Thanx!

Christmas, Combat Zone

As she lay there, the sounds of hospital machines bleeped and signaled through the night. White decoration lights surrounded her room. Stuffed animals adorned her bed. Carolers sang in a nearby room “Carol of the Bells.” A native of Wilmington, Delaware, this Marine Corps Captain Stephanie Grixby had been hit with a roadside bomb. All of the other Marines perished in the blast but Stephanie. Her ears rang but she continued to have hearing in both of them. She had not been injured except her voice box had been hit by shrapnel.

In another room, a Navy Corpsman who had saved seven Marines, rested. Similar Christmas decorations of blue, gold and silver and red displayed where she lay. She was awake and singing a Christmas pop song. Her ailments included bullet wounds to her arm and a missing right leg above the knee. Navy Hospital Corpsman Second Class Michelle Tester looked at Admiral Tony Troutman. He smiled. He leaned over and pinned a Navy Cross and Purple Heart on her chest.

“You’re alright, Tester. Those Marines you saved will forever know your name. I understand that you’ve lost your leg, but just see that as a bit of a sacrifice and how selfless and unselfishness is a part of our Navy and our Corps. Their kids’ kids’ kids will know your name. You have done a great service to your country, the Navy, and your Marines.” He said this with a glint in his eyes as Michelle sat up in bed and said, “Thank you, sir.” A stinging sensation pervaded her arm. Through all of this, once the admiral left, she brought more Christmas songs to the atmosphere.

Stephanie started to wake up. She heard a beautiful voice coming from an adjacent room. She wanted to speak but she expressed nothing. She called for a nurse using the remote system. A male nurse, Hospital Corpsman First Class Diego Rivi came to her bedside. She motioned at the bandages on her throat. Tears streaked her face.

“It’s alright, ma’am. You’ve been through a traumatic injury. Your larynx is no longer functioning. I’m sorry.” She demanded a dry erase board and marker. The Corpsman provided one for her. She wrote out, “When can I get a voice box?” in bold black letters.

“You’ll be able to have surgery once we find a donor that matches your blood type.”

Stephanie put her head against the pillow and expelled air.

“Until then, try to rest and the Doc above our pay grades will be giving you more information. I’m sorry.”

Stephanie lay there alone and wept. Through her quiet tears, she wanted to scream. Sleep found her again. In her rest, she knew that her body would be building itself up once more.

Michelle looked at the absence of one of her lower extremities. She thought of nicknames like “Stumpy” and “No Right Leg Shelly.” A grin came to her face and then tears. Her tears remained just as silent as Stephanie’s although after she was done weeping, she sung another song.

Commander Duncan Steinberg arrived at Stephanie’s bedside. “Hey, there. We have excellent news. We’ve found a donor for laryngeal surgery.” Optimism hit Stephanie like a car colliding into another in a demolition derby.

“All you have to do is trade your leg.”

Stephanie grabbed her board. She put in giant capital letters: “TRADE?!”

“Yes, it’s a deal for you to get your voice.”

She looked a bit perplexed and then looked at right her leg. Her hand grazed across her throat.

“Alright. Whatever. Who is it, sir?”

“You’ll know soon enough. Just get some rest and continue to drink ice water and other cold beverages,” Commander Steinberg recommended.

Stephanie sighed. With the news that she might be able to speak again, it reverberated around her head. The leg would be a minus, but she really wanted to express her voice once more. This kept the reality of where the Marine officer lay remaining in her thoughts.

Michelle looked down at her missing leg and just accepted it. She knew that this could happen when she signed up for this. She smirked. She looked down her medals. No tears came to her eyes. She just kept singing her song. It was low and solemn and kind of slow, too. Stephanie heard the singing and wondered where it originated. It was light and powerful nonetheless. It had been a moving sound that rang through the halls with Christmas cheer. She buzzed for Corpsman Rivi.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Stephanie grabbed her marker and board.

“Where is that singing coming from, a TV?” she wrote.

“It’s actually a patient. I can tell her to stop….”

“No, no. I like hearing it.”

“Okay, sure. Is there anything else?”

Stephanie shook her head.

Rivi exited the room.

Michelle stopped singing. She had sung herself to sleep. Awakened by the television, she took hold of herself and became rather anxious concerning the remembrance of the landmine attack. None of the other Marines had received significant injuries and no fatalities thanks to the Corpsman.

She rang for Corpsman Rivi. He jostled to her bedside.

“What’s up?”

“Who’s going to be my donor?”

“It looks like it’s going to be a Marine. Captain Stephanie—”

“Grixby.”

“You two know each other?”

“Sure, I had gotten into a little spat with another Marine and she made sure I lost rank instead of going before a court-martial. My command had me busted down a few months ago. Is she the only person that can donate me a leg?”

“Right now, it appears that way. She’s your height, race, and most importantly, you share a blood type.”

“I hear silver bells….’Tis the season.”

“What’s that you say?”

“Nothing. So we’re going through with this?”

“It looks like it.”

“Alright. I can handle that.”

“There’s also another thing…she wants a voice box.”

“Cool. I don’t have to sing or speak, I can be a mute. I just want a new leg.”

After their surgeries, the two women looked at each other. Captain Grixby rolled in a wheelchair, up close so Corpsman Tester could hear her.

“This was not a selfless, unselfish sacrifice. Those are steeped in vice. We both used self-interest which is the only honor. I wanted a voice box and you wanted a leg. I don’t like you, but I respect you. I have to acknowledge you for your Navy Cross especially. Not just for saving those Devils, either. We will see each other again, I’m sure. Merry Christmas, Doc.”

Michelle typed into her mobile device which offered a female voice: “Now we’re even more like sisters. Merry Christmas, ma’am. Thanx!”