Dang Thuy Tram’s Dairies

Go please. Then study and continue on the very honorable way through fire and blood, the way you have already chosen to go.

July 18, 1968. Received 10 letters from the North at the same time. Everyone has their different thoughts but all of them love me, and all of them draw their own lovely pictures of the heroic North. The lovely North is still very strong and tightly united despite the bombing and the bullets firing. The war cannot slow the country on its way to victory. Of course there are still wounds in the body of the country, but like a man filled with energy, even painful wounds will not stop his progress, a smile on his lips and belief in his eyes. I have met so many young men like that here in the South, and yesterday with news from the North, the image of those young men returned with great clarity.

July 20, 1968. All the days are busy and work continuously arrives. With many seriously wounded and very little help in the clinic everyone is working very hard. For me the responsibility is much heavier than before, working every day from early morning until late at night. The amount of work is too much, but there are not enough personnel for the job. I alone have the responsibility for the clinic, to cure disease and to continue teaching. We labor always under great difficulties, but more than ever I feel that I have brought all my talents and all of my strength to offer up to the Revolution. The eyes of wounded soldiers showed pain and I felt that I couldn’t do anything (for them), but today those eyes seem brighter. The swollen arm of a soldier was bleeding, but today is healed already. The broken arms now have gotten well. That is all due to the nurses’ and my strength, day and night working at the patients’ bedsides.

And to the students I continue bringing the precious knowledge of medicine. I come to the classes not only with a spirit of responsibility, but with also the love of a big sister for those young brothers and sisters who have to bear all of the suffering and losses caused by the betrayal of the people who sold our country making it so hard to learn and study science. How sorry I am for all the people like Thuan, Lien, Luan, Xuan, and Nghia …everyone different, but all the same in liking to study, in trying very hard to understand to the highest degree. Thuan just was crying because of his father’s death. Two hats of mourning pressed on his heart, but a smile has returned to his pale lips. He’s already singing and laughing again, eager to join discussions. Looking at Thuan I feel that I like and admire him a great deal.

Lien is studying and working in the clinic, busy from morning until night just like a bird, very fast and happy to advance to the first rank despite all the hardships. That is an image from which I need to learn.

How can you count all of the nameless heroes made in this sorrowful southern land? If I can be included in this Revolution in the South, I will be greatly honored.

July 25, 1968. I sat by Lam’s sickbed. He was pierced by a piece of shrapnel through his spine. That cruel piece of shrapnel killed half of his body. From the chest down, Lam is completely paralyzed, and the other half is in pain.

Lam is 24 years old. He is a special public health officer from Pho Van*, a replacement in the village public health section not even a month yet. While on duty he was pursued by the enemy, escaping down a foxhole, but followed closely by the Americans. A small piece of shrapnel almost killed him, but he didn’t die: he just lay there waiting to die with a broken back which even the Northern hospitals cannot cure. So of course there was no help for him here.

Lam understands that, so he is very sad. This afternoon while I was sitting beside him, he gave me a letter from Hanh, his young wife, to read. With a slow voice he said to me “My sister, all of you and my family try so hard, for what purpose? I will die anyway. Even alive I cause trouble for you and my family”. A tear drop ran down his thin chest. I was so sorry for Lam, but didn’t know what to say to him. If I were in his situation, I would say the same things that he said. But I cannot give him any encouragement. Oh my God! How hateful the war is; and the more hate, the more the devils are eager to fight. Why do they enjoy shooting and killing a good people like us? How can they have the heart to kill all those youngsters who love life, who are struggling and living for so many hopes… youngsters like Lam, Ly, Huong, and a thousand other people?

July 28, 1968. Kha was captured! How sad I am remembering how long ago he held my hand, his hand the warm, sincere hand of a brother, compatriot, and colleague. Not too long ago we were working in the operating room: his handwriting is still on the patients’ documents, but today… where is he now? In heavy chains or in a prison room being interrogated?