Following the American Civil War Sesquicentennial with day by day writings of the time, currently 1863.

March 3d.

I have been a little “off my feed” for three or four days past. Not sick—only a little overworked. A patient by the name of Hooper was assigned to my ward on the 15th of last month. His disease was typhoid fever of a virulent type. He was “out of his head” and very violent. He required the constant attention of two strong men. I dared not leave him to the doubtful care of nurses, consequently for twelve days and nights my eyes were seldom off him, or them. No one—not even the Doctor—thought he could live; but God was pleased to spare him “yet a little longer.” The twelfth day he slept, for the first time, and when he awoke, after a few hours of quiet sleep, he awoke to reason—but oh, so weak. His poor, worn-out body scarcely retained the breath of life. Carefully I watched each fluttering pulsation, administering stimulants as required, and by morning felt that he would live. All he needed now was care, and for three days more I watched and waited, until the Doctor pronounced him out of danger.

Then, when I would have slept, I could not. For three nights I hardly slept at all, and I tried so hard.

Yesterday I took plenty of quinine, and had a good night’s rest last night, and awakened this morning much refreshed.

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