Saturday, October 14, 2006
The Angels of Ward 57 - book excerpt from Blood Brothers: Among the Soldiers of Ward 57 by Michael Weisskopf
... I had heard about Jim, who apparently delivered McDonald's shakes and burgers several times a week. He was one of the angels of Ward 57, a special breed of patrons who brightened up a day otherwise filled with surgery, needles, bad food, and pain.
...
As I would quickly learn, Jim had a feel for combat amputees no doctor could match. He was one of us, having lost both legs to a land mine in Vietnam. He had lived through every stage of recovery and knew what we were enduring beyond the pain: identity crises, loss of self-confidence, and fears about supporting ourselves and attracting the opposite sex. Jim passed along biofeedback tips — he called the process "mind f---" —for combating the jumble of severed nerve endings called phantom pain. He coached families on the need to validate their loved ones' suffering, pulling them into the hallway for a piece of advice: never tell amputees they should feel lucky to be alive.
...
New arrivals often did a double take when the mustachioed African American sashayed in for the first time. But they quickly learned the benefits of staying on Mr. Nick's good side. He'd boycott the room of anyone who gave him lip. For those who didn't, such as a badly injured 19-year-old, there was nothing he wouldn't do. The soldier was so depressed he could barely speak, until Mr. Nick persuaded him to confess that he was homesick for his parents, who couldn't afford the trip to Washington. Mr. Nick immediately left the room, returning a few minutes later with a form for government assistance. He helped the patient fill it out and walked it back to the right office. "Let Uncle Sam deal with it," Mr. Nick advised. The parents arrived a few days later.
...
... I had heard about Jim, who apparently delivered McDonald's shakes and burgers several times a week. He was one of the angels of Ward 57, a special breed of patrons who brightened up a day otherwise filled with surgery, needles, bad food, and pain.
...
As I would quickly learn, Jim had a feel for combat amputees no doctor could match. He was one of us, having lost both legs to a land mine in Vietnam. He had lived through every stage of recovery and knew what we were enduring beyond the pain: identity crises, loss of self-confidence, and fears about supporting ourselves and attracting the opposite sex. Jim passed along biofeedback tips — he called the process "mind f---" —for combating the jumble of severed nerve endings called phantom pain. He coached families on the need to validate their loved ones' suffering, pulling them into the hallway for a piece of advice: never tell amputees they should feel lucky to be alive.
...
New arrivals often did a double take when the mustachioed African American sashayed in for the first time. But they quickly learned the benefits of staying on Mr. Nick's good side. He'd boycott the room of anyone who gave him lip. For those who didn't, such as a badly injured 19-year-old, there was nothing he wouldn't do. The soldier was so depressed he could barely speak, until Mr. Nick persuaded him to confess that he was homesick for his parents, who couldn't afford the trip to Washington. Mr. Nick immediately left the room, returning a few minutes later with a form for government assistance. He helped the patient fill it out and walked it back to the right office. "Let Uncle Sam deal with it," Mr. Nick advised. The parents arrived a few days later.
...
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