"Every day was Groundhog Day"

Wounded combatants and bleeding civilians on stretchers were brought in night and day. Not a night went by without casualties suffering from burns, trauma or head injuries arriving. Critically wounded victims were brought there, because the hospital had the only neurosurgery in the country. “It was like Groundhog Day, over and over again,” Linda remembers.

"We took care of our Marines and sailors and our Air Force. We took care of the Iraqi police and the Army. We also looked after women and children and even the people who were trying to kill us, the insurgents–anyone who would come through our door," she recalls.

A military nurse can’t afford to think about the conflict surrounding the hospital. The compound was mortared every day, but the hospital staff kept their focus on the patients, as they were trained to do. “If the mortar would hit close by, knock you down or you see someone, if you choke that in, you cannot continue with what you do. So you have to bury that feeling in,” she explains. 

Linda saw countless deaths on the wards, but it was not the blood that came to burden her. “It was the human side of war, the personal stories. That was hard - being with a person who had just lost their wife, holding their children, or a young guy, my son's age, who just died. It was the realization that people can be like this to one another." 

One young critically injured Marine was to remain in her thoughts and dreams long after the deployment. He was brought into the ward with his friend by his side at the end of a week full of deaths and injuries. His blood left a trail from the helicopter to the hospital. 

“It had been a week long of deaths, both Iraqi and American, a lot of burns. Just for some reason, it was him and his blood trail out to the helicopter pad that touched me. I remember, as I was walking out going to sleep, it was a beautiful morning in Iraq. The sun was shining. Birds were out, and I was thinking to myself, there are some parents in the United States that are sleeping their last night, because they don’t know yet that their son has died. And it touched me. That was really hard,” she says.

Linda believed she was trained and prepared to cope with crisis. Now, she says it is impossible to be emotionally prepared to experience the war in Iraq, whatever the training. This war is also different.

“It is different in a way that there is no line in the sand. There is no zone free from the insurgency. Whether you are in the most fortified base, you still get mortared and shot at. You don’t know who is the enemy anymore. It could be the child on the side of the road who has a bomb underneath them, or a woman.” 

Linda would get to know both the Iraqi and the American patients. She didn’t make any distinction between nationalities she cared for. She learnt about their experience, families and children. She would aim to make everyone feel safe and at home by talking. With the Iraqis she worked with Arabic translators. Little gestures like bringing them their customary cup of hot tea with plenty of lumps of sugar, created warm bonds.

“In my job I have met people from all over the world. What I have learnt from the Iraqis, the Kurdish people and others is that we are all the same. We want the same thing. We want our kids to live in safety. I don't know if we can ever stop war though. I believe we try and do things that are right for the world, but it does not always work that way,” Linda says.

Linda felt she had to portray herself always as strong, even if she felt weak inside. She got used to burying her feelings. “That is what you do as a nurse,” she would think to herself. When the sights of injured people got too much, she would go to the restroom to shed her tears, wipe her face and return to care for the wounded. 

Her war deployment was hard for the family, she remembers. “My grown son was in college, while mum is in Iraq. I don't think people expect that. Maybe your son would go to Iraq, but your mom! I don't think my husband was prepared to hear, what I saw there.” So when they spoke on the phone, she decided not to tell her family about the traumatizing events she witnessed. “Some things I will never tell them,” she says.