as he extended his arms forward, then fanned them out, followed by stretching out his arms, horizontal and at shoulder level, positioning his body like the shape of a cross. I tried making eye contact with him through my NVGs, signaling compliance. He was looking in my direction, but he didn’t look directly at me. His gaze seemed lower. As if something was between us. I observed the space. I saw nothing.

No time to think about it. As the squad took the silent cue, we turned our collective backs to Adam, spreading out like a team of cheerleaders using a silent count to perform their well-rehearsed choreography.

As I turned to move to my designated spot, which was uncharacteristically removed from my teammates, I felt a jolt. I fell to the ground. I didn’t know what happened, but when the pain rifled through me, I started screaming in agony. Adam was seconds behind my scream, and already packing the wound with QuikClot Combat Gauze, applying pressure, desperately trying to stop my bleeding. In hindsight, it was odd, how quickly he came to my rescue. No, it wasn’t odd, it was disturbing. What was he looking at before I was struck?

Adam returned with my nurse who warmly said, “Sergeant Ajijic, I’m Nurse Greg. The first thing I want to tell you is, you’re fine. The surgery was a success. The doctor performed an exploratory laparotomy to repair your left side. You suffered an abdominal gunshot wound. It’ll take considerable time for the wound to heal as the repairs were extensive. In time, you’ll undergo routine physical therapy, and you’ll heal completely. I’m acutely focused on your long-term recovery, which means protecting the surgical site from undo pressure and monitoring for infection. You’ll be on a strict diet and a regime of medication. Before you’re discharged, I’ll provide you with a complete list of do’s and don’ts and under what changing conditions you should call me or the doctor. Now, I have a few personal things to discuss with you. Would you like Staff Sergeant Walters to hear what I have to say, or would you prefer privacy?”

I didn’t have time to respond. Adam grabbed my hand. He looked at me, eyes pleading to stay. Then he looked at Nurse Greg who immediately understood, we’re together. I closed my eyes and nodded in the nurse’s direction, giving my silent permission for Adam to stay.

Even as Nurse Greg spoke, I was slowly trying to piece the puzzle together and I was loathe to believe I was right. As an Intel Planner, I’m trained to problem solve. To appreciate the problem. To find flaws in my logic. Revisit the facts and assumptions, repeatedly, until I can determine the most plausible answer, way ahead, endstate, desired future or conclusion.

Nurse Greg continued by saying, “Sergeant Ajijic, before leaving home station for this deployment to Syria, did you take a pregnancy test?

“Yes, of course. It’s SOP.”

“Well, Sergeant Ajijic, Carmen, did you know you were pregnant?”

I knew I was, or we thought we were, but I wasn’t sure how to answer. This is bad. I knew I’d have to face my reality and get officially tested, eventually; but I wasn’t prepared to deal with it right now.

Horrified, I asked, “Was pregnant?”

“With my greatest of sincerity and compassion, I'm so sorry to tell you, due to the gunshot wound, your bleeding was profuse. On the helicopter you went into hypovolemic shock. Between losing an extraordinary amount of blood and your blood pressure bottoming out, the flight medic was unable to maintain perfusion.”

My eyes got wide and Nurse Greg reached for my other hand and explained, “This means, we were able to save you, but I’m so sorry, Carmen, your fetus could not be saved. It breaks my heart, and I’m truly so very sorry. I can have the chaplain visit you if you think speaking with him will provide comfort.”

Nurse Greg didn’t understand my disbelief. True, I was overwhelmed. It wasn’t from losing the child I barely had time to bond with, but rather, it stemmed from my premise that Adam could’ve shot me. An assumption now turned into a fact? Hearing this news, I recalled our V-formation spreading out, putting me directly on Adam’s right. Is it possible, Adam was sighting my left side through his NVGs? No, no, no. My thoughts and my heart were racing.

Did he shoot me to get rid of the baby? How could that be true? What madness would that be? Could he possibly be this maniacal? He said he loved me. He wanted to tell me all the reasons why.

Seeking some type of confirmation, I pulled my gaze from Nurse Greg and locked eyes with Adam, who squeezed my hand, gave my knuckles a gentle kiss and pressed his forehead to my fingers. After a few seconds, he raised his head, his gaze boring into me with terrifying intensity. The twitch pulling at the corner of his mouth revealed everything.

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