Nursing the Troops in Bosnia
By Lisa Legge
Flight nurse Linda Jensen, RN, spent much of October, November and early December in tents in the middle of a windy Hungarian plain. The temperature dipped to 20 degrees at night, flights were difficult and dozens of desperate Americans soldiers passed through. But Jensen, a captain in the Air National Guard, neverthless would volunteer again to support U.S. peacekeeping troops in Bosnia.
"I was looking for a new challenge. I'm always looking for something to do," said Jensen, of Bloomington, who splits her civilian time between the St. Paul-Ramsey emergency department and Hennepin County Medical Center's ICU. An adventurer at heart, she joined the Air Guard during the Persian Gulf conflict, but barely finished flight physiology school before the war ended.
Jensen staffed an Air Force Aerovac unit on an airstrip and adjacent to and in support of a U.S. Army combat hospital in Taszar. Gunfire posed little threat to her unit, though it was 30 minutes' drive north of Tuzla, a war-torn city of Bosnia and the base for much of U.S. military forces. Rather, her work was to handle accidental injuries or illnesses and staffing flights from the base camp to a U.S. military hospital in Germany for those needing more services.
Her stint there coincided with a massive deployment or redeployment of troops. The Army used the Taszar site to process health requirements of troops entering and leaving the area. Sometimes as many as 500 soldiers passed through a day, so the Air National Guard personnel helped.
"Because of the Gulf War Syndrome, all the troops coming out of Bosnia had to have their blood drawn," she said. "At the halfway point they told me there were 18,000 troops. So it was a very crowded place when I was there."
Maintaining the tents that made up the camp — especially as the weather grew colder — kept Jensen and her colleagues busy. But the low number of incidences surprised her, especially given the numbers of people passing through. Several people died at the scene of collisions on the area's poor roads, but only one medical emergency occurred, when propane five young soldiers were using to get high exploded. All five received flash burns and were flown to Germany, one of them intubated and on a respirator.
"We had a lot of psych emergencies," she said. "One of the things that was really devastating to me was to see the strain on marriages and families for those soldiers who had been gone for 10 months. We had a lot of situations like that where these young men would get messages from their their wives.... They would send them messages that the boyfriend had moved in with them and the kids...
"These guys usually didn't present themselves. There were probably brought in by their buddies who would say, ‘This guy's not coping.' So by the time they got to us they hadn't slept or eaten in three days so they were wrecks and they didn't want to live anymore," she said. They flew these patients to the German base hospital, equipped for 24-hour suicide watch. "Probably on every mission we had, which was twice a week, we had some sort of situation like that."
Though she enjoys flight, the crude conditions of the cargo planes in which they flew — Jensen and her flight crew of two medical technicians, plus as many as seven patients — was often difficult. The noise of the engine made crews scream to be heard. Twice to get back to Hungary Jensen had to fly through Tuzla. She had to wear her flak vest and helmet. Both times it was night and once — on Thanksgiving — the plane's flares went off, shattering the night sky with a red flash. She also missed the Thanksgiving feast Americans were enjoying in Taszar that day.
For Jensen, a nurse for 17 years, the chaotic stops in Tuzla caused the most stress. "It was intense. It was so noisy because they don't shut down the engines. If you can imagine, it's dark, all the lights are out and you have a plane full of people and where there's not people there is cargo. So it lands, and there is just one light on the ramp and outside the only lights on the runway are blue. They leave the engines running while they do all this unloading and loading in the dark and they're doing everything in a very big hurry. I can't believe no one gets hurt." Jensen had to track the medical gear, which was strapped to other cargo, but she never got off the plane.
"It's a pretty harsh environment, especially if patients (on their way to the Taszar hospital) are very sick," she said.
Jensen received few breaks, but when she did she visited a nearby town and went to Budapest by train one day. Otherwise, she often slept with a radio on her pillow in case of emergency and made six flights with sick or injured troops to Germany.
Still, Jensen, who has no immediate family to be responsible for — will go back again. If it were warm.
"There's always something on the horizon," she said. "There is always an opportunity to go somewhere."
“I was looking for a new challenge. I’m always looking for something to do,” said Jensen, of Bloomington, who splits her civilian time between the St. Paul-Ramsey emergency department and Hennepin County Medical Center’s ICU. An adventurer at heart, she joined the Air Guard during the Persian Gulf conflict, but barely finished flight physiology school before the war ended.
In Taszar, Jensen staffed an Air Force Aerovac unit on an airstrip adjacent to and in support of a U.S. Army combat hospital. Gunfire posed little threat to her unit, though it was a 30 minute drive north of Tuzla, a war-torn city of Bosnia and the base for much of U.S. military forces. Her work was to handle accidental injuries or illnesses and to staff flights from the base camp to a U.S. military hospital in Germany for those needing more services.
Her stint there coincided with a massive troop deployment. The Army used the Taszar site to process health requirements of troops entering and leaving the area. Because as many as 500 soldiers passed through a day, the Air National Guard personnel provided assistance.
“Because of the Gulf War Syndrome, all the troops coming out of Bosnia had to have their blood drawn,” she said. “At the halfway point they told me there were 18,000 troops. It was a very crowded place.”
Maintaining the tents that made up the camp — especially as the weather grew colder — kept Jensen and her colleagues busy. But the low number of incidents surprised her, especially given the numbers of people passing through. Several people died at the scenes of collisions on the area’s poor roads, but only one medical emergency occurred. In that instance, five soldiers received flash burns in a propane explosion. They were flown to Germany, one of them intubated and on a respirator.
“We had a lot of psych emergencies,” she said. “One of the things that was really devastating to me was to see the strain on marriages and families for those soldiers who had been gone for 10 months. We had a lot of situations where these young men would get messages from their wives... messages that the boyfriend had moved in with them and the kids...
“These guys usually didn’t present themselves. They were probably brought in by their buddies who would say, ‘This guy’s not coping.’ By the time they got to us they hadn’t slept or eaten in three days, so they were wrecks and they didn’t want to live anymore,” she said. They flew these patients to the German base hospital, equipped for 24-hour suicide watch. “Probably on every mission we had, which was twice a week, we had some situation like that.”
Though she enjoys flight, the crude conditions of the cargo planes in which they flew — Jensen and her flight crew of two medical technicians, plus as many as seven patients — were often difficult. The noise of the engine forced crews to scream to be heard. Twice to get back to Hungary, Jensen had to fly through Tuzla, a trip that required a flak vest and helmet. Both times it was night and once — on Thanksgiving — the plane’s flares went off, shattering the night sky with a red flash.
For Jensen, a nurse for 17 years, the chaotic stops in Tuzla caused the most stress. “It was intense. It was so noisy because they don’t shut down the engines. If you can imagine, it’s dark, all the lights are out and you have a plane full of people and where there’s not people there is cargo. So it lands, and there is just one light on the ramp and outside the only lights on the runway are blue. They leave the engines running while they do all this unloading and loading in the dark and they’re doing everything in a very big hurry. I can’t believe no one gets hurt.” Jensen had to track the medical gear, which was strapped to other cargo, but she never got off the plane.
“It’s a pretty harsh environment, especially if patients [on their way to the Taszar hospital] are very sick,” she said.
Jensen received few breaks, but when she did she visited an orphanage in a nearby town. She often slept with a radio on her pillow in case of emergency and made six flights to Germany with sick or injured troops.
Still, Jensen — who has no immediate family to be responsible for — would go back again. If it were warm.
“There’s always something on the horizon,” she said. “There is always an opportunity to go somewhere.”