MASH 4077th

Dear Dad,

Hawkeye here, it seems that the complete insanity of the war has followed me home. Now listen before you think your son has lost his marbles I imagined you would want to hear about this. When I was in Korea my friend Dr. Sidney Freedman told me often of writing to Sigmund Freud to relieve the tension and distress he often felt in his work. Well dad, you've only been dead a few years but the little time we had together when I got back home was treasured by me even if I never said it often enough or with enough love. Alas, to the subject at hand. I am having nightmares that I can't seem to shake.In one of the dreams I am in the O.R., a place where even in the horrors of war, meatball surgery, and total and complete exhaustion I am terrified far worse than any shelling we ever had at the 4077th. I am standing over a soldier, a kid barely 18. I look around and I am alone in the room. I look over to the air gauges are working fine and he is under anesthesia safely. I turn to the instrument tray for a scalpel to better expose the wound and all of the instruments are tangled into one. As I try to free them from one another I get a terrible urge for a drink. I think to myself the swamp is just a stone's throw across the camp. But no, I am a surgeon and a damn good one. I don't need a drink that bad. What am I an alcoholic? I've already been down that road once before. As I try and fight against the instruments the kid starts to hemorrhage. Blood begins to ooze from his chest. I tear off my clothes to try and stuff them into the wound to stop the bleeding. When I think I will scream the kid dies. I stand there Dad, for a long time until I know there is no hope for him or me. I walk out of the O.R. and I see Henry Blake sitting on the ground in the compound crying. Then I wake up and try for a half hour at least to figure out where I am. Dad if you can see your way clear put in a good word with the powers to be and see if they can help me with this latest installment of insanity. Kiss mom for me.

Love your tired, tired son,

Hawkeye