January 27, 1952
Wonju to the 4077th, Korea
To Dean and Hawkeye,
I know you are both there! I am excited to be writing to you both and reassuring you of many things, the best being that we're all alive. Oh, God, we are all safe, delivered from this insanity. Nobody was wounded or killed in the process and for that, I am thankful.
Right now, I'm here in Wonju, South Korea, where there is no fighting and no Chinese and North Korean soldiers to worry about. Sidney can talk to the patients in peace and I can observe them in a better light without the distractions. They aren't frightened as much as they were before. Now, I can make my reports quietly, slowly typing on a typewriter and again thanking whoever I am sending these to that we are here finally. It's a relief, like you both cannot believe!
I know that I have been writing of things that I feel and things of the past in my letters recently and that has been a change. So, you two, I must tell you of something somewhat miraculous that happened today. I am hoping you both keep it a secret for a while, since it seems so exciting to me and I don't really want to share it with the whole world yet. I find it very amusing indeed and I think you both will too, considering how much I hate writing and how nothing really inspires me.
Oftentimes, Sidney is called to someone's room because he or she is threatening suicide or is trying to do something to harm himself or herself. In this building, we have a section for those who attempted to take their lives, separated from the others so that they could not make the other patients jitterier or give them any ideas. After all, hearing of an attempted suicide or a successful one is actually pretty scary stuff and seeing a gurney going down the hall with a body under a sheet gets the others fired up and pretty nervous. People see that and remember why they came to us and start screaming, making recovery worse.
Well, I find it maddening and wish it out of sight from the other patients, but Sidney says it must be that way, on orders from the Army and him as well. He also mentioned that separating suicidal patients and "normal" ones was the same practice in the States, so I shouldn't be all that worried about it. It's a standard thing to separate the suicidal ones from the others it seems. Not to mention, there is no other way to delicately let the others know of a death.
"I know you're a very compassionate woman," Sidney added when he had lunch the other day in what passed as a cafeteria. "Sometimes though, even you have to stop being too involved in people's lives and caring too much. That's the nurse in you. It's a dangerous trait. You're here to observe people, not to give them comfort. You're not the nurse here, but a guest, helping the Army through your other skills. Although why they brought you here is puzzling, although I see some of their reasoning. You're just as unmilitary as Hawkeye Pierce."
I shrugged my shoulders, forking a wilted piece of lettuce in my salad (if you want to call it that). "I've been in the Army since around late 1940, Sidney, and have been a nurse for just as long. I've had a harder life before that and am sympathetic to those who are hurting. I can't help but care about people. I've lost too much and too many over the years that I can't help see any other way."
Sidney nodded, his look registering the latest loss, one that even he felt deeply. I knew who he was thinking about immediately. "He was a good man, Jeanie. You can't blame everybody for Henry Blake's death though. You can't even blame the people who shot him and his plane down. It's just what war is all about. Loss and nonsense."
A tear went down my face. I could not help it. I usually can't.
"How could you say that?! Sidney, the Army killed him!" I choked back a sob. "Henry Blake also never saw his son!"
I was practically yelling that last line. It still hurts me still that little Andrew Blake will never get to know his father. I think it always will, the way this crummy war always gets to me.
"Calm down, Jeanie." Sidney looked at me with worry and it wasn't the first time. Luckily, we were also alone, so I didn't feel the embarrassment factor afterward (i.e. stares from other people or comments behind hands). "I understand what you're talking about. Sadly, Henry Blake was a casualty of war. It's not fair that he died. It's never fair to see a family like his suffer and the worse being that his infant son never got the chance to know him. But you also can't hold hostility in your heart about it. The grief will pass. You'll feel normal again. Life goes on. The Army did its job and sent him home."
"He never made it home though," I pointed out.
"A tragedy of war, is it not?" Sidney asked. "Like I said, you can't blame anybody, especially not yourself."
Sidney tried to smile, but he too was grieving about Henry still and about all of the poker games, laughs and medical conferences we've had together. I could tell that he was trying not to cry just as I was. He had to be the strong one here. He had to hold me up, the rock for most people nowadays, and to keep working against the storm.
"Of course. You're right, Sidney." I had to agree to end the conversation.
It was then that I calmed down, not wanting to discuss anything further, taking another bite of Army food and listening to the sounds of the place we are in now. I heard the unique pattern of the raindrops, the uneven footsteps of the patients and even the inane banging from the next room. Hell, all I had to do was open a door and there was a hallway, leading to locked rooms of patients, who long for sanity in their own way. I had the same desires they do, but I had to keep mine hidden.
"I have your orders again," Sidney brought up after some moments of silence. "You're heading back to the 4077th next week. Colonel Potter needs another hand and the wounded are coming in by the dozens, so it's said. Major Houlihan can't ask for any more nurses and there's no reason to keep you held back any longer. They need you back."
"And the Army needs my last report and conclusions?" I asked as I heard some screaming down the hallway, words I couldn't quite make out yet.
"Yes," Sidney answered, cringing at the uproar in the hallway. "Excuse me please. It seems like a patient is calling me."
And then, Sidney ran out without taking his tray of food away. The door slammed right behind him, causing me to wince and then jump up when it made a loud noise, like an explosion. It seemed too final, like a bomb let loose too soon, and then the finale called death.
When I was less shaky and was sitting down again with my food, I tried continuing eating my lunch, but I couldn't make my hand move the fork and knife over my so-called salad and steak. All I could hear were the screams of a man who was threatening suicide and his fighting against the restraints of the men who worked here. He screamed and screamed a harsh sound, more like an animal than a human, and it was one that went deep inside of me.
No, that is too cruel for me to say, even though it is the truth. I cannot say that a man was sounding like an animal. The noise sounded so unreal though and not human that it made me shudder.
Then, the man outside said some words I can't forget, something that made my mind work and grind, starting to make me think carefully. "Suicide is painless! Take it or leave it! Suicide, suicide, suicide is painless! No, no, no, let me die, let me die!"
This man kept repeating these words with a few altercations to his words, his voice echoing down the hallways and growing fainter as he was dragged away. I knew that he was being led back to his room for observation or to the section where the suicidal are put and watched. By then, the amusing part of this whole episode started. The wheels in my mind were working too, just as the man's desperate pleas disappeared from my ears. His words almost sounded true, but in a different sense. Of course, I didn't mean suicide in the literal sense, but in a figurative sense almost.
Suicide…what does it mean to most people and why? It usually means to take one's life because of depression or a sense of loss, right? It's been frowned upon by Christian society for centuries and considered to be the greatest sin of all, as we all know. It's a guarantee entry into hell, right? A way to condemn yourself to fiery pits when you cannot even treasure your own life?
Thoughts in my mind raced. Suicide…did it really mean that we ourselves had to take our own life? That we were committing the greatest grievance to "God" that there was? Or could suicide mean that we ourselves were sent to places that are like hell, like here in Korea, and expected to do totally impossible things? We are moving towards our own "suicide" and it was not our fault at all but that of the occupation, like in the traditional sense of the word?
You two know that these are dangerous ideas from this very godless woman and you both know that I'm either crazy or a genius of some sort, depending on how you think of the theory. It can be something or nothing or it could be just something weird, although it all runs well in my mind. I don't know why, but it makes sense to me. Suicide doesn't necessarily mean taking your own life. It can also being forced to sometimes go through the most outrageous tasks and duties and make it a pathway to death. Doing insane things helps too, I think. And look where we are now. We're all in Korea, in the middle of a war and either hunting the enemy or patching up the wounded. Is this not our "suicide"?
Words came afterward, which is what pleases and also scares me the most. Me, a person who does not write much except for letters sometimes (and that gets better, so I've heard), had words coming to mind about suicide and what changes it brings us. It's almost seems incomplete and there seems more to this story than meets the eye. Of course, I think I can imagine you both, of all people, would know what I am talking about, insane as I am.
Suicide is painless.
It bring on many changes
And I can take or leave it
If I please…
I try to find a way to make
All our little joys relate,
Without that ever-present hate.
But now I know that it's too late.
The game of life is hard to play.
I'm gonna lose it anyway.
The losing card I'll someday lay.
So this is all I have to say…
And I keep thinking about the whole "suicide is painless" being all that I can say, like a refrain to a song. Hawkeye, I know that we all said it at the beginning of the war, before this whole mess started. You guys used to joke around Painless Pole, remember? He wanted to commit suicide and you guys put him to sleep after a "Last Supper" scene, with Father Mulcahy begging you guys not to do anything to let him take his life because it was unchristian of us to. Frank and Margaret wanted to get you guys for helping someone kill himself (because it was unmilitary of us to also), but we know Painless Pole wasn't going to die. His own "suicide" was painless and he woke up to Leslie Dish.
Painless Pole even went home after three months of being in Korea with us, the lucky bastard. In the meantime, he took a nurse with him (instead of Leslie Dish, who was soon Henry's) and went home to a normal life again, happy and confident in himself. There were no more thoughts about suicide anymore.
Dean, I don't expect you to understand it all, but if you do (or don't), talk to me. I am desperate to talk to someone about this, to make them understand my thoughts and feelings. Hell, I want out of here as much as the next person. Already, this is killing me in many ways. I don't know about you, Dean, but this is hell of our own making. War is hell and you know it, deep within yourself, even if you can't admit it out loud. Hawkeye will agree with me.
I have yet to tell Sidney about this because it might make me look pretty loony. However, I think he knows something is up by the way my face has changed. I feel relieved and relaxed in some way about this. I feel like a burden is off of my shoulders. Talking with the soldiers here and writing my reports seems a little less annoying than ever before. As we all have seen, Sidney notes the small details for sure and would ask me about them later. However, later can mean many things for Sidney, sometimes months, I've noticed.
I can't tell Sidney yet. Well, I'm not so sure about his reaction to my new thoughts about suicide, but I'm sure it'll amuse him if he doesn't take it seriously (which I doubt). This is already making me laugh!
Well, you two, I have to be heading off. I'm sorry about mailing this to the both of you all in one letter, courtesy of the Army and the lack of paper here, but I needed to tell the both of you something and I didn't want to write two letters telling you both the same thing. Not to mention, my hand has been sore from writing about this. I just had to get it all down in one spot. Must mean that I am either getting resourceful or just plain lazy. I can't tell yet.
I love you both and send every ounce of it I have left! Whatever you have left for me, please send it here. I'll need every bit as much as you both do.
Yours in Everything, Jeanie
