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Louisa May Alcott
American Writer
1832-1888 A selection from
HOSPITAL SKETCHES
Narrated by Bernadette Dunne
This file is 7.2 MB;
running time is 15 minutes
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One of the lively episodes of hospital life, is the frequent
marching away of such as are well enough to rejoin their
regiments, or betake themselves to some convalescent camp. The
ward master comes to the door of each room that is to be thinned,
reads off a list of names, bids their owners look sharp and be
ready when called for; and, as he vanishes, the rooms fall into
an indescribable state of topsy-turvyness, as the boys begin to
black their boots, brighten spurs, if they have them, overhaul
knapsacks, make presents; are fitted out with needfuls, and—well,
why not?—kissed sometimes, as they say, good-bye; for in all
human probability we shall never meet again, and a woman's heart
yearns over anything that has clung to her for help and comfort.
I never liked these breakings-up of my little household: though
my short stay showed me but three. I was immensely gratified by
the hand shakes I got, for their somewhat painful cordiality
assured me that I had not tried in vain. The big Prussian rumbled
out his unintelligible adieux, with a grateful face and a
premonitory smooth of his yellow mustache, but got no farther,
for some one else stepped up, with a large brown hand extended,
and this recommendation of our very faulty establishment:
"We're off, ma'am, and I'm powerful sorry, for I'd no idea a
'orspittle was such a jolly place. Hope I'll git another ball
somewheres easy, so I'll come back, and be took care on again.
Mean, ain't it?"
I didn't think so, but the doctrine of inglorious ease was not
the right one to preach up, so I tried to look shocked, failed
signally, and consoled myself by giving him the fat pincushion he
had admired as the "cutest little machine agoin." Then they fell
into line in front of the house, looking rather wan and feeble,
some of them, but trying to step out smartly and march in good
order, though half the knapsacks were carried by the guard, and
several leaned on sticks instead of shouldering guns. All looked
up and smiled, or waved heir hands and touched their caps, as
they passed under our windows down the long street, and so away,
some to their homes in this world, and some to that in the next;
and, for the rest of the day, I felt like Rachel mourning for her
children, when I saw the empty beds and missed the familiar
faces.
You ask if nurses are obliged to witness amputations and such
matters, as a part of their duty? I think not, unless they wish;
for the patient is under the effects of ether, and needs no care
but such as the surgeons can best give. Our work begins
afterward, when the poor soul comes to himself, sick, faint, and
wandering; full of strange pains and confused visions, of
disagreeable sensations and sights. Then we must sooth and
sustain, tend and watch; preaching and practicing patience, till
sleep and time have restored courage and self-control.
I witnessed several operations; for the height of my ambition was
to go to the front after a battle, and feeling that the sooner I
inured myself to trying sights, the more useful I should be.
Several of my mates shrunk from such things; for though the
spirit was wholly willing, the flesh was inconveniently weak. One
funereal lady came to try her powers as a nurse; but, a brief
conversation eliciting the facts that she fainted at the sight of
blood, was afraid to watch alone, couldn't possibly take care of
delirious persons, was nervous about infections, and unable to
bear much fatigue, she was mildly dismissed. I hope she found her
sphere, but fancy a comfortable bandbox on a high shelf would
best meet the requirements of her case.
Dr. Z. suggested that I should witness a dissection; but I never
accepted his invitations, thinking that my nerves belonged to the
living, not to the dead, and I had better finish my education as
a nurse before I began that of a surgeon. But I never met the
little man skipping through the hall, with oddly shaped cases in
his hand, and an absorbed expression of countenance, without
being sure that a select party of surgeons were at work in the
dead house, which idea was a rather trying one, when I knew the
subject was some person whom I had nursed and cared for.
But this must not lead any one to suppose that the surgeons were
willfully hard or cruel, though one of them remorsefully confided
to me that he feared his profession blunted his sensibilities,
and perhaps, rendered him indifferent to the sight of pain.
I am inclined to think that in some cases it does; for, though a
capital surgeon and a kindly man, Dr. P., through long
acquaintance with many of the ills flesh is heir to, had acquired
a somewhat trying habit of regarding a man and his wound as
separate institutions, and seemed rather annoyed that the former
should express any opinion upon the latter, or claim any right in
it, while under his care. He had a way of twitching off a
bandage, and giving a limb a comprehensive sort of clutch, which
though no doubt entirely scientific, was rather startling than
soothing, and highly objectionable as a means of preparing nerves
for any fresh trial. He also expected the patient to assist in
small operations, as he considered them, and to restrain all
demonstrations during the process.
"Here, my man, just hold it this way, while I look into it a
bit," he said one day to Fitz G., putting a wounded arm into the
keeping of a sound one, and proceeding to poke about among bits
of bone and visible muscles, in a red and black chasm made by
some infernal machine of the shot or shell description. Poor Fitz
held on like a grim Death, ashamed to show fear before a woman,
till it grew more than he could bear in silence; and, after a few
smothered groans, he looked at me imploringly, as if he said, "I
wouldn't, ma'am, if I could help it," and fainted quietly away.
Dr. P. looked up, gave a compassionate sort of cluck, and poked
away more busily than ever, with a nod at me and a brief—"Never
mind; be so good as to hold this till I finish."
I obeyed, cherishing the while a strong desire to insinuate a few
of his own disagreeable knives and scissors into him, and see how
he liked it. A very disrespectful and ridiculous fancy of course;
for he was doing all that could be done, and the arm prospered
finely in his hands. But the human mind is prone to prejudice;
and though a personable man, speaking French like a born "Parley
voo," and whipping off legs like an animated guillotine, I must
confess to a sense of relief when he was ordered elsewhere; and
suspect that several of the men would have faced a rebel battery
with less trepidation than they did Dr. P., when he came briskly
in on his morning round.
As if to give us the pleasures of contrast, Dr. Z. succeeded him,
who, I think, suffered more in giving pain than did his patients
in enduring it; for he often paused to ask: "Do I hurt you?" and
seeing his solicitude, the boys invariably answered: "Not much;
go ahead, Doctor," though the lips that uttered this amiable fib
might be white with pain as they spoke. Over the dressing of some
of the wounds, we used to carry on conversations upon subjects
foreign to the work in hand, that the patient might forget
himself in the charms of our discourse. Christmas eve was spent
in this way; the Doctor strapping the little Sergeant's arm, I
holding the lamp, while all three laughed and talked, as if
anywhere but in a hospital ward; except when the chat was broken
by a long-drawn "Oh!" from "Baby B.," an abrupt request from the
Doctor to "Hold the lamp a little higher, please," or an
encouraging, "Most through, Sergeant," from Nurse P.
The chief Surgeon, Dr. O., I was told, refused the higher salary,
greater honor, and less labor, of an appointment to the Officer's
Hospital, round the corner, that he might serve the poor fellows
at Hurly-burly House, or go to the front, working there day and
night, among the horrors that succeed the glories of a battle. I
liked that so much, that the quiet, brown-eyed Doctor was my
especial admiration; and when my own turn came, had more faith in
him than in all the rest put together, although he did advise me
to go home, and authorize the consumption of blue pills.
Speaking of the surgeons reminds me that, having found all manner
of fault, it becomes me to celebrate the redeeming feature of
Hurly-burly House. I had been prepared by the accounts of others,
to expect much humiliation of spirit from the surgeons, and to be
treated by them like a door-mat, a worm, or any other meek and
lowly article, whose mission it is to be put down and walked
upon; nurses being considered as mere servants, receiving the
lowest pay, and, it's my private opinion, doing the hardest work
of any part of the army, except the mules. Great, therefore, was
my surprise, when I found myself treated with the utmost courtesy
and kindness. Very soon my carefully prepared meekness was laid
upon the shelf; and, going from one extreme to the other, I more
than once expressed a difference of opinion regarding sundry
messes it was my painful duty to administer.
As eight of us nurses chanced to be off duty at once, we had an
excellent opportunity of trying the virtues of these gentlemen;
and I am bound to say they stood the test admirably, as far as my
personal observation went. Dr. O.'s stethoscope was unremitting
in its attentions; Dr. S. brought his buttons into my room twice
a day, with the regularity of a medical clock; while Dr. Z.
filled my table with neat little bottles, which I never emptied,
prescribed Browning, bedewed me with Cologne, and kept my fire
going, as if, like the candles in St. Peter's, it must never be
permitted to die out. Waking, one cold night, with the certainty
that my last spark had pined away and died, and consequently
hours of coughing were in store for me, I was amazed to see a
ruddy light dancing on the wall, a jolly blaze roaring up the
chimney, and, down upon his knees before it, Dr. Z., whittling
shavings. I ought to have risen up and thanked him on the spot;
but, knowing that he was one of those who like to do good by
stealth, I only peeped at him as if he were a friendly ghost;
till, having made things as cozy as the most motherly of nurses
could have done, he crept away, leaving me to feel, as somebody
says, "as if angels were a watching of me in my sleep;" though
that species of wild fowl do not usually descend in broadcloth
and glasses. I afterwards discovered that he split the wood
himself on that cool January midnight, and went about making or
mending fires for the poor old ladies in their dismal dens; thus
causing himself to be felt—a bright and shining light in more
ways than one. I never thanked him as I ought; therefore, I
publicly make a note of it, and further aggravate that modest
M.D. by saying that if this was not being the best of doctors and
the gentlest of gentlemen, I shall be happy to see any
improvement upon it.
To such as wish to know where these scenes took place, I must
respectfully decline to answer; for Hurly-burly House has ceased
to exist as a hospital; so let it rest, with all its sins upon
its head,—perhaps I should say chimney top. When the nurses felt
ill, the doctors departed, and the patients got well, I believe
the concern gently faded from existence, or was merged into some
other and better establishment, where I hope the washing of three
hundred sick people is done out of the house, the food is
eatable, and mortal women are not expected to possess an angelic
exemption from all wants, and the endurance of truck horses.
Since the appearance of these hasty Sketches, I have heard from
several of my comrades at the Hospital; and their approval
assures me that I have not let sympathy and fancy run away with
me, as that lively team is apt to do when harnessed to a pen. As
no two persons see the same thing with the same eyes, my view of
hospital life must be taken through my glass, and held for what
it is worth. Certainly, nothing was set down in malice, and to
the serious-minded party who objected to a tone of levity in some
portions of the Sketches, I can only say that it is a part of my
religion to look well after the cheerfulnesses of life, and let
the dismals shift for themselves; believing, with good Sir Thomas
More, that it is wise to "be merrie in God." More information about Louisa May Alcott from Wikipedia Another selection from Louisa May Alcott:
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