Homecoming, Ormond-by-the-Sea, Oct. 4, 2024

I returned home yesterday, Oct. 4. It was day 25 of my stay at Advent Health Daytona Beach. The fresh air was bracing, although the temp was a warm 85. It felt like heaven to me.

Chris was driving. It will be awhile before I’m confident enough to get behind the wheel. I have my Florida driver’s license and about 58 years experience behind the wheel. I just don’t have my wits about me. I just got over a nasty case of septicemia or blood poisoning. I read all the physician and nurses’ notes in my online chart. A potent staph infection from a leg would had entered my bloodstream and propagated until it caused my body to seize up and stopped my heart – twice. Due to quick action by my wife Chris, The ER staff came running, pulled me back from the brink, and I began what I guess I can call my healing journey. It really was a giant shit sandwich that’s still going to take a couple months to recover from.

First the good news: Here I am. I need a walker to get around but I’m getting around, slowly. Seems that when my body got whacked by microscopic bugs, it forgot how to take one step after the other. I’m one of the lucky ones. First, I will walk again probably with help. Second, I’m still on Planet Earth to do so. Maybe that’s first, I still get a bit confused by priority lists. When I first awoke in ICU, I had no idea where I was nor who I was. Well, I knew my name but that’s about it.

Nurse: "What month is it?"

Me: "Uh..."

Nurse: "Do you know the month?"

Me: "August?"

Nurse: "Close. September."

The last half of my hospital stay was in the excellent Advent Health Therapy Center which occupies the entire 12^th floor of Advent Daytona.  The staff is first-rate: physicians, nurses, techs, physical and occupational therapists. When you go to the twelfth floor, you sign up for OT and PT for four to five hours daily. You’re assigned exercises to do in your room. The nurses are always there to help and a more empathetic yet stern bunch would be hard to find. I love them all.

My first task after I got out was to round up a seafood meal that was on the healthy side and sit down with my wife at home and enjoy. My choice was the planked salmon dinner at Stonewood Grill & Tavern with shrimp and scallop skewers on the side. I didn’t so much eat it as swim through it. A pleasurable swim to be sure, one topped off by Key Lime Pie. It was a big deal because Chris and I arrived in Ormond Beach on August 24 and were busy getting organized until Sept. 9 when venomous bacteria came to call. I had not had a single seafood meal nor had I been to the beach. There was a big old ocean out there but it might as well have been Wyoming’s Red Desert.

So I’m home. Now what?

Hospital stories on Nurse Appreciation Day

On the one side, you have Trump and his narcissistic minions.

On the other, you have nurses.

I align myself with nurses. They are on the front lines of the fight against coronavirus. They run toward the danger and, thanks to the Trump administration's incompetence, lack the necessary PPE to keep COVID-19 at bay.

Today is Nurse Appreciation Day and it launches National Nurses Week which ends on Florence Nightingale's birthday on May 12. They should be celebrated everywhere and every time. Mostly nurses are taken for granted until we are gasping for breath with COVID-19 or, in my case, from a heart attack.

I lie in the hospital bed in the ER. I am hooked up to oxygen and poked and prodded by doctors and nurses and techs. Chris is with me so she holds my hand when she can. When she can't and the nurses are tending to me, I feel a strange sense of calm.

I see my mother's face in theirs. She was a nurse from 21 to her early death at 59. Tomorrow, May 7, is her birthday. Happy 95th birthday, Mom. She took care of strangers and she nursed her family. I was born in December of 1950 at Denver's Mercy Hospital. Mom trained there at the tail end of the war thanks to the U.S. Navy and the Sisters of Mercy. She worked there when I was born. Later she joked that she was working the night I was born and took off a few minutes to deliver me and then was back at her job. The truth is that Mom took a week off to chill in the hospital after each birth. It was important the first time out with me. It was even more crucial in the 1960s when she had 5-6 kids at home and needed a break as the new ones arrived.

She could have been the poster child for nurses' week. We came to her for our miseries. As a nursing supervisor at a Florida hospital, staff members came to her to unburden themselves. For awhile, I was both -- son and employee. A university dropout with a low draft lottery number, I figured that I would surf and work as I waited for the inevitable. I worked an as orderly or nursing assistant, now known as Certified Nurse Assistants (CNA). People actually go to school for this now and I'm glad of it. Me and my coworkers got OJT. The nurses were patient and, at times, stern. There were a couple nurses we didn't challenge. We didn't mess with Mom, either, although her management style was more encouragement than stern lectures.

I do admit here and now that sometimes, taking temps and inserting catheters, I was a bit stoned. When my coworkers Jim and Sharon picked me up at  6:45 a.m., a smoke cloud greeted me when I opened the car door. When we abandoned the car for work ten minutes later, the cloud followed us inside. It's a wonder we never were caught. We tried to cover up our shenanigans with after-shave and perfume. One day I heard a nurse proclaim that she always liked Jim to work at her station because he always smelled so good. A blend of Jamaican herb and Hai Karate. I can still smell it 49 years later.

My youthful indiscretions faded at my next job as orderly. I worked the graveyard shift at Shriners' Burns Institute in Boston. It was a serious place. All patients were children under 18 who had sustained bad burns. House fires, electrocutions, accidents, and, yes, child abuse. The staff of nurses and nursing assistants were all young and energetic even at 3 a.m. Some of the NAs were enrolled in nursing school. My girlfriend Sharon (the same Sharon) was making plans to return to school, this time for a nursing degree. I was thrilled when the nursing supervisor brought me into her office one day and offered me a nursing school scholarship paid for by the hospital. I was doing good work, she said. I thanked her and said I would think about it. It felt good to be noticed. I talked about it with Sharon and on long-distance calls with Mom from the corner pizza parlor (we didn't have a phone). But I already knew my answer. My practical side urged me to do it. But I was just beginning to explore my creative side.

I blame it on the Boston Phoenix and The Real Paper. Both were distributed weekly on Boston streets I always snagged both of them and read them from cover to cover before I settled into my daytime sleep. The writing, at turns, was spectacular and sloppy. The subjects tended to revolve around the counterculture which is where I placed myself. Music, books, politics, wacko cults and conspiracy theories. I also liked reading Boston's daily papers. They were in their heyday in 1972 and 1973. Dynamic political coverage and great sports sections. But they ignored most of the topics the Phoenix reveled in.

The alternative press ruined me. I wanted to be a writer. Nursing was a great calling and would provide a steady income. Maybe my girlfriend and I could attend the same nursing school and work at the same Boston hospital..

But I wanted something else. I quit my job, returned to Florida, and went back to school as an English major. Write and teach, teach and write. That was what I wanted to do and that is mainly what I did.

Mom is just one generation of nurses in the family. My grandmother, Florence Green Shay, was an army nurse in World War I and two of my sisters are nurses. Another sister works at a Florida hospice center. I am so glad that nurses are getting their due during this plague. Let's keep them safe and pay them what they deserve. .

Hunkered down, somewhere in Wyoming

Homebound. For a week. Only ventured outside to drive to credit union drive-up and library book drop-off. Never left the car. Never interacted face-to-face with another living creature. A new way of living in the time of coronavirus.

I'm retired so I don't have to be anywhere on a regular basis. I'm at high-risk during the current crisis because I'm 69 and a heart patient. I am also writer and reader so long stretches of indoor time is not a hardship. Annie and Chris are here with me. Chris, 64 and a diabetic, is off work for the foreseeable future. Annie underwent surgery on Monday and is recuperating. From my office, I can hear Chris exercising to YouTube videos. Great part about 2020: YouTube exercise videos. I do chair aerobics with Hasfit duo Coach Kozak and Claudia. I could go to the YMCA, which is still open, but I'd be paranoid the whole time that I would inhale a spiky COVID-19 germ. No use risking it.

I cancelled this morning's appointment with my podiatrist. I no longer travel to my acupuncture appointments in Fort Collins. Medical appointments have been postponed or cancelled. I won't be volunteering in March at the Cheyenne Botanic Gardens. The city ordered that all volunteers 65 and older and those with serious medical conditions to stay away. Yesterday, the Botanic Gardens announced the closing of the conservatory and children's village. This gives kids out of school fewer things to do but parents are probably keeping them home anyway.

One aspect of the pandemic I hadn't counted on was a mad dash to the grocery store for everything from toilet paper to milk to boxes of mac and cheese.I had those very things in mind Sunday when I shopped King Soopers online. Toilet paper not available. Deli was closed. It listed the rest of the items I ordered groceries to last us at least until the next paycheck. I opted to pick them up but no times were available through Tuesday. Instead, I opted for a delivery on Tuesday afternoon. As my shopper reported Tuesday, many of the items I requested were gone. She texted my photos of empty shelves in the toilet paper and pasta aisles. When she finally left the groceries on the front porch later that day, some items were missing and some substitutions were a bit sketchy. A First World problem, to be sure.

As for sports -- spring training is cancelled and the MLB season is delayed two weeks. March Madness has been cancelled as has the NBA season. A bummer but they both take second place to the pandemic. High school tournaments have also been cancelled. As of this morning, our county now has two confirmed coronavirus cases. That puts Wyoming's count at 15.

The local community college is on spring break but is still deciding what to do when the kids return as pale as when they left -- No Cabo this year kiddos! Actually, some students are at beaches for spring break. A few were interviewed at Florida's Clearwater Beach. One young guy was asked about the risks associated with major partying and much touching. His answer was priceless. He and his cohorts were spending all their time in the sand so they didn't have to worry about touching doorknobs and other nasty things. I had this image of the kids spending day and night in the sand, all alone but for the crabs and the sand fleas and sandpipers which we know aren't COVID-19 carriers.

That's not how I remember spring break.

Levity is welcome relief during these trying times. Lord knows we've had enough bad news. If you listen to the president and his lackey Mike Pence, all is well in the U.S.A. as we have two such capable people in charge. No advice from Melania lately, not even BE BEST!

Rest easy, America.

Part VI: The Way Mike Worked -- How I Almost Became a Nurse

The five-year-old boy from New Hampshire didn't talk much. He held up his right hand as the nurse dressed his wounds and I stood by to assist. The tiny hand was imprinted with concentric circles and looked as if someone had given the boy a special tattoo, although he was much too young. The reality was much worse. An adult, his mother, had punished the boy by pressing his hand into a hot electric stove burner. Third-degree or "full thickness" burns. The top layer of skin (epidermis) is destroyed as is the bottom layer -- the dermis. So are the nerve endings. Because the epidermis and hair follicles are gone, new skin cannot grow. The burn must be treated and then skin grafts are applied. This boy was a long way from skin grafting.

He would be in the burn unit for awhile, which is OK because everything was paid for. This was a Shriners Burns Institute (now Shriners Hospital for Children's--Boston), supported by millions raised by the guys with funny hats who drive funny cars in your local Fourth of July parade. I lived with my girlfriend Sharon in a walk-up one-bedroom on the poor side of Beacon Hill. It was winter and very cold. I wished I was on a Florida beach where I had been this time last year. I was cold yet fascinated by the work I did and observed as a nursing assistant/orderly at the hospital.

One morning, as I was getting off of work, the head nurse asked to see me. She asked me if I was interested in becoming a nurse. The hospital would pay for my education. I was stunned by the offer. I was torn, too. Just recently this dropout and former marine biology major had decided to go back to school and major in English and become a notable writer or at least one who got his stuff published. What to do? A secure future in the medical field? Insecure future with the other thing? I chose the other thing.

But not before I discussed it with Sharon. She was pondering the same thing, going back to school to major in nursing. Maybe we could go to the same school, University of Connecticut in Storrs, the place where she'd started college three years earlier -- she also was a dropout. Most of the people we knew were dropouts who went on to do interesting things with their lives. The Shriners staff wanted me to go to school in Boston. What to do?

As I pondered, I walked to my graveyard shift at the hospital and Sharon rode the MTA to her graveyard shift job at Deaconess Hospital in the burbs. She looked good in white. She looked good in anything. She told me stories of "rubbers," the guys who rubbed against women on the subway. One day she waited for her train when a young guy emerged half-naked from the shrubbery and began to masturbate in front of her. Those stories made me want to punch somebody, anybody. It made me want to ride with her every morning and every evening, to protect her. She was good at what she did and knew it. I was good at what I did but didn't know it. The die had already been cast. I just didn't know it.

Two years earlier, I had screwed up my chance of a military career. I know now that it was an act of sabotage. My mentors had lined up to promote my brilliant career. I failed them, on purpose. I didn't want to tell them no. Inside, I said no-no-no. Had I also failed myself? I guess, at 22, I didn't know. Here was another opportunity. It looked mighty good to a young man with no prospects.

When the night was slow, I gathered in a break room with the other nursing assistants. We stayed awake by drinking tea and eating chocolate. Some of the others were already in nursing school and spent the time starting IVs on each other. It kind of creeped me out but who was I to judge? I ran blood samples over to the Mass General lab through a spooky underground tunnel. I'm sure that it was well-used during the day. But at night? There was a camera and squawk box at each end. I pushed a button at the Mass General end and someone would eventually come on the line and asked my identity. I was admitted into the hospital basement. I skipped riding up the freight elevator because it smelled like formaldehyde. "That's where they bring up the dead animals, you know, for the med students to practice on. Human corpses, too. The morgue's down in the basement" The graveyard shift guy in the lab liked to pull my chain. At least I think he was pulling my chain.

Some of our young charges died at night. Burns can be horrific. House fires. Electrocutions. Accidents. Burns do terrible things to a body. Third degree burns with lung damage were bad. Very, very bad. Sometimes children are trapped in fires. Old people, too. Not only are their skins less dense, but their lungs are especially vulnerable. Kids' lungs are still developing. Oldsters' lungs are sensitive to everything.

I bugged out of Boston in March. Sharon and I pledged our love and promised to keep in touch. I hitched up to Connecticut a month later to see her and we drove out to the Cape. She came down to Florida in May and we drove to the Keys and camped. By the end of the summer, we were no longer a couple. I went back to school at the local community college. Sharon went to UConn. I sometimes wonder if she became a nurse or something else. What long and winding road did she take? 

That old guy peeing in the chair still has stories to tell

The certified nursing assistant (CNA) named Ashley pulls me out of my chair and leads me to the walker so I can get to the handicapped accessible bathroom. It's 4 a.m. on an August Friday and she and the nurse make their rounds. The staff has pumped fluids into me all day and dosed me with diuretics. I fell asleep in the chair so I could be close to the john. The joke was on me. I pissed into my Depends and my gown and into the chair.  I had spinal surgery and have trouble walking. I am as helpless as the baby I hear crying over on the pediatric side of this surgical floor.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"It's OK," the CNA says. "It happens."

Not to me it doesn't. That's what I wanted to say. I am a 20-year-old CNA -- we were called orderlies then -- working in a Florida hospital. I peel 67-year-old old men out of chairs they have peed in. I clean them up, help them dress, sop up the mess, and get them back into bed.

"Sorry " they say.

"It's OK," I say. "It happens."

I am a 20-year-old college dropout. I'm not old enough to drink or vote. As I do my chores, I think of the cute blond 20-year-old CNA named Sharon whom I helped earlier in the day. We laughed as we made the bed in an elderly woman's room. The woman sat slumped in the corner as we talked about movies we liked. I wished that this co-worker was not dating my good friend Jim. I sure would like to take her out to one of the movies we talked about. Maybe a drive on the beach. Maybe the surf would be jazzed after work. Maybe I would take some time to think about what to do with the rest of my life.

I'm 67 again. The hospital staff has put me back in my chair, turned off the lights and left. The young CNA is thinking about Friday night, just 12 hours away. The nurse with the braids could be contemplating a weekend with her family camped by a mountain stream. You can see the jagged outline of the Rockies from my fifth floor room.

I am a 20-year-old in a 67-year-old body that is failing. My wife sleeps in the pull-out bed near the window. Some of us suffer in silence. Some of us like company. I wonder what the other young people who keep this hospital working are thinking about tonight. I wonder who other old men are remembering tonight.

I remember this. That cute nurse's aide from that hospital long ago broke up with my friend and I took her to a movie. We spent the next 18 months together. In the summer of 1972, we hitchhiked 10,000 miles around the U.S. we ended up living in Boston where we both found hospital jobs we liked and decided to become nurses together. She became a nurse and I decided to pursue my love of writing. End of our story.

Thursday morning, about 3 a.m., I found myself awake and still a little buzzed from Wednesday evening's surgery. A nurse named Dusty asked if I was ready to pee.

"Need to urinate eight hours after surgery or..."

"Or what?"

"You know what a catheter is, right?"

Dusty accompanied me and my walker around the quiet halls, thinking that might shake up my system. She took me by the veranda that looked over the sleeping town. We chatted. When we got back to the room, she ran water in the sink and I voided. Dusty took a look at my bladder through a scope and found I had urine in there just looking for an excuse to come out. I eventually squeezed out enough to keep the catheters away.

The next night, I turn into Niagara Falls.

At one point, I thought about spending my working life in hospitals. Not peeing in chairs but taking care of those peeing in chairs. In an alternate universe, that is Mike's life. There are many alternate universes. My reality is now.

This won't finish me off. I will be older and incontinent somewhere else. My wife of many years will be gone. My friends will be gone. My grown kids will live far away. I once asked a hospice nurse if people died with their loved ones around them.  "Most people die alone," she said.

I leave stories.

Do odd things happen to writers, or are writers just odd?

A question for my writer friends: Do odd things happen to you, or are you the odd thing?

The answer is important. The world is odd, filled with strange happenings that call out to be translated into poems and stories. But I may be the odd one for noticing and then spending hours/days/months on writing a story to make some sense of this odd occurrence. Maybe it doesn't have to make sense, it just has to be entertaining or thought-provoking. It may never be published, never. read by more than a few blog fans. 

To get on with the story...

I had a weird experience Tuesday at a Colorado hospital that will remain nameless. I was the subject of a Cervical CT Myelogram procedure. The docs and nurses in Radiology were supposed to start in on me at 1 p.m.. And then it was 2 and then 3. Finally, the head tech explained to me that the computer had hijacked the hospital. It mistakenly booked me in the fancy Radiology room next door and wouldn't acknowledge that I was waiting in the plain vanilla Radiology Room. I said why don't you put me in the fancy room. He said it was expensive, only used for the difficult cases. I was glad that I wasn't a difficult case. 

The IT guys stormed the premises. They were not like the "IT Crowd" technos who told frantic operators this: "Have you tried turning off  the computer ans turning it back on?" They came to rescue. The problem seemed to be a tough one. The IT guys figured out they had to discharge me from the hospital and admit me all over again, trick the computer into thinking I was a new patient suited only for the cheap room. 

They did that and thought they had it licked when the computer changed its mind and put me back in the fancy room. There must have been ten people in the room, some working frantically on the computer, others preparing the room for the medical procedure that was sure to start any time now. I talked about books with a nice nurse who was writing a children's book in her spare time. Earlier, as she checked me in, she found out I was a writer and said that she thought that I looked like the creative type. I was flattered, as people usually think I look like Colonel Sanders. 

After two hours, they tricked the computer for good and the Radiology team jumped into action. The doc pumped me full of contrast, which one of the techs described as a "sticky oil" which, when scanned, highlights the details of my cervical spine. Once they pumped me full of sticky oil, one of the techs got on with tilting me at various angles on the table while another tech shot images on the scope. They tilted me head first and then prone. They tilted me forward for a second time to make sure the contrast reached into the furthest reaches of my upper vertebrae. I didn't object. I only wanted to do this once. They took some other pictures with me on each side and one of my neck and shoulders. Satisfied, they sent me over to the CT room where another tech scanned me. 

When I got back to the recovery room, a new nurse turned on her computer and looked for my chart. "You don't exist," she said. 

Odd, but I was lying right there. A few minutes later she found me.

"Looks like the computer discharged you" 

Of course. 

The nurse got me readmitted and discharged me again, because that was part of her job. 

As my wife Chris drove me back to Cheyenne, a few things occurred to me. It wasn't a bad way to spend five hours. It was 95 hot degrees outside, cool inside. Chris had taken the day off so we spent some quality time together. The staff was kind and patient. It made me wonder if they were this nice to all patients. The nurses admitted that many who come through their doors are very sick and usually older than me. Some of the procedures involve a lot of physical pain. Pain, as always, turns your attention inward and you are not always aware of others feelings. Me, well, I was in a little bit of pain but didn't want to be a pain. So, after lying around two hours waiting for the multimillion-dollar computer system to recognize me, I decided that resistance was futile. I could have told them to forget it and make me another appointment. But I didn't want to come back another day.  

It was very entertaining. The staff gave me a handful of cafeteria food coupons to make up for the delays. I hope I'm not back at that hospital any time soon, not even for chicken-fried steak night.

When AFib comes to town

The Cheyenne Regional Medical Center Telemetry Lab staffer called me Friday. She wanted to know how I was doing. I said "fine" but knew that this wasn't a courtesy call. The Telemetry Lab monitors my Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator (ICD) remotely. I have a home transmitter at the side of my bed. It picks up my heart signals and transmits them to the lab, which then takes a look to see if I am in sinus rhythm, which is what we want, or in atrial fibrillation (AFib), which we don't want.

The lab said I was in AFib on Thursday morning. "Did you feel anything?"

"Yes," I said. "I was light-headed all morning."

"Anything else?"

I had to think about it. "I just felt weird all morning. Had a hard time at physical therapy, was tired and out of sorts all afternoon."

The Telemetry Lab person (sorry I don't remember her name -- blame it on the irregular heartbeats and lack of oxygen to the brain) told me that I needed to be aware of these symptoms as a long-duration AFib is dangerous. "Next time you're feeling that way, please send me a manual reading from your monitor."

"OK," I said, feeling a bit scared. I tend to ignore my heart difficulties most of the time. I exercise, take my meds, maintain a good attitude, am kind to animals, etc.

She made me an appointment with my cardiologist. She is able to access my MyChart files at CRMC which shows a calendar of my appointments. She puts me down for a March 15 appointment with Dr. Nienaber. As long as I'm dealing with a CRMC physician or group, my records are online and we can carry on these types of conversations. It's a bit spooky, all this electronic data-keeping and accessibility. My fiction-writer self thinks of all the ways that this system can be abused. Let's say a U.S. politician has an ICD with a bedside monitor and someone, say, an ISIS terrorist, wants to murder that politician. He hijacks the signal and causes the ICD to shut down. Even scarier, he causes that ICD to activate its defibrillator. Bam! -- a big shock to the heart to get it back into rhythm even when it doesn't need it. And another shock and another and pretty soon, the heart gives up. Remote-control assassination. Because I am postulating this as sci-fi means that the possibility already exists and the U.S. or the Russians or even ISIS may be preparing an attack.

For me, though, right now, the threat is more from AFib than it is from some shadowy hacker. AFib can cause strokes, blood clots, heart failure. My heart attack of three years ago created the cardiac scar tissue that sometimes misfires as AFib. My pacemaker activates to get me back into rhythm. If catastrophic heart failure threatens, the defibrillator will kick in with a debilitating jolt. This has never happened to me, and I hope it never does.  I could be driving down I-80 at the time. Or I could be napping. Anything is possible.

A big thank you to the CRMC Telemetry Lab. A big shout-out to the researchers and engineers and technicians who put these gizmos together. I freakin' love science.

To watch AFib in action, go to the American Heart Association web site. You can compare an AFib animation to one of a normal heartbeat. My heartbeat was normal for 62 years. Cholesterol and inflammation and stupidity led to my heart attack, which almost killed me. I was pulled back from oblivion by EMTs, cardiologists, surgeons, and nurses. I'm 65 now, retired, someone who knows how blessed he is every day. Or almost every day.

Nurses are needed now!

From 

National Women's History Museum

#OnThisDay in 1901, the United States Army Nurse Corps was established by Congress as a permanent organization. Passed as part of the Medical Department under the Army Reorganization Act it allowed nurses to be appointed to the Army for a three year period, however, they were not commissioned as officers. The Act did allow for nurses to renew their appointment as long as they had a "satisfactory record for efficiency, conduct and health." Dita Kinney was appointed the first Superintendent of the Army Nurse Corp in 1901 and held the position until 1909. (Photo Credit: Library of Congress) #womenshistory. Read our grandmother's World War I diary -- start here. 

The Great War in publishing

I spent the past couple months immersed in World War I.

My first task was to reformat my paternal grandmother's World War I diary for Blogger. For those of you unfamiliar with blogging platforms, Blogger is the grizzled old man of the Blogosphere. Me, in other words, a member in good standing of Seniors Wildly Indignant About Nearly Everything (SWINE). To this, I give a tip of the hat to Al Capp, who first coined the term in his L'il Abner comic strip, although the original SWINE was about "Students" and not "Seniors." Of course, the students of that era are now the retired cohort. See how things work out?

WordPress is the corporate middle manager of the web. Anyone who is anyone uses WordPress because it is so damn good, flexible yet complicated. There may be an up-and-coming (hipster) platform of the blogging world but what do I know -- I'm 65 and ready to step away from the workaday world.

My grandmother's WWI diary was first transferred to MS Word by my sister Eileen Shay Casey in Winter Park, Fla. In its original form, the diary was a tiny, battered notebook, held together by a strip of duct tape. Eileen was challenged to read the tiny handwriting, but did a wonderful getting it into e-shape.

From there, I broke it into nine sections, and then cut-and-pasted it into Blogger. To make sure that it appeared with the proper formatting, I had to lay in the copy in the html protocol, and then go back to the editing controls and reformat. This became important later on when I uploaded the blog posts to the Shared Book site (also known as blog2print) and created a print book of the diary entries. This is a publishing platform for bloggers, one I've used on several occasions. It's not the best way to publish your deathless prose (or poetry). But it is a way to print things such as diaries, family histories, memorials, etc. In my day job as Literary Guru for the State of Wyoming, I'm often asked, "Hey Mike, how do I publish my book?" I reply, "Have you written it yet?" The answer often is "No, but...." There's the rub. Wannabe writers often jump right to publishing before they actually write the book. This is putting the cart before the horse, as my Iowa grandfather might have said.,

There are many publishing platforms these days. Your challenge (and mine) is to find the right one.

But back to World War I. While formatting Grandma's (we called her Mudder) diary, I researched the history of medical units, army bands, the Meuse-Argonne Offensive and a score of other topics. I have read widely on the war. But I keep going back to its creative writing. The war itself lasted four years and a few months. The U.S. was involved about a year and a half, but wasn't engaged in combat until the war's last year -- 1918.

As a writer, I can only grasp the global span of the war through the eyes of those who were there. And what a group of writers were engaged in the struggle. Ernest Hemingway, Wilfred Owen, Siegfried Sassoon, Erich Marie Remarque, Jaroslav Hasek, Vera Mary Brittain. Their influence can be traced to the writers of all subsequent wars, all the way up to the current troubles in Afghanistan and Iraq.

Some historians have belittled the experiences of the war's tormented poets and writers. Not everyone saw combat in the trenches -- and told the tale in gruesome realism. To base your view of the war on Owen's "Dulce et Decorum est" is understandable but unrealistic.

But war is a human story. Regular folks are cast into big events. Their experiences are those events as experienced in the heart and mind of one person. How else can we understand? Some poets celebrated the heroics of The Great War: Jessie Pope (from a distance), Rupert Brooke, Joyce Kilmer. Some of them also died (Brooke and Kilmer). What were they thinking as death's icy fingers gripped their hearts?

We don't know. But we do know what other hearts experienced. Those people included my paternal grandmother, Florence Green Shay of the U.S. Army Nurse Corps. To read her diary, start at http://hummingbirdminds.blogspot.com/2015/11/part-i-mudders-world-war-i-diary.html.

Afterword: Mudder's World War I diary

Florence Green (a.k.a Mudder) celebrated her 26th birthday in France in 1918.

Normally, being in your twenties in France and celebrating a birthday would be cause for joy. And perhaps it was. But there was a war on, which complicated things. She was a nurse on the front lines of one of the most destructive wars in history.

Have you ever been young and in a war zone far away from home? I haven't, but I have been young and far away from home, missing my parents and siblings and yearning for a lost love. That's all you need to know, really, about Florence Green's nine months overseas in 1918-1919. She was young and lonely -- but also engaged in a great adventure that was part of a larger misadventure.

I am no historian. But I am a blogger and, as such, I have no shortage of opinions. However, the more I learn about World War I, the more I know -- and don't know. That pretty much sums up the aging process. The more I learn, the more I find that I don't know.

This is as true of world events as it is of family history. I first knew Florence Green Shay in the 1950s growing up in Denver. We called her Mudder because that was my toddler-style mispronouncing of Grandmother or Grandma or whatever other name I was trying to spit out of my young mouth. She was stuck with it the rest of her life. Mudder was a bridge-playing Denver matron She drove around town in an Edsel. She and my grandfather, Raymond Shay, lived in the Park Hill neighborhood which, over the years, has become one of Denver's swankier addresses. Grandpa was known as Big Danny, another one of my inventions, giving him the title of Danny Senior because my brother was little Danny. It all begins to make sense if you look at it through the imagination of a young child with delusions of becoming a writer.

It wasn't until later that I knew about my grandparents' war experiences. Both products of The Great War, or the First World War. Much was made of Big Danny's experience. He was a cavalry officer with the Iowa National Guard, mobilized to fight Pancho Villa on the Mexican border and then sent to France with the American Expeditionary Force (A.E.F). His basement held many trophies of the war. Guns and bayonets, battle flags and medals.

Mudder was a nurse in the same war. But it was decades before we knew of her experiences. She spoke little of her time in the U.S. Army Nurse Corps. She spoke in general terms of her shipboard trip to England and then to France. She dated a slew of officers, as American women were in short supply, and made fudge during her downtime as evacuation hospitals near the front. Nothing as exciting as my grandfather riding a horse into battle, flag waving, bullets zipping over his head. As far as I know, he actually never rode a horse into battle due to German machine guns, a new invention that made cavalry charges extinct.

Mudder had a diary. When I first read passages from it decades ago, I was disappointed. No chronicles of treating the dead and dying. A few notes about air raids, but no pyrotechnics, no sights and sounds and details. As a writer, I looked for those details. I was raised on World War II novels and memoirs. First-hand chronicles of the Vietnam War were appearing in bookstores. Mudder's calm chronicles paled in comparison.

Now that I'm 65, I can look back at her diary in wonder. I've kept a journal since I was 21. It's no mean feat to write daily, even a bigger challenge in a war zone, I suspect. Mudder worked long shifts in the hospital wards. Artillery fire lit up the nights. German planes dropped bombs. The wounded arrived with regularity. Over in the trenches, a horseless Big Danny fought the Huns. The two hadn't met yet but both were in the war zone. It would be the cavalry man's experiences we knew best.

Until now. My sister Eileen Shay Casey got her hands on our grandmother's lone surviving diary. Eileen has always loved history, which is why she got a nursing degree from University of Central Florida (LOL). She was urged into nursing by our mother, the nurse. After working a few years in hospitals and the death of our mother from cancer at 59, Eileen quit the medical field for a career in the non-profit world of foundations and grant-writing and fund-raising.

That love of history never deserted her. She transcribed Mudder's diary. She put out the word about her work and heard from an historian at the University of Maryland, Dr, Marian Moser Jones. Dr. Jones was intrigued by Mudder's diary since she was working on a book about WWI nurses trained in the University of Maryland system. With Microsoft Word versions of the diary and Dr. Jones' research notes, I posted Mudder's diary entries on this blog from Nov. 25 to Dec. 20, 2015. I now am working on a print version of the diary for family members and other interested parties. Once it's formatted, I will share the link on these pages.

Mudder's fudge recipe survives. As does her beat-up old diary which we hope will find a permanent home in the University of Maryland archives. Her memories will live forever that way, much as her DNA lives on in us.

We all make our tiny footprints on this big world.

Part IX: Mudder's World War I diary

December 26 
Happier today than I have been for some time, got a letter from Peany and such a sweet one too, also one from E with a handkerchief in it. Goldie is sick in bed Ward #2, hope she will be well by the 2nd.

December 27 
Met a man from Evac #3, invited me to a dance at #79. Got two more letters from P, he is dear all right, to bed early.

December 28 
Mail today, just a Xmas card. Went to a dance, had a fairly good time.

December 29 
Some of our officers are going back to the States, leave tomorrow, they sure are lucky. Rained all day for a change.

December 30
Another disappointment today. Leah can’t go on leave.

December 31 
Went to the New Year’s Eve dance, had a real good time. Orders came that 42 would be replaced; suppose that means we will all go home. I wonder if I am going to get to go on my leave.

January 1, 1919 
Got my orders to go on leave, thank goodness I am safe then. Off for Toul on the train. Only 2 hours late, got in Toul, stayed all night at the Red Cross, made some fudge to take along.

January 2 
Trains supposed to leave for Paris at 800am but left 1030. Met some officers that came over on the ship with us. Took Miss Saxelby and I to dinner. We arrived at Paris at 600pm. Had the dickens of a time to get a taxi, finally did, went to the Continental and thought rooms had been engaged but they had not, but while standing there, in walked Peany, bless his heart, he made us take his room, he met a colonel he knew so he went in with him. We had a wonderful dinner.

January 3 
Had breakfast in bed, then we started out, we went to different shops, had lunch at the Marlborough tearoom. Met P at 2pm, but in the meantime, met Miss Hines, chatted a while with her. Got on the train for Nice at 6pm, started about 8. I had a seat but poor P only had a small seat until 5am, such a dirty tiresome trip.

January 4 
Landed in Nice at 6pm, cleaned and had dinner, who should I meet, the first thing but LHM Went to bed early that night and such a storm.

January 5 
Took a walk, went to the station to make reservations to leave next Saturday, we finally did. The Mediterranean was quite rough this day; the storm had done a lot of damage.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday 
Went to dances, took long walks, did some shopping. Found the best place to eat breakfast, could get the best waffles. Walked up a very steep hill, could see the Alps which were with snow. The last of the week the Mediterranean was very calm and just as warm as could be. Sure hated to come back to Bazoilles. Saturday Left for Paris, arrived Sunday 10am, went to the Continental. Sure was sick, had dinner, went to bed and got up for supper and then went to bed, got up at 630am.

Monday 
Train left for Chaumont, arrived 315, got in Neuf. At 715, waited there 2 hours for a train to B, dead tired, such a trip. P stayed in Neuf.

Tuesday 
Had the whole day off, went to Neuf, met P, we had lunch, then he came out to the base with me, had tea, he left 5pm. All alone again and such news when I came back. We are attached to Evac 21, all the men of 42 are going home, can you beat it. I am homesick, I want to go home. Got 72 letters today.

Wednesday 
On duty in #17, mumps ward, such a life, sure want to go home.

Thursday 
Made P some fudge today and sent it to him, hope he gets it.

Friday 
Went to the dance, had a real nice time but came home early.

Saturday, Sunday, Monday 
Nothing exciting happen, same old mud hole.

Tuesday January 21 
Had the whole day off, went to Neuf today, bought wool to make a sweater, and took a walk with Steve, no news about going home, expect to be here this time next year.

Wednesday January 22 
On duty most of day

Thursday January 23 
Little excitement today. The nurses who wish to remain in France had to sign up, looks like we are going home. Who should walk into our hospital today, no one but Peany. Was making fudge for Steve and Leah but Peany got most of it, he is being transferred near Dijon. We went to Neuf for dinner, I sure did miss a good dance.

Friday, January 24 
Am real glad I did not go to the dance, an accident, 2 nurses with fractured ribs, suppose I would have been the unfortunate one if I had went to our dance at night.

Saturday January 25 
Not much news but I really do think we are going home, our trunks were marked today.

Sunday January 26 
Al last the news has arrived. We leave Tuesday morning, am so excited. Leah was to have her leave Tuesday, she is disappointed. Lots of mail today.

Monday January 27 
Went to Neuf today, bought a few things to take home and some lunch. Goldie bought a beautiful ring. Made a lot of fudge to take on our trip. The nurses remaining are about 38, gave BH 42 nurses a farewell dinner, the music was great. I had Dr. Wood over from 46. He invited me over to a chicken supper and dance Tuesday night. I am out of luck, but so much nicer to go home.

Tuesday January 28 
Gotten up mighty early, trunks carryalls, and suitcases have gone. 6am train did not come in till late. Went to tea in the afternoon, had some music, got on the train 11pm and did not pull out till 4am, such a mess,. 3rd class compartments, no heat, old hard wood benches, and they tell me we have a three day trip before us.

Wednesday January 29 
Sitting on the sidetrack most of the day, the rate we are going I think we will be about 10 days. I am so tired; all we ate is sardines, bread.

Thursday January 30 
I think an American engine has been put on, we have been speeding, just a little. I sure feel punk.

Tuesday January 31 
We have gone about 2/3 of the way, we probably reach St. Nazaire Sunday, such a life, no water, no heat, no nothing.

Wednesday February 1, 1919 
Arrived at St. Nazaire 2pm, went over to the Red Cross for sandwiches and cocoa and then were carried about 8 miles in trucks to La Baule. A beautiful hotel, but no heat, I had a great bath and a good dinner and to bed.

Sunday February 2 
Took a long walk along the Atlantic beach, had tea in a clean little place and got warm at the Red Cross.

Monday 
Today we got orders to pack, we leave in the morning for Brest, wonder if we will ever sail. Did some shopping today. Gee, I’ll be glad when I get home.

Tuesday 
An all day trip in the train but great deal better than our last trip. Arrived at Base 65 at 11pm, we were put in a large barracks, no sheets, pillowcases or anything.

Wednesday 
Not allowed off the grounds. Had tea at 3pm in the hut

Thursday 
Play cards or knit. That’s all we have to do.

Friday 
No orders yet, have finished my sweater.

Saturday 
Learning to play bridge, rather interesting. Went AWOL to the nearby village, bought the cutest wooden shoes.

Sunday 
Went to church, nothing exciting. Is happening. Rumors but no real news.

Monday 
Moved to another barracks today, much more comfortable.

Tuesday 
Took a walk in the village today.

Wednesday 
Went across the river in a rowboat, real nice time. Had a dandy minstrel show here at night.

Thursday, Friday 
Played bridge mostly all day.

Sailing………

Meanwhile, back in the States. This information is from research by Dr. Marian Moser Jones of the University of Maryland:

On March 10, 1919, Green arrived back in New York with many other nurses from her unit.

She returned to Baltimore, greeted by hundreds, on March 16, 1919.  

She was discharged from Army Nurse Corps on April 9, 1919 (from Service Record).

On April 10, 1919, she gave a talk to a Women's club in Irvington, Maryland, about her experiences "Over There."

1920, June 4 -- the Army Reorganization Act authorized relative rank for nurses. Prior to this point, nurses did not have rank and were not recognized as officers. Following the passage of this law, they were given officers' ranks, from 2nd Lieutenant through Major. They were not, however, given commissions or base pay equal to that of other officers of the same grade. Such equal treatment would have to wait until 1947. (Mary Sarnecky, The History of the US Army Nurse Corps).

Green was re-inducted into Army Nurse Corps as a 2nd Lieutenant only 8 days after the passage of this law, on June 12, 1920. She served at General Hospital No. 21, in Denver, Colorado, (renamed Fitzsimons General Hospital July 1, 1920) until January 24, 1922 (Shipley,The Officers and Nurses of Evacuation Hospital No. 8) As a postwar nurse officer, she belonged to a small elite: By June 30, 1921 there were only 851 nurses, including 1 major, 4 captains, 74 first lieutenants, and 772 second lieutenants (Office of Military History, US Army)

Green Shay's gravestone indicates that she was a first lieutenant. She might have been promoted some time between 1920 and 1922. Even though Shipley's book lists her as a 2nd Lieutenant, he readily admitted in the preface that it included numerous errors (her maiden name was also misspelled).

If she was promoted to First Lieutenant, as her gravestone indicates, she was among the top 100 women serving in the US Army during the postwar period. Additional material may be available at the Army Nurse Corps historical collection in Ft. Sam Houston, Texas, which I plan to visit for my research. 

As for her personal life.... 

She met Raymond Shay, also a veteran, a cavalry officer who served in the A.E.F. with the Iowa National Guard, who was recovering from tuberculosis at Fitzsimons. 

They married on June 28, 1922.  They had two children, Thomas (our father) and Patricia. Florence died August 17, 1980, at the age of 88. She and Raymond are buried together at Fort Logan National Military Cemetery in Denver. 

To her nine grandchildren, Florence Green Shay was known as "Mudder." And that's how we remember her.

Raymond Shay, Cavalry officer with the Iowa National Guard in the A.E.F. His grandchildren called him "Big Danny."

Florence Green's Foreign Service Certificate.

From the History Colorado Center web site: One of the 48 original 1918 buildings at the Fitzsimons Army Medical Center in Aurora, Colo., the Red Cross Building offered patient entertainment, which was especially meaningful for long-term patients usually suffering from tuberculosis. During WWI and WWII, the building put on vaudeville shows, movies, and concerts. Today, it is significant for its role in nursing soldiers, as well as for its architectural design as a standard cross-plan military building with stucco walls and shaped parapets. FMI: http://www.historycoloradocenter.org

Fort Logan National Military Cemetery in Denver after a snowfall. FMI: http://www.cem.va.gov/cems/nchp/ftlogan.asp

Part VIII: Mudder's World War I diary

November 16, 1918 
Got up at 6am breakfast in our room, got a taxi and made our train 6K, arrived at Chaumont 3pm. Found on arriving, P had been here, out of luck again tried to get him on the phone but no success. Went to the dance in the hut at night. 

November 17 
Orders have not arrived yet, took a walk in the afternoon, met several officers that Miss M knew, so we were invited out to dinner, had a very dry time. 

November 18 
Afraid to leave the grounds because I felt sure Peany would come today and he really did, was I glad to see him. I’ll sure say so. Took him over to tea and then brought me to 42 in his car, had a puncture getting here and too late for mess so we went to a villa nearby in a quaint old room you know and enjoyed myself. 

November 19 
Stayed in bed late, didn’t sleep at all, too much excitement. Had lots of mail, sure was good to be home once again. Peany came in the afternoon, just had a short while, came in the evening, a dance near by, so we rode over, had a dandy time, eats were good, fried chicken, sandwiches, doughnuts, cocoa and punch. 

November 20 
Went to Neuf Chateau with Ruth, and then I had a disappointment, met Peany and he has to go away for a few days such luck, as I do have. He came in the afternoon and we went out for dinner, in his motorcycle this time, he leaves in the morning. 

November 21 
Some good news, P doesn’t have to go away at all, I am tickled to death, went over to #79 to a dance, had a wonderful time. 

November 22 
Haven’t been put on duty yet, I don’t really mind, made some fudge for P in the morning, he said it was awfully good. He came about 300pm. Had a dance here with the good old jazz, best music I ever heard but I am afraid I am going to too many dances, this has been some week for me. 

November 23 
We had tea in our recreation room, P came over, he and Colonel, Miss McAfee and I went out to dinner, some good time. 

November 24 
Had a nice long walk with P. He came over in the afternoon we had a great tea party including fudge. We afterwards went over to his mess, some good feed I’ll tell you. Miss Saxelby and the colonel went too. 

November 25 
Am to go on duty tomorrow. I sure had a good rest. Peany was here twice today but for a short while. I certainly missed him tonight. 

November 26 
Was on duty but the ward is very easy. P came at night and we had a dandy walk. 

November 27 
The whole day off today made some fudge for P and had a nice ride in the motorcycle going to a dance tonight. 

November 28 
Had a dandy time at the dance last night, went out to dinner with P, had Thanksgiving dinner here but P first always. 

November 29 
P went up to the front on a wild chore, and of course our big dance is tonight, promised to get back but he didn’t; I went to the dance at 930 and had a good time. 

November 30 
P showed up about 2pm, had trouble with his motorcycle, now it is broken, hard luck again. He and I walked to Neuf Chateau, he bought me the dearest watch. In the evening, Colonel Lyesby, Miss Costello, P and I went to dinner. 

December 1 
Another day for P at the front, landed in here about 7pm, sick as he could be and had to walk home, poor fellow, I sure am sorry about 6 kilos too. 

December 2 
Got a note from P, he is ill. I just thought so but I am going over to see him tomorrow night. Miss Leach has fixed our room up darling, went to Neuf in the morning and did a lot of purchasing. Had a time to get home but we found a friend. 

December 3 
Walked all the way to Frenille, Miss Costello and I, had dinner there. Peany is convalescing. Came home in a Dodge. 

December 4 
Made some fudge for P, he was over in the morning. Afternoon, he came we went out to dinner. 

December 5 
Had a half day off and did not expect it. Goldie and I walked to Frenille, of course P was out but got back about 430p. Captain McDonald, Leah, P and I went on a party to Hareyville, but never again. 

December 6 
Peany left quick today and no wonder, we almost came to blows but we made up. 

December 7 
Sad news. P has to go Hopkins to a dinner and dance, said he simply can not get out of it, he was over in the afternoon and a while in the evening 

December 8 
P came in the afternoon, got me all frustrated, said the car was waiting to take him, but it was not so thank goodness. He had a rotten time at the dance and I am glad of it. We went to H to dinner, had a dandy time. 

December 9 
The 346 gave us a dance at night, I was dressing, Leah ran over to me, and told me P had had an accident and was over in 46H with a fractured arm, you can see me run all excited, did you know it was untrue, he had sent her with that tale. Well anyhow the dance was great. 

December 10 
P arrived at 3pm, said he was to leave tomorrow. We went out to dinner. My, I would be happy if he did not have to go. 

December 11 
Today has been one of the most miserable days I have ever had. Received a note from P at 200p, he left at 100pm, I don’t know what on earth I will do. He wrote the dearest letter, I also got an old letter from him today. I wrote him a long letter tonight and then went to bed. 

December 12 
Still miserable, and expect to be for some time. Got the picture today that P had sent me ages ago, bless his heart, wish he were here. To bed at 830, such a life. 

December 13 
Wrote to P, my I miss that man. Went over to a French dance at night for a while. 

December 14 
Went to Neuf with Leah, coming back the driver was slightly stoned. I did not think we would make it. To bed at 830pm. 

December 15 
Wrote to P. Took a walk at night with Nell. Was talking to Ray for a while. Monday 

December 16 
This life is getting rather monotonous. Wrote P; played cards this afternoon with Goldie and 2 officers, they were both married though. I won all the games too, me and my partner. 

December 17 
Some mail yesterday for a change but none from P. Wrote some letters, went to bed. 

December 18 
Played cards with some of the girls, nothing exciting happened. 

December 19 
To bed early, nothing new. 

December 20 
No mail, no nothing, rather blue, homesick, and tired. 

December 21 
There was a dance here last night, I heard it was a failure. To bed early as usual. 

December 22 
Made Xmas ornaments for the tree, out of silver foil and colored cardboard with red ink, better the day, better the deeds. Leah wanted me to play cards with her but refused. 

December 23 
Lt. Wood came over and invited me to their Xmas eve dance. I accepted. Made fudge the entire day for the boys for Xmas. Got my package and some letters, rather pleased. 

December 24 
Trimmed our tree which looked rather nice and the ward looked great, decorated with greens and things made out of absolutely nothing. Went to the dance at night, had an awfully good time. 

December 25 
Got up at 12noon, blue as could be. Had a good Xmas dinner, went on the ward at 2pm, the patients sure had a good day; I wanted to dance but relaxed instead. Got several sweet handkerchiefs, perfume, etc.

Part VII: Mudder's World War I diary

On Oct. 24, 1918, nurse Florence Green ("Mudder" to her grandchildren) received orders to go to Evac 8 on the Meuse-Argonne front. This is from information provided by Dr. Marian Moser Jones of the University of Maryland after reading Florence Green's diary:

As she notes in her diary, Florence was sent to evacuation Hospital number 8 during the end of the Meuse Argonne Offensive in late October, after stints at Evacuation Hospitals 1 and 4. Evacuation Hospitals were nearer the front than base hospitals. Green served near the front during the final push of the war and was part of a group regularly exposed to large artillery fire and aerial bombardments.

Evacuation Hospital No. 8 and its wartime operations were also described in detail by Dr. Arthur Shipley, a prominent professor of Surgery at the University of Maryland, in a series of articles published in the Bulletin of the University of Maryland School of Medicine between 1919 and 1920. Florence mentioned meeting Shipley and working with him in her Oct. 26th diary. [Frederick] Pottle worked under him as an orderly. He later wrote a supplement to Pottle's book, The Officers and Nurses of Evac. No. 8. Although Green only served at this hospital for a short time, Shipley lists her in the supplement.

Here's Dr. Shipley writing about the details of evacuation hospitals:

The Evacuation Hospitals were usually up to 10 miles from the front. They were well out of reach of the light artillery but within the range of the "heavies" and, of course, were subject to bombing. The difficult thing was to place them along the lines of communication, and at the same time far enough away from ammunition dumps and rail heads not to invite shelling or bombing. They were plainly marked with big crosses made of different colored stone laid out on clear space, so as to be easily seen from the observation planes and to show up in photographs. If there were buildings in the hospital group, red crosses were often painted on the roofs. This was most important, as wounded men in large numbers could not be moved into dugouts if the hospitals were subjected to much shelling. During the Argonne offensive, we were at the top of our strength. We had about 1000 beds for patients, 410 enlisted personnel, 65 medical officers and 75 nurses.

Florence Green of Baltimore was one of those nurses. Her diary continues....

October 26
Dr. Shipley from the University of Maryland here. I made myself known to him, several other Baltimore people here. Worked all day.

October 27
Nothing exciting to relate, worked the entire day.

October 28
Goldie came to see me today, brought me four letters all from home too. Miss Martin made some good taffy, the best I have had for many a day.

October 29
Not so busy today.

October 30
The girls are trying to have a party for tomorrow night, it is Halloween. I hope they succeed. Made some real good fudge.

October 31
Had a wonderful ride today in a Cadillac and with a Lieutenant Colonel, but not the one I would of liked to of been with. Also had a dandy walk. Halloween night, but no dance.

November 1
Cleaned house today and wrote a pile of letters. Had a very nice walk. I think patients will soon come in by the barge this am.

November 2
War news is encouraging if it only keeps up. Heard today that Evac#4 had been shelled, poor Goldie, I bet she was scared to death.

November 3
Today is Sunday, but I never know one day from the other. Worked all day.

November 4
Well, Austria is out of the war; I do believe it will be over soon.

November 5
Nothing new, the war is still on.

November 6
No mail, no nothing, wish I was in Baltimore, tonight. Rain for a change.

November 7
Heard today, the war was over, another wild rumor I suppose but if it is true, how wonderful it will be.

November 8
Had the whole day off today, went about 3-5 miles from here, rode in four different vehicles, had a good lunch and dinner and a dandy ride in a Cadillac, a dandy time.

November 9
The Germans have until Monday 11am, am crazy to know how every thing is going to turn out. Am waiting to go on a candy making party but looks like we won’t go tonight as the officers can’t come, such as life, just full of disappointments.

November 10
Busy as could be today, tomorrow is the day which decides about the war, am so anxious to hear the return.

November 11
Am some happy tonight to think the war is really over. I cannot believe it. Haven’t heard a gun since 11am. Great celebrating everywhere. Can almost hear the city hall in Baltimore ringing, and what a wonderful time for Paris.

November 12
Nothing exciting happened, patients coming in slowly. Took a walk. Our orders came. We go Evac to #15, hope from there to #2.

November 13
Gee, but I had a good time today, went to Verdun and then way up to the front, saw lots of sights. Came back and went to Evac #3, since they are having no work there at all. A dandy little Lieutenant took us there and then later met us later and took us to Evac #4 where I saw Goldie, some mud there. On arriving home, we hear there is to be a big dance in the Citadel at Verdun, went up in a huge truck, just had lots of fun. Got home about 1am. The most exciting thing happened during the day I forgot to relate, met Captain R from the 346 and now I know where Lieutenant Colonel S is, hope I see him soon.

November 14
Stayed in bed late and at 11am, the chief came in to give us our orders; we left at 2pm, to take the train. It only takes 5 hours so Miss Martin and I thought we could make it quicker. We got permission from Captain Cahill so we beat it. A colonel was delighted to take us; I think we made it in ¾ of an hour. 30 miles at least, but we enjoyed it, but don’t say it was not cold. Had a dandy dinner and met the train from B. Oh yes, we are going to Paris, am tickled to death, took the night train and oh the ride, no sleep, about 9 people in the compartment.

November 15
Such a wonderful day, arrived at the Continental, got a beautiful room had breakfast in our boudoir. Went to the Red Cross, did some shopping, from there to the Marlboro Tea Room and such a good lunch, soup the best chicken, first I had had in France and real ice cream, well it was delicious. Did some more shopping. Eva met a captain from her home, so he went around with us, bought a dandy looking pair of shoes, had my suit pressed, I feel very much dressed up, to dinner and theater tonight with Captain Hinton and K, we saw ‘Tales of Hoffman’ mighty good show.

Musical interlude: Violinist Mery Zentay: Melodie in F and Barcarolle from "Tales of Hoffmann" (1917), https://youtu.be/OvJcjiDNZpo. A pupil of Jenö Hubay, Mery Zentay successfully toured Europe 1910-1914. She made her American debut in 1915 and became a popular recitalist as well as an Edison recording artist. She died on Oct. 3, 1918, at the age of 21, a result of the flu epidemic.

L’Infirmière (The Nurse), 1914–1918, by René Georges Hermann-Paul. Collection of Spencer Museum of Art, The University of Kansas. Gift of Professor Eric Gustav Carlson. This work was part of the exhibition “The Second Battlefield: Nurses in the First World War” at the National World War I Museum and Memorial in Kansas City, 2015-2016.