Unknown Hero.

The day started like most days. I sat down to get report on my nursing home patients. After several months, the day was routine, and the faces were more than familiar; they were family. The night shift nurse looked slightly frazzled as she began. She went through everyone as usual. I’d only been off for a day, so things hadn’t changed that much. The major change was that Miss Bambi wasn’t feeling good and wasn’t out of bed yet. Bambi was a creature of extreme habit. I’d even say borderline OCD about it. I started on my med pass, thinking that she’d be up and about by the time I finished. It was nine-thirty, I had just finished, and noticed that Bambi still wasn’t up yet. I walked down to her room. “Miss Bambi.” I said softly as I knocked on her door. A very soft “come in” drifted through the door. This really wasn’t like Bambi at all. She was normally very bold. She was still in bed, which was extremely odd seeing her still in her pajamas. In a way, it made her look frail. Her long silver hair flowed down around her, which was odd as well because she always wore it in a bun. I suddenly felt out of place, like a kid who was staying over at grandma’s for the first time. “Hello, dear.” Her voice sounded as if it were about to crack, and possibly break into tears. “Miss Bambi, are you okay?” The concern in my voice was heavy. Most days, I was able to hide that but not today. “I’m just under the weather, dear.” I walked slowly near her. “Can I get you anything?” I asked not really knowing what else to say. The closer I got the more worried I became. Her skin was very pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She aged another twenty years in the time it had taken me to cross the room. “Would you sit with me for a few minutes? I would like to talk to someone.” A million reasons as to why I couldn’t popped in my head, but it was my heart that took over and spoke. “Of course, Miss Bambi.” I took a seat right next to her in the visitor’s chair.

         She took my hand and began to tell her story. “You know dear, I was a nurse much like you. I served my country as well.” I had known that she was a nurse but not that she had been in the military. “It was during world war two. I was a young graduate, fresh out of nursing school when they called nurses and doctors to war. We were needed on the battlefield for battle triage.” Her blue eyes were the brightest thing on her face, and I could see how sick she truly was. She had been battling this for a while, and I never even knew. I knew she’d had terminal cancer but she had held herself together so well that I never even guessed she was battling it. “I remember being so scared, leaving my home and family, and not knowing if I’d ever see them again. I had a young lover who was also headed off to war. I remember wishing on every star that I’d get to come home and marry him.” It had always been difficult seeing Bambi as anything besides the strict nurse. To imagine her in a lover’s embrace was slightly uncomfortable, like imagining your grandparents together. “I remember I worked with a surgeon. Dr. Jameson. He was a few years older than I, possibly in his mid-twenties. We were both extremely wet behind the ears, but we were determined to make a difference.” Listening to her story, I felt both panic and comparison. She was telling me her life story, and judging by how pale she was, it was probably going to be the last time, it came from her. But as I listened to her voice, I realized that she hadn’t always been a strict nurse. She had been young and hopeful at one time. She hadn’t always been a creature of habit. There was probably a time when she had let her hair down and kicked off her shoes. “I remember there was one day in particular that still haunts me to this day. The bombs were going off. They sounded as if they were right on our tent. I remember thinking that I was going to die that day. Dr. Jameson and I were trying to save what we could but men would come to us with wounds so bad that we weren’t sure how they were still living. But one by one, I held their hands as the light went out of their eyes, and their hearts stopped beating. I’d say a quick prayer for them and move on to the next one.” There were tears sitting on her lids, threatening to fall but didn’t quite have the strength. “I remember at the end of the day, there were more bodies outside of the tent than in it. Dr. Jameson and I split a bottle of whiskey, once the bombs stopped.” She looked out the window. “Would you open my blinds please? I want to look outside.” I did as she asked, pushing down the urge to tell her that there wasn’t much to look at it. On top of that, it was a dreary cold January day. The sun hadn’t been out in days, and the once glistening snow had become slush. She continued on with her story. “Dr. Jameson asked me to marry him, and by strange coincidence, I had just received a letter that my love had not survived. I laughed at first but then told him, that if we both made it out and he bought the first cup of coffee on American soil, I’d consider it.” Her hand was getting colder, and there was a slick sweat forming on her brow. “Miss Bambi, can I get you anything?” I asked again, my heart dropping. I knew I should go call family, but she only had a niece who was currently in Europe. She didn’t have any kids that I knew of. She pushed on, ignoring my comment but holding my hand tighter. “We got married shortly after the war ended. He kept the promise and bought the first cup of coffee on American soil. We were still in the airport.” She laughed, and I noticed the strength was leaving her. “We tried for kids but was never able to have any. We sometimes wondered if it wasn’t from the two and half years in the war, where I was constantly surrounded by bombs detonating and gunpowder barrels. I remember when my sister had Elise. I spoiled her rotten, probably to make up for my own inability.” This time the tears did trek down her cheeks. She didn’t say anything more. I wanted so much to make it better. Here was a war hero who was dying unknown with no family around. It was just a few minutes before she stopped breathing. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I couldn’t help it. Miss Bambi had chosen me to spend her last moments with. Or rather my heart had chosen it. I pondered what would’ve happened had I listened to the voice of reason, but the same voice, now tinged with sadness, spoke the reality that she would’ve died alone.

         I’m not sure how long I sat there crying and holding her hand. My aid came down the hall and found me sitting next to the once great hero. She went and got another nurse, and as much as it pained me, we verified that she was gone. As we walked back to the nurse’s station, she asked if I was okay. I told her that I needed to step outside for a minute to regroup. I breathed the crisp air but was relieved to be out of there. Miss Bambi had never asked for pain meds and had actually taken very little medications to begin with. She had never shown a sign of weakness, and I would’ve never guessed that she had been this close. After several minutes, I was calm enough to call her niece.

         I went to her funeral. It was a cold and dreary day. Her niece had flown home. Miss Bambi was buried with twenty-one-gun salute and the American flag was given to her niece, just like a war hero should receive. Her niece came up to me afterwards. “Were you the nurse that was with my aunt when she passed?” I nodded, trying to fight back tears. “She liked you. Every time she would call me, she would tell me how she liked you.” She placed something hard in my hand. It was a medal that had been awarded to exceptional medical staff during the war. “I think she would want you to have this.” This time the tears did come. I didn’t know what to say. She walked away without another word. I got in my car and made it home before I completely lost my wits. I curled up in a fetal position and cried myself to sleep like a baby might do.

         I keep that medal near my mirror so every time I look in it, I can see that I might not be able to change the world but I can make a difference in somebody’s life.