Voices from the Korean War - Douglas Rice [84]
It was a short flight to Hamhung, where I went to a M.A.S.H. unit. Who was there when we arrived? General Almond, commander of the Tenth Corps; he was handing out medals to those of us who were going to be transferred to Japan. He looked at my hand and said I needed to get in there and have it amputated. I told him I was going to wait until I got to Yokohama. He told me he couldn’t make me, and then he asked what was wrong with me. I told him nothing. He said you are bleeding from your nose. I felt my nose, and sure enough I was bleeding; not only that I was also spitting up blood. He went on to ask me if I had been shot. I told him no. Then he pinned a Purple Heart on me.
When I arrived in Yokohama, I was still bleeding—like a stuck pig. They immediately took me into the emergency room, where a captain—I believe—told me they were going to do exploratory surgery on me to find the source of the bleeding. They cut me from my neck to my waist; my spleen had been split in two. After surgery they left me open, and packed my chest cavity with ice. They kept the incision closed with something to see if it would stay closed during the night. The following morning, seeing that the wound stayed closed they went ahead and sewed me up.
Apparently, I had damaged my spleen when I was slammed against the truck from the concussion grenade. Since it was so cold up north, it apparently kept me from bleeding. It was a miracle I hadn’t bled to death.
There was a new Ensign at the hospital that had experience in treating frostbite. He told me I could immediately return to the States, where they would amputate my hand; or, I could stay with him another six months and he could possibly save my hand. Needless to say, I wanted to get home, but I also wanted to save my hand. So, I stayed.
After being here three-or-four days, I began to go around the hospital trying to find out how many from my squad were still left. And who did I find? Our lieutenant who we thought was dead. He had been shot and was unconscious—he was doing fine.
To save my hand, they sprayed it daily with a yellow substance—like iodine—and took long syringes to remove fluid. They also gave me three daily shots of penicillin. After a period of time I became allergic to the type of penicillin they were giving me, so they had to switch to another type—this worked fine.
If my recollection serves me, I was there about two months. Then we were told, because of the large numbers of severely wounded Marines and soldiers, they needed our beds. So, the walking wounded would be transferred, by train, to the naval hospital in Kobe, Japan.
When I arrived in Kobe, my hand still had no flesh on it; it was just skin and bone. I had very little movement in the joints. However, it wasn’t long before movement started to come back; my index finger is still stiff to this day. I had been there six months when they told me I was going home. I was taken by a truck down to a harbor where lighter ships—like destroyers—could come in. Here I was told that I would be going home on one of the destroyers. When I boarded, I heard someone say, “Hey, Bob Grass.” I turned around and there stood a member of my Sunday School Class back in Evansville—he was a Chief. He told me that I wouldn’t be bunking with the other guys; he had a special place for me—a folding bed in his cabin. And boy, did I eat well during our voyage home.
When I arrived in San Francisco, I was given new clothes. I was here for three days when I was given a thirty day furlough. I rode a train to St. Louis, and then finished my journey to Evansville via Greyhound Bus. While I was away, Vernie and our two children stayed with my parents in Troy, Indiana, which was about another forty-five miles. It was late at night and I started to hitchhike to Troy. No one was stopping to pick me up; however, a gentleman did stop and took me home with him for the night. The following morning his wife