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Louisa May Alcott, Hospital Sketches: An Army Nurse's True Account of her Experience during the Civil War., Chapter 6: a postscript. (search)
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. 0., I was told, refused the higher salary, greater honor, and less labor, of an appointment to the