Anderson


A/N: This is a sort of project I had back in eighth grade. We wrote diaries of soldiers, nurses, etc, about the Civil War. And hopefully, you know what the US Civil War was about. The Confederates and the Unions...

This is in the perspective of a nurse working in the Confederate camp; there will be two more entries after this.


May 17, 1862

Dear Someone,

My name is Eunice L. Anderson. I work as a nurse in the Confederate camp most of the time. I seldom move from the Confederate to the Union when it is strictly necessary.

Yesterday, a man came to me with his leg amputated during the war, and it surprised me that he was still alive. His eyes were red with tears and he threw a barrage of blood-curdling screams at me for help. He clutched firmly onto my arm and without a second thought, I scrambled for a bandage and a hypodermic needle with morphine. After performing ligature, he seemed to calm down a bit. It was clear to me that he had insomnia, and could not sleep.

I, on the other hand, did fall asleep. It turns out he passed away this morning.

With a job as a nurse, I see soldiers pass away nearly everyday of my life, and I feel so protected under the tent of hospitality. It is very scarce that wounds are slight which makes my job more difficult. In my opinion, though, it is always worth it to see my patients live instead of die. It makes me feel important, as if they are relying on me.

Every now and then, the pressure gets to me and stress builds up, which is why I came up with a diary to vent out my stress. My friends and brothers all joined the Union army, and I feel an occasional tug at my conscience that I am betraying them.

Alas, it is my duty to treat all soldiers with the same respect since all of them are risking their lives to fight for what they believe is right. Frankly, I could not possibly do that since I am a coward at heart. By the end of the day, bloods of soldiers I failed to save drench my hands and I try my hardest to wipe it off. Even if the blood itself is physically gone, I cannot help but keep wiping my hands until they are raw. And I feel as though I have fallen deeper into my own insanity.

Sincerely yours,

Eunice


A/N: Thank you for reading.

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