Hospital Sketches

Content Warning: The section of the guide includes discussion of racism, gender-discrimination, illness, and death.

The postscript is addressed to “My Dear S.” whose questions echo those of other “friendly readers of the Sketches” (61).

The first question Alcott addresses asks whether religious services were held at patients’ deathbeds and on Sundays. She responds that she hopes they are at most hospitals, but at hers, the dead were typically taken away without ceremony. She recalls a Maine soldier’s remark that soldiers left to die this way after all they have endured suggests that few Christians live in Washington. One of her friends spoke to the chaplain about ministering to the patients’ souls, but nothing changed. She later learned that the chaplain had taught at a Southern college and wonders if he was a secessionist, though he denied it. 

On the occasional Sunday, staff and patients held a service in the Ball Room. Singing was the most engaging part. Rather than relevant and enjoyable Bible stories, they were given “dry explanations” and “literal applications” (62). She concludes that the men were given “the chaff of divinity” while “its wheat” (62) was left for those who knew where to find it. She notes that “our New England boys” (63) did try to observe the day in a variety of ways.

Friends and family were not permitted to nurse their own at Hurly-burly house, though she recalls one mother who insisted. She says the mother’s devotion to her son was “beautiful to see” (64), despite being overbearing. While the mother represents the comical side, the tragic cases are more painful for Alcott to describe. The saddest instance she recalls is of an elderly father beside the bed of his dying son. His gentle gestures of affection were more stirring than dramatic demonstrations of grief. Although he was poor, he offered the nurses money in thanks for the excellent care his son received, which they declined.

Alcott recalls the first time she lost a patient, and his wife came in looking for him. Before she could explain, the Irishman led her away to be informed and comforted by the matron. Another anecdote she shares is of a sister who arrived in the morning to see her brother, but he had died the night before. Alcott found the woman seated on her bed, and the two women wept together. For the benefit of any future nurses, she reflects that weeping with the grieving, when genuine, can be more comforting than tea, psalms, or sermons.

Readers have asked about the Sergeant who preferred to laugh than cry, and Alcott is happy to share what she knows of him. He began the trend of referring to patients by their injuries. He was particular about his food, and Alcott enjoyed indulging him. Since leaving, she heard that he has returned home.

The more high-spirited goodbyes involved soldiers either returning to their regiments or leaving under their own power for convalescent camps. They were provided necessities and a goodbye kiss. Alcott admits that she did not like “these breakings-up of [her] little household” (68), though she only experienced it three times, including with the Prussian. The men would smile, wave, and touch their caps, leaving Alcott to mourn their absence.

Readers have asked whether nurses were required to observe amputations. Alcott says they were not, since their duties concerned aftercare. Nevertheless, if they wished to, they were permitted. Alcott herself did observe several surgeries, as she had intended to go to the front eventually and wanted to acclimate herself. Dr. P. suggested that she observe a dissection, but she declined. Though he was a kind man and skilled surgeon, Alcott found his manner disconcerting at times, as he seemed to regard the patient and his injury as two separate, unrelated things, which agitated some patients.

In contrast, his successor, Dr. Z., was so solicitous of patients that they were loath to admit the pain his treatments might have caused them. Chief Surgeon Dr. O. impressed Alcott with his commitment to serving the patients at her hospital. He declined better positions to remain at Hurly-burly House or go to the front.

Despite the criticisms she has made, she also wishes to celebrate Hurly-burly’s virtues. She had been forewarned that surgeons do not treat the nurses with respect despite the important work they do, but the surgeons were courteous and kind at her hospital. Among them, she set aside her bashfulness and shared even differences of opinion. When she was ill, Dr. Z. himself shaved the wood and made up the fire in her room.

A final question that she respectfully declines to answer is the identity of Hurly-burly house, noting that it no longer exists. Since she published her sketches, her colleagues have shared their approval, which she finds comforting. Acknowledging that each individual will see the same experience from a unique lens, she reminds readers that her Sketches represent her perspective, and nothing she wrote was done in malice. 

To readers who objected to her occasionally light-hearted tone, she replies that looking at the cheerful side of life is a part of her religious faith. She hopes that her next hospital will be one for Black regiments, whom she notes are proving themselves worthy of admiration and respect from their “white relations.” She says white Americans owe them a large debt that she will be proud to do her part to pay.