December 31, 1943

Dearest Mom,

I was overcome by a veritable deluge of letters today. Zechmeister's books came today, too. I enjoyed them very much.

I made a mistake by telling you I was sick. It was very foolish of me. Especially at Christmas time. I'm still in the hospital, but I haven't had any fever for over a week. The Red Cross is certainly magnificent. The women make life bearable by bringing books around to the wards. They furnished presents for everyone in the hospital. Christmas was really quite enjoyable even though I didn't go to see Mrs. Sturdivant. She sent me a very nice package of sugared pecans and dates with nuts in them.

I can't see how you can run the house and work too. I'm worried about your overworking yourself.

I'll tell the doctor about my susceptibility to Brights Disease in the morning. I am slightly worries about my inability to get rid of this cold, but I have noticed no symptoms of any kidney trouble. Perhaps it will get me out of the army (an idle dream, I'm afraid).

I take a good shower every night when I'm in barracks, Not so often in the hospital. My face is not much worse, if any, than it was in Pasadena. Surprisingly I haven't gained any weight to speak of. Oh for my idle college days when I weighed 150 pounds! That's a good index of the amount of work I did. In the army I'm so tired that I sleep like a log from 9 to 5:30. In the hospital, of course, I sleep during the day, too, so my sleep isn't so deep.

You mustn't worry about me, Mom.

Your loving son,

Linus

P.S. I've been horribly lax about writing.