The most recommended books about hospitals

I read this book in one sitting, stopping only to answer a couple of phone calls and buy some lunch, while at the hospital waiting for my sister-in-law to come out of surgery.

It had been on my shelf for almost 12 months, a freebie from a writing conference, and I only grabbed it for the day because it fit easily into my bag. From the top of page three I was caught up in fifteen-year-old Tillie’s need to understand her inexplicable sadness and her quest find out what happiness is.

It’s an uplifting, warmhearted family relationships story filled with memorable, relatable characters and written with insight and sensitivity. Highly recommended for adults as well as young adult readers.  

Daniel Mason’s The Winter Soldier is superb. I love its wonderfully drawn characters and visual details, its sense of medical authenticity, its depiction of the convolutions of history—in this case, the Austro-Hungarian Empire’s side of things in WWI. It’s all held within a heart-wrenching narrative about a Viennese medical student assigned to a distant field hospital in the Carpathian Mountains. What he finds is a village church turned into a makeshift hospital with a single nurse in charge. The author, a physician, creates so well the terror of a medical student facing, for the first time, what his textbooks couldn’t convey—the awful effects of war upon the human body and mind. Nor could those textbooks show what love and atonement feel like. The Winter Soldier does.  

Beyond the usual five stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—a sixth stage of heavy responsibility may develop when someone dies in the service of a great cause. As the Battle of Franklin played out in the yard of her Carnton Plantation, Carrie MccGavock felt that sense of obligation to the 9000 soldiers who died in that battle. It is in that sense that Carrie called herself the “Widow of the South.” She disinterred over 1000 anonymous bodies, identified them, reburied them in her own cemetery, and sought to give their families a sense of closure. This moving novel, based on a true story, reminds us that the Civil War was more than maps and casualty statistics. It is a story of heartbreak and devotion.

This journal gives us a look into the experiences of Confederate nurse, Kate Cumming. She was educated and intelligent, but blind to the wrongs of slavery in her passion for the Southern cause. Her experience as a Civil War nurse offers a contrast to those of Union nurses.

Two Black teenagers in New York are thrown back in time to the Civil War era. Suddenly the similarities and differences of what it means to be Black in America are also thrown into relief, past and present both converging and clashing. Genna is our first-person narrator, and through her, we live fully in two worlds—one in which she struggles to go to college and leave behind the dangers of her Brooklyn neighborhood and one in which she struggles to stay alive in a volatile society which offers little support to the poor and vulnerable of any race.

I first read this book about twenty years ago and still find it heartbreaking to think it was written by someone who experienced first-hand the horror of the First World War and with it so much pain and grief brought about not only from her experiences as a V.A.D. but also from her own personal losses.

It is a book that helped me understand as much as anything possibly could living in the twenty-first century, how much of a struggle it must have been for ordinary people to keep going and survive that dark time in history.

Faces in the Water was first published in 1961, though it received far less attention and acclaim. The “story,” such as it is, is narrated by Istina Mavet, a shy, introverted young woman (again, based closely on the author) who, like the author, spends ten years in a New Zealand psychiatric hospital. Faces in the Water recounts long, dull years of cruelty and suffering. But don’t let this put you off—Frame’s style is marvelously poetic. The narrative is abstract in places and was at first difficult for me to get into, but once I began to see things from Istina’s perspective, the story came to life, and I found it brutally beautiful. 

I am not recommending a particular volume or compilation. In general I love the work of Harvey Pekar.  He has brought me closer to Documentary Comics than any other author. He worked with reflections and anecdotes and was one of those authors that from the writing was able to defy the common places in comics making. Yes, he was a scriptwriter, but he pulled out so many amazing comics from the graphic formula and made them work. I remember seeing gigantic balloons with blocks of text. Pages and pages of close-ups, and they weren’t boring.  A comic about him reflecting on his masculinity by unclogging the toilet. Amazing.

So great was the demand for hospital beds for the wounded, that medical facilities were a feature of most of Britain's cities, part of daily civilian life. At the heart of London's Covent Garden was the Endell Street Hospital, run entirely by women whose medical expertise and skill was matched by their direct experience of the war itself. But their achievements and experience were wasted after the war by a medical profession that reverted all too easily to pre-war prejudice and discrimination. Much was lost, especially to their patients whose recovery prospects were damaged, never to be restored.

I’m a physician, so it’s probably not surprising that a book by a physician about an alien physician might hit my list of meaningful space operas. What is surprising is Star Surgeon’s double-twist—the patients aren’t who we think they are, and the secret to getting Earth into the prestigious Galactic Confederation isn’t what we think it is—both of which actually had huge real-world thematic implications. On face level, it’s a medical thriller: the protag’s the first alien to graduate from human medical school, and he’s got to prove himself by curing an epidemic on a remote planet without arousing the ire of his human teachers. (I felt like this in residency.) But on a metaphysical level, Star Surgeon is a quiet manifesto dissecting the origins of racism—and the very biology of sentience itself. 

I have a weakness for books written in the 1930s, and this one is intense and riveting, as well as historically educational.

It shows the contrast between the mental hospitals of the past and those of today through the eyes of the notorious William Seabrook, a real-life “Indiana Jones” and bestselling author of his time.

Seabrook commits himself to a posh mental asylum for alcoholism. After the DTs have passed, his impressions of his fellow inmates and his personal journey toward sobriety are chronicled.

Gut-wrenching, funny, smart, and honest - it’s a great read! 

This is a recent reissue of a book first published in 1974 and long out of print. Bette Howland gives us a vivid and honest account of her time in Ward 3 of a Chicago psychiatric hospital after a serious suicide attempt in her late twenties. I was moved by the moments of communion, camaraderie and even comedy the narrator shares with her fellow patients. Having said that, Ward 3 is a terrible place. The “treatments” are also punishments. The narrator confronts the ward’s alienation with clear, unsentimental detachment. I was absorbed by her struggle to retain an element of dignity in the face of the hospital’s fatally indifferent bureaucracy. 

Nellie Bly was one of the great muckraking reporters in American history. She pretends to be insane and is admitted to the “mad house.” Along the way, she exposes the horrible treatment of those suffering from mental illness, but of her treatment in a boarding home, where spoiled beef was served.

Many at the Women’s Lunatic Asylum on Roosevelt Island suffered no mental illness; they simply didn’t know how to speak English, she wrote. “I left the insane ward with pleasure and regret—pleasure that I was once more able to enjoy the free breath of heaven; regret that I could not have brought with me some of the unfortunate women who lived and suffered with me, and who, I am convinced, are just as sane as I was and am now myself.”

Her reporting led to a grand jury investigation and reforms inside the asylum.

We know Louisa May Alcott primarily as an author and the writer of the great masterpiece, Little Women, but many do not realize she was also a nurse during the Civil War. This book explores how her experiences in Washington D.C. as a nurse impacted her writing as well as her beliefs. Easy to read, captivating account. Highly recommend!

This volume offers a survey of Civil War nurses in both the North and the South. Not only do readers meet individuals like Clara Barton, but readers get an overview of pioneering women in this field, with detailed statistics not found in memoirs.

Studies since the publication of the book have found it to be in error on a few minor points (e.g., the DNA encoding the Shiga-like toxin of E. coli O157:H7 is on a virus infecting the E. coli cells, not on a plasmid), but that doesn’t make the story outdated. The toxin is as nasty as it is portrayed, no matter how the E. coli acquired it, and the blame leveled at the meat-packing industry and the USDA for the contamination that causes the problem is spot on. The only reason the disease isn’t more common is that most fast-food restaurants deliberately overcook their hamburgers.

If you ever need to go to the emergency room, you would want Jay Baruch to be your doctor.

In Tornado of Life, Jay explores medicine as an exercise in storytelling, and across a series of essays, tries to find truth in the stories his patients tell him.

With each patient we encounter, we struggle along with Jay to solve the moral quandaries of medical practice in the 21st century, and share in the heartache faced by the families surviving medical catastrophes.

This is a horror novel about waking up in a hospital with no memory of who you are. What makes it unique is that Ingman started writing as a prisoner. “With nothing but pen, paper, and my own mind and memory of inspiration from my favorite books by Stephen King to my favorite episodes of Twilight Zone,” he says. His incarceration “spanned over 3 prisons and over the course of 5 years 1 month and 5 days,” he says on his Amazon page. I admire his determination and ambition. 

As someone who spent her first 30+ years in a smaller body and the past decade in a fat body, I have experienced the differences in how people are treated in relation to body size and have seen that mirrored in literature. Fat jokes and fatphobia run rampant, and fat characters are portrayed as bullies, loud, or lazy. When main characters, their goals tend to focus on weight loss and food shaming. Enter—quite joyfully—Olivia Dade and her fat heroines. In All the Feels, the main character Lauren is capable, confident, and sexy. This hilarious and steamy rom-com doesn’t focus on Lauren’s size but on her journey. It’s swoon-worthy, heart-warming, and exactly what every person in a fat body needs to remind themselves that size is only a descriptor.

Contains: fat main characters

The death toll of the Civil War was horrendous, the list of the wounded? Endless. Medical schools did not exist; doctor trained their assistants. There were no emergency rooms, no hospitals, no triage, and certainly no female nurses to care for those bleeding male bodies. In many respects, the medical profession was born on Civil War battlefields with the brave women who ventured among the dead and dying to staunch the flow of blood. So, who were the women who emerged from their sheltered lives to care for wounded soldiers in the Northern army? I wrote about one of them—Nellie Chase—but I thought she was an exception. These stories of the women who joined the Northern war effort expanded my knowledge beyond my wildest expectations.