Nurse | Yahweh Video

She was tall, raw-boned, with the hollow cheeks of someone who forgot to eat. Her scrubs were cheap cotton, stained with iodine and someone else’s blood. A plastic ID tag dangled from her collar: Y. M. Johnson, RN. The other nurses called her “Yahweh.”

The man stops seizing.

The video ends abruptly. A technical glitch—static, then black. The file metadata shows it was last accessed in 1995. Marc Duval died of malaria six months after filming. His tapes were seized by a Church official who said they contained “material unsuitable for public morale.”

“But the man who seized—he should be dead.” Nurse Yahweh Video

The nurse, Y. M. Johnson, never applied for another license. No record of her exists after 1994. No social security number. No passport. No grave.

“Day forty. The Red Cross left. MSF left. She stayed. She doesn’t sleep. I’ve watched her do chest compressions for two hours straight on a boy who was already cold. When I asked why, she looked at me like I’d asked why water is wet.”

Not because she was holy. Because she was terrifying. She was tall, raw-boned, with the hollow cheeks

Marc zooms in on his face. The man’s pupils, which were rolled back, snap into focus. He gasps—a full, deep, living breath—and then begins to weep. Nurse Yahweh stands up, cracks her neck, and moves to the next patient without a word.

“Yahweh. What do you believe in?”

“You don’t get to leave yet. I said stay.” The video ends abruptly

“That’s the third one this week. No drugs. No defibrillator. Just her voice. I asked a doctor what he thought. He said, ‘Don’t think. Just chart it.’”

But sometimes, in the worst places—a bombed-out clinic in Aleppo, a makeshift ICU in Port-au-Prince, a COVID ward in Manaus where the oxygen ran out—a tall woman in cheap scrubs appears. She carries no bag. She carries no drugs. She just walks in, rolls up her sleeves, and says the same thing to the dying:

She shrugs.