On the battlefield he was lifted by caring hands and conveyed to the field hospital. All he knew was the searing pain in his leg, the soft voices of his carers and the comforting sound of the surgeon’s words as he told him it would be alright, to close his eyes and be reassured that he would take care of him.
The surgeon looked at the wound, sighed inwardly as he gathered his instruments for another amputation, he had lost count of how many that day, so often overcome by the cries of his patients and unable to quell the pain each man felt. He knew his job, he was by now expert at severing a man’s leg, stopping the bleeding and bandaging him up for a life he himself dreaded any man should live.
What use is a one legged man he thought, how will live with the thought he can no longer do the things he once took for granted.
Contemplating this horror he picked up his saw, checked to see that he had wiped off the previous patient and concentrated on the task at hand.