It seemed a lifetime ago.
Apparitions: The next morning, some three hundred pathetic,
skeletonized human beings, Americans, lined up in front of Group II
Dispensary, all hoping for miracles. Several of the patients
recognized me from Manila, where I had treated them at Sternberg Army
Hospital, or the dispensaries of the 57th Infantry Regiment, or the
14th Engineer Regiment at Fort McKinley.
With their shaven heads and their considerable weight losses, I had
great difficulty in recognizing them. These were the pitiful survivors
from Bataan and Corregidor, the "Battling Bastards of
Bataan," and the remnants of the "Death March." One by one I listened
to their stories and tried to help them.
Since there was very little medicine to give out, most of the therapy
had to be improvised. Those with dysentery were told to take a
teaspoon of charcoal from the mess hall stoves after each meal, and to
sleep on the right side so not to irritate the sigmoid colon. They
were to wash their hands after each trip to the latrine in spite of
water shortages.
Malaria patients were given one quinine tablet after each chill hoping
to alleviate symptoms.
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