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#1602: Willa Cather to Elizabeth Shepley Sergeant, December 18, 1942

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⬩W⬩S⬩C⬩ My dear Elsie1:

Yes, it has been a long while that I have been a missing article. “Whom I would rather challenge for unkindness than pity for mischance.”3 That is about the situation,—except that I don’t want any pity and am at last doing very well, thank you.

In July Dr. Whipple4 took out my gall bladder and appendix, and the weeks at the Presbyterian Hospital were not so bad. I enjoyed getting away from all the perplexities of the world for a while. But when I was sent home5 to “recuperate”— — (perhaps you remember something about the horrors of this last August and September in New York2!) Such heat and perpetual dampness were new experiences to me. Of course, after a gall bladder operation, even under the best circumstances, people hate every kind of food for a long while. I went into the hospital weighing one hundred and twenty-eight and came out weighing one hundred and ten, but I soon dropped a few pounds lower. I think I kept losing weight in the same way that they reduce jockeys in England6 - I just sweated it out. In October, Miss Lewis7 and I went up to Williamstown, Massachusetts8, for a month. Lovely college town, but frightfully damp and after the first week it rained almost every day; gorgeous sky effects but no sun, and no chance to begin to exercise a bit.

Just now things are going very well. I rather enjoy food and have come up to one hundred and fifteen pounds, which is encouraging. However, I haven’t a single dress (except some knitted suits that I got to wear in the country) that isn’t miles too big for me. All my shoes are too big. My hats come down over my ears. As yet I simply haven’t moral and physical strength to stand and have my house dresses and evening dresses made over on my person. And I certainly ⬩W⬩S⬩C⬩ don’t feel any urge to go shopping, so I am living a most quiet and retired life. I shall continue to do so for some time to come, as it is really the only way to get one’s strength back.

I have read your letter about the blacksmith shop many times and I think it’s all very exciting,- and I think you are very courageous to undertake such an experiment. During these last bitterly cold days, I have been wondering how you are coming on and whether things are going well with you. I suppose that is why I am writing to you tonight. You have been on my mind, so to speak.

I haven’t read anything very interesting or done anything very interesting for a long time and I think, on the whole, that is the best medicine. Our excellent maid, Mrs. Rabouin9, has been quite ill since we went to Williamstown in October, so there is seldom anyone here to answer the telephone. This state of cutoffness has its disadvantages, but I think it is very good for me, and will help me to put on a few more pounds.

When I got back from Williamstown I found three pounds of letters—personal letters—awaiting me. Cruel surprise! The hospital had put me through as “Miss Lewis”, only three members of my family knew about my operation, but every one I ever knew and liked up and wrote to me, Friends in India10 and Australia11, even, not knowing at all that I was under the weather. At first it made me nervous, but I soon got used to the feeling of being behind in everything everything. I dictated a few letters a week, and let it go at that.

With love and Christmas Wishes Willa S. C.