Hemorrhoids

By Dave Burns

A couple of months ago I visited the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.

I was floored when I saw, prominently displayed, an F-4 Phantom with the colors and markings of my first Marine squadron, VMFA 232, the Red Devils.

As I stood there gawking at the old bird and feeling very old myself, I couldn’t help but remember our unit deployment in 1969 from MCAS El Toro, California to the Marine Air Base at Chu Lai about 60 miles southeast of Da Nang:

The heat radiated off the tarmac in shimmering vertical waves. I stared at an A4 Sky Hawk taxiing past, wings bouncing from the weight of bombs and napalm hung beneath them. The jet had a big humpback to the rear of the cockpit. I’d later discover the hump held some very sophisticated radar gear; a feature absent on A4’s back in the States. The pilot looked sinister with his black helmet, a dark visor covering his eyes.

A big leathery-looking Marine Captain yelled up at us as we exited the civilian airliner, "Welcome to the Republic of South Vietnam, boys! Kind of anti-climactic, isn’t it?"

When my feet hit the deck, I felt like I was walking on marshmallows. God it was hot; I just got off the plane and I was already soaked with sweat. 

A tractor wheeled alongside of us, pulling an open trailer. A tarp covered what looked like four fifty-gallon drums. The Captain told one of his guys to "open the bar." 

A lanky marine with one of the darkest tans I'd ever seen jumped up on the trailer and ripped off the tarp. The drums were filled with beer. The beer tasted funny because it was laced with formaldehyde to preserve it in the Vietnam heat. We didn’t care - it was cold beer.

The Captain flashed a toothy smile and said, "Have a brew Marines, compliments of Uncle Sam.” We drank the beer, not realizing from that moment on our lives would never be the same. That’s how I remember the first few minutes of my arrival “In Country.”

Not long afterwards, the Red Devils were sent back to Japan because the new radar systems in our F4J’s were a flop in the Nam. Some of us were assigned to other squadrons, I went to VMFA 115, and the rest of the guys went to Japan.

In July I was put on Mess Duty for a month. There I was, humpin’ milk instead of the bush, jeez. I came down with a really bloody case of hemorrhoids. Doc Tree (that’s what we called him because he was tall and skinny like a tree) in Sick Bay sent me up to the hospital - the Army’s 27th Surgical – “and now” as Paul Harvey would say, “the rest of the story…”

Medivac choppers or “dust offs” could be seen flying in and out of the 27th Surg up on the hill near Chu Lai around the clock. Many GI’s owe their lives to the doctors and nurses of the 27th Surg. Real life drama there was routine.

Now here I come, riding up the hill in a jeep and soon I’d be attended to by the same people that amputate limbs, treat gunshot wounds and save soldiers from certain death.

These brave practitioners of medicine would take time out of their busy day to deal with my hemorrhoids. I felt like such a loser.

After I checked in at receiving I was sent down a long corridor to get an exam.

At the end of the hall and on my left was the exam room. Two women in green fatigues were chatting as I entered. One of them, the shorter of the two, a redhead with pretty green eyes and a crooked grin, noticed me. She was an Army nurse, a First Lieutenant. Her embroidered nametag read, “Kelly.”

She took my paperwork, scanned quickly over it and said, “Hemorrhoids huh?”

She looked concerned, checked my pulse and stuck a thermometer in my mouth. At the same time she had me step up on a scale, and then she took my blood pressure. She jotted down the information on a chart, paused while removing the thermometer, read it aloud “99.7” and called to the other nurse, “Better get Dr. Mason.”

Soon another woman in fatigues hurried into the room.

She’s a Captain, tall, thick black hair, dark brown eyes – all business.

Nurse Kelly handed her my chart. “Drop your drawers, Marine!” I hesitated until I saw her nametag said “Mason.” So this is the doctor. I felt silly because I was expecting a man. “I said drop your drawers, Marine!”

Now I’m standing naked from the waist down in front of the three women.

Dr. Mason raises an eyebrow, “I don’t need to see your crotch, Marine. Turn around and let’s have a look at your buttocks.”

With “moron” written all over my red face I blurt out a “Yes, ma’am,” turn around, bend over and spread my legs. The doctor gently probed the affected area and told me to pull up my trousers. “You’ve got hemorrhoids, alright, and they’re pretty bad. You’ll be staying with us for a while, Lance Corporal Burns.”

In a concern filled tone I asked, “Do I need surgery, ma’am?” The doctor told a nurse to get a bed ready, then replies, “Maybe not. We will treat you with ‘sitz’ baths, suppositories and bed rest. If your condition doesn’t clear up by Monday, then I will order a surgical procedure. Lt. Kelly, give this young fella some something for his fever, no aspirin though.”

The thumping sound of rotor blades signaled the arrival of incoming wounded. Dr. Mason ran out of the room as the chopper set down a short distance away.

The back doors opened and the hallway flooded with wind and noise from the chopper as medical personnel rushed outside.

The ward, directly across from the exam room, was spacious, spotless and quiet. I noticed it was empty too. Nurse Kelly told me I’d probably have company by morning.

She was right; just after midnight I was roused from a sedative induced sleep.

Rotors beating, people yelling and running, I staggered from the bed to the closed door of the ward. I opened the door slightly to peek at the chaos. I saw a montage of stretchers, green fatigues, and blood, lots of blood. I’ve never been so close to the war. My life was fixing jets and watching them go out on missions fully loaded then return empty, nothing but arming wires dangling from the bomb racks. I’m talking tons and tons of ordnance dropped every month by my squadron alone. Somebody on the ground got killed, boo-koo somebody. But on the other side of that door was another kind of Nam – the life and death on the ground kind. I stared a long while feeling guilty for not having it as bad as those guys; instead of a sucking chest wound or a shattered limb I had - hemorrhoids. Eventually I went back to my bed and listened to the commotion slowly fade into my unconsciousness.

As daylight filled the ward I awoke to find every bed around me occupied. I saw a thin light-haired soldier, sitting up in his bed so I piped over, “Hey! Soldier, can I talk to you?”

His name was Danny, from Oklahoma and he’s with the 101st Airborne. I asked him what happened. He drawls a slow reply. “Ain’t nothin’. We were out on patrol southwest of Tam Ky when we walked smack dab into a Claymore trap; tore us up real good. How ‘bout you?”

I can’t shake the humiliation so I’d just tell him about myself and not my medical condition, I say “Marine Fighter Attack Squadron 115.”

Danny’s eyes light up. “What do ya’ll do?”

I’m a bit confused by his excitement but I answer quietly, “I’m a jet mechanic, Phantoms, F4 Phantoms.” Danny is smiling.

“No shit! You have no idea how many times those big beautiful birds bailed our tails out of trouble.” Then he shook my hand vigorously.

I’m flabbergasted and relieved. This guy is happy to meet me; an airborne soldier validates my sense of purpose and worth. I was so thankful for his perspective.

Over the next day or so we became friends and I got to know the other guys in his squad as well. I’m felling pretty good about my condition and my own self until the next morning when an incoming chopper helped me greet the new day.

I wasn’t quite awake when I heard a flurry of footsteps entering the hall near the helo- pads. Eyes open, leaning back on my pillow I saw four soldiers in perfectly pressed jungle fatigues; their jungle boots shined. I hadn’t seen that since the States.

Must be brass, I thought and the familiar shoulder patch let me know they were Screaming Eagles.

The tallest of the four, with close-cut gray hair, was talking to Danny who is wide awake and all smiles. The tall soldier bends over and pins a Purple Heart on Danny’s pajama top.

He turned and moved to the next bed. Finally I saw a single star on his collar. The Marine in me wanted to jump out of the rack and stand at attention but I’m layin’ low and thinking - please don’t stop at my bed.

The General pinned another Purple Heart, this time on a pillow and moved to my side of the ward. He chats with two of his soldiers before giving them their Purple Hearts.

Now the General is at the bed next to me and I thought - please don’t stop at my bed.

The kid in the bed next to me was brought in from the ICU overnight. He was still in pretty bad shape but I guess they needed the room over there.

He was still sedated.

The mood is solemn as the General quietly prayed over the soldier in that bed.

Then he pins the Purple Heart to his pillow. The General and the men with him were proud of their troops and thankful they survived. You could see it on their faces - let’s call it beaming relief. I, on the other hand, felt like a kid in school who is afraid the teacher will call on him and I thought - please don’t stop at my bed.

With no more Purple Hearts to distribute, the big Screaming Eagle General had a few more words with his soldiers and began to leave, passing by my bed.

Thank you God, I thought. That was close. Then the General stopped as if he heard me thinking. He turned slowly and walked back to the foot of my bed.

My heart is pounding out of my chest – ah shit no!

The General glanced at my chart then looked down at me and said in a Texas twanged fatherly tone, “Lance Corporal Burns - How you feelin’, son?”

I never had to talk to a General before so I answered in a proper military fashion.

“Outstanding sir and it’s a distinct pleasure to meet the General sir!”

The General cracked a Texas-sized smile as he glanced at the Sergeant Major standing tall beside him. He shifted his gaze back on me and the inevitable ensued as the General inquired, “So what are you in the hospital for, marine?”

There was a long pause - What would I say?

I was riddled with angst, and unable to find a rock to crawl under. There was only one way out of that dilemma. So I leaped from the precipice and into the abyss.

As I was free falling to my imagined death, the reluctant answer popped out of my mouth like a dolphin through an ocean swell.

“Hemorrhoids sir, hemorrhoids!”

Dave Burns resides in Maryland, near Baltimore. In 1969 and 70 he was with VMFA 115 in Chu Lai. Dave Burns' story "Hemorrhoids" was the basis for Chapter 5 "Nurse" from his unpublished book "Vietnam Calling" about the Vietnam experience.

The book is a fictional account of true events during the Vietnam War. Some subjects addressed in "Vietnam Calling" are the loss of a young bride's husband at the Battle of Hue, the escape of a Marine officer from the hands of his Viet Cong captors, and the effects of Agent Orange on two veterans.