The First Female U.S. Army Surgeon- Dr. Mary Edwards Walker is the sole woman to have been awarded the Medal of Honor
At the beginning of the Civil War, she volunteered for the Union Army as a civilian. The U.S. Army had no female surgeons, and at first she was only allowed to practice as a nurse.
During this period, she served at the First Battle Of Bull Run (Manassas), July 21, 1861, and at the Patent Office Hospital in Washington, She worked as an unpaid field surgeon near the Union front lines, including at the Battle of Fredericksburg and in Chattanooga after the Battle of Chickamauga.
As a suffragette, she was happy to see women serving as soldiers and alerted the press to the case of Frances Hook in Ward 2 of the Chattanooga hospital, a woman who served in the Union forces disguised as a man.
In September 1862, Walker wrote to the War Department requesting employment as a spy, but her proposal was declined.
In September 1863, she was employed as a “Contract Acting Assistant Surgeon (civilian)" becoming the first female surgeon employed by the U.S. Army Surgeon. She was later appointed assistant surgeon of the 52nd Ohio Infantry. During her service, she frequently crossed battle lines and treated civilians.
On April 10, 1864, she was captured by Confederate troops and arrested as a spy, just after she finished helping a Confederate doctor perform an amputation. She was sent to Castle Thunder in Richmond, Virginia, and remained there until August 12, 1864, when she was released as part of a prisoner exchange. While she was imprisoned, she refused to wear the clothes provided because they were more "becoming of her sex”. Walker was exchanged for a Confederate surgeon from Tennessee on August 12, 1864. She went on to serve during the Battle of Atlanta and later as supervisor of a female prison in Kentuck, and as the head of an orphanage in Tennessee.
Every wondered what Warriors would be like with more career paths besides medicine cat and warrior? Here’s a short list of different jobs that could belong in the series and serve to make clans more diverse and interesting.
These are just a few of my personal head-canons for the ways different flights affect magic!! Of course there’s waaaaay more things than I can write down, and this is by no means a comprehensive list, so feel free to add your own!!
Necromancy: Everyone can learn how to raise the dead!!
Spirit Work: Everyone can learn how to talk to the dead!!
Fae: Faeries and other fae folk have no preference for who they teach their secrets too.
Divination: There are so many different types of future seeing, every flight has their own way!! Water dragons tend to learn new techniques easier.
Battle: Non-elemental fight spells, anything from stunning to basic pain. Elements add flair and effects to pain inflicting spells.
Flight Based Magics:
Earth: Terraforming. Earth dragons are able to work with the ground and soil to move and shape it in anyway they want. They can take large pieces of the earth and throw them if wanted. Earth dragons also make fantastic miners and diggers, as they can sense precious stones and metals in the earth. They can also find water wells, oil, or other things concealed in the ground very easily.
November is Native American Heritage Month so many people look for books
featuring Native people during this time of year. For November and all
year round, this list is filled with some excellent books by Native
Urban Tribesedited by Lisa Charleyboy and Mary Beth Leatherdale
Young, urban Natives powerfully show how their culture and values can survive—and enrich—city life.
Much of the popular discourse on Native Americans and Aboriginals
focuses on reservation life. But the majority of Natives in North
America live off the rez. How do they stay rooted to their culture? How
do they connect with their community?
Urban Tribes offers unique insight into this growing and often
misperceived group. Emotionally potent and visually arresting, the
anthology profiles young urban Natives from across North America,
exploring how they connect with Native culture and values in their
contemporary lives. Their stories are as diverse as they are. From a
young Dene woman pursuing a MBA at Stanford to a Pima photographer in
Phoenix to a Mohawk actress in New York, these urban Natives share their
unique perspectives to bridge the divide between their past and their
future, their cultural home, and their adopted cities.
Unflinchingly honest and deeply moving, contributors explore a
wide-range of topics. From the trials and tribulations of dating in the
city to the alienating experience of leaving a remote reserve to attend
high school in the city, from the mainstream success of Electric Pow wow
music to the humiliation of dealing with racist school mascots,
personal perspectives illuminate larger political issues. An innovative
and highly visual design offers a dynamic, reading experience.
Margaritte is a
sharp-tongued, drug-dealing, sixteen-year-old Native American
floundering in a Colorado town crippled by poverty, unemployment, and
drug abuse. She hates the burnout, futureless kids surrounding her and
dreams that she and her unreliable new boyfriend can move far beyond the
bright lights of Denver that float on the horizon before the daily
suffocation of teen pregnancy eats her alive.
Lewis “Shoe” Blake is used to the joys and difficulties of life on
the Tuscarora Indian reservation in 1975: the joking, the Fireball
games, the snow blowing through his roof. What he’s not used to is white
people being nice to him — people like George Haddonfield, whose family
recently moved to town with the Air Force. As the boys connect through
their mutual passion for music, especially the Beatles, Lewis has to lie
more and more to hide the reality of his family’s poverty from George.
He also has to deal with the vicious Evan Reininger, who makes Lewis the
special target of his wrath. But when everyone else is on Evan’s side,
how can he be defeated? And if George finds out the truth about Lewis’s
home — will he still be his friend?
Acclaimed adult author Eric Gansworth makes his YA debut with this
wry and powerful novel about friendship, memory, and the joy of rock ‘n’
A post-Apocalyptic YA novel with a steampunk twist, based on an Apache legend.
Years ago, seventeen-year-old Apache hunter Lozen and her family
lived in a world of haves and have-nots. There were the Ones — people so
augmented with technology and genetic enhancements that they were
barely human — and there was everyone else who served them. Then the
Cloud came, and everything changed. Tech stopped working. The world
plunged back into a new steam age. The Ones’ pets — genetically
engineered monsters — turned on them and are now loose on the world.
Lozen was not one of the lucky ones pre-C, but fate has given her a
unique set of survival skills and magical abilities. She hunts monsters
for the Ones who survived the apocalyptic events of the Cloud, which
ensures the safety of her kidnapped family. But with every monster she
takes down, Lozen’s powers grow, and she connects those powers to an
ancient legend of her people. It soon becomes clear to Lozen that she is
not just a hired gun. As the legendary Killer of Enemies was in the
ancient days of the Apache people, Lozen is meant to be a more than a
hunter. Lozen is meant to be a hero.
A powerful and visually stunning anthology from some of the most groundbreaking Native artists working in North America today.
Truly universal in its themes, “Dreaming In Indian” will shatter
commonly held stereotypes and challenge readers to rethink their own
place in the world. Divided into four sections, ‘Roots, ‘ ‘Battles, ‘
‘Medicines, ‘ and ‘Dreamcatchers, ‘ this book offers readers a unique
insight into a community often misunderstood and misrepresented by the
Emerging and established Native artists, including acclaimed author
Joseph Boyden, renowned visual artist Bunky Echo Hawk, and stand-up
comedian Ryan McMahon, contribute thoughtful and heartfelt pieces on
their experiences growing up Indigenous, expressing them through such
mediums as art, food, the written word, sport, dance, and fashion.
Renowned chef Aaron Bear Robe, for example, explains how he introduces
restaurant customers to his culture by reinventing traditional dishes.
And in a dramatic photo spread, model Ashley Callingbull and
photographer Thosh Collins reappropriate the trend of wearing ‘Native’
Whether addressing the effects of residential schools, calling out
bullies through personal manifestos, or simply citing hopes for the
future, “Dreaming In Indian” refuses to shy away from difficult topics.
Insightful, thought-provoking, and beautifully honest, this book will to
appeal to young adult readers. An innovative and captivating design
enhances each contribution and makes for a truly unique reading
“The hour has come to speak of troubled times. It is time we spoke of
Skullyville.” Thus begins Rose Goode’s story of her growing up in
Indian Territory in pre-statehood Oklahoma. Skullyville, a once-thriving
Choctaw community, was destroyed by land-grabbers, culminating in the
arson on New Year’s Eve, 1896, of New Hope Academy for Girls. Twenty
Choctaw girls died, but Rose escaped. She is blessed by the presence of
her grandmother Pokoni and her grandfather Amafo, both respected elders
who understand the old ways. Soon after the fire, the white sheriff
beats Amafo in front of the town’s people, humiliating him. Instead of
asking the Choctaw community to avenge the beating, her grandfather
decides to follow the path of forgiveness. And so unwinds this tale of
mystery, Indian-style magical realism, and deep wisdom. It’s a world
where backwoods spiritualism and Bible-thumping Christianity mix with
bad guys; a one-legged woman shop-keeper, her oaf of a husband, herbal
potions, and shape-shifting panthers rendering justice. Tim Tingle—a
scholar of his nation’s language, culture, and spirituality—tells Rose’s
story of good and evil with understanding and even laugh-out-loud
Choctaw humor. — Cover images and summaries via Goodreads
❤: who is more affectionate in public? in private?
-It’s no surprise that Phichit is much more comfortable being affectionate in public. Yuuri was brought up more along the lines of affection being more appropriate behind closed doors where one can focus all of their attention on the other in private. That being said, I feel like Yuuri would be super snuggly back at their place with no one to watch
♡: who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly
-I think Yuuri is actually the one who is better at being effortlessly/ unknowingly romantic. When he goes to get himself coffee on the way home, he always grabs Phichit’s favorite order too. He suggests going to festivals or fairs and then realizes part of the way through that it’s a date then immediately presses a kiss to Phichit’s temple. Phichit on the other hand is really good at planning dates or romantic evenings. He maps out the entire day for their one year anniversary then ends with laying on a blanket on the lakefront beach and gazing at the stars
💚: who tends to get sick more often? who is better at taking care of the other?
-I feel like Yuuri is very practical in the sense that he always checks the weather report each day before going out, but on the other hand he likes to push himself until he’s satisfied with whatever personal goal he needs to accomplish. That has led to plenty of long jogs in the rain and snow which in turn leads to a lot of colds. Phichit is good at taking care of Yuuri behind the scenes in these situations. He knows frustrated Yuuri isn’t keen on asking for help, so Phichit goes and makes/ buys soup and leaves blankets out on the couch to warm Yuuri up.
-When Phichit is sick though, Yuuri goes into mildly frantic parent mode and buys like 6 years worth of over the counter medicine to battle a tiny cough. He tends to get nervous and Web MD the symptoms and always comes to the conclusion that they’re probably both dying of a centuries old strain of the plague
The camper was dark when Medic arrived. It had taken him longer than he’d liked to finish patching everyone else up, and the last rays of sunlight glinted off the aluminium siding as the campsite finally came into view. The hour wasn’t terribly late as of yet, but Sniper had always been one to follow the rhythm of nature rather than the hands of a clock.
In his hand was a worn black bag. A relic of his past life, but one that had been rediscovered in the past few months when he’d somehow fallen in with a man who prefered folk remedies to actual science. Bandages and iodine, swabs and sutures, it had seemed like ages ago since he’d used anything so mundane.
There was a key in his pocket that unlocked the door and he stepped inside to the smell of sweat, dirt, and two day old coffee. Clothes were piled on the floor where they had been lazily discarded as their owner crawled his way to bed. In what little light remained, Medic could see the angles of Sniper’s shoulder and hip as the marksman lay curled up on the bunk.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” Sniper grunted his response, his voice muffled by blankets and pillows.
“Is that so?
Sniper shifted in the bunk, and Medic didn’t miss the stiffness in the movement. Of course, if a few aches and pains were the worst things Sniper had brought off the field, it was a good day.
The black bag was set down on the table to be forgotten until morning as Medic readied himself for bed. His clothes were neatly folded and left on the table as he made his way into the small bunk that had become his second home. Sniper scooted forward just a bit to give him a little more space and Medic settled himself behind. He pulled the blankets back over them both and draped an arm over Sniper’s waist before resting his chin over Sniper’s bony shoulder to nuzzle the dark hair that was somehow untouched by grey and always smelled of campfires.
Silence settled over the camper as both men slowly relaxed. Medic let a foot slip between Sniper’s legs, gently rubbing up and down to feel the sinewy muscle before tangling them up together. His hand felt the slight softness around Sniper’s middle, an endearing trait that spoke more to Sniper’s ability to have stayed alive this long than to any lack of fitness on his part. Fingers ghosted over scars both old and new. There was a soft hiss as they strayed across a tender patch, and Medic knew that he’d be tending to the bruising in the morning.
“Sorry, luv. Not gonna be much fun tonight.” Sniper murmured. He rolled over to face Medic, who rolled over onto his back to let Sniper lay his head on his chest. “Ain’t as young as I used to be.”
“Neither of us are, mein liebe.” He looked down into Sniper’s tired eyes and ran his hand through the thick campfire tinged hair. It was true. Neither of them were getting any younger, and respawn only kept so much of age’s advance at bay. More frequently than not, this was their own comfortable routine; enjoying the stillness of night far from prying eyes. And neither of them would trade it for anything.
Medic removed his glasses and set them on a small shelf. Then he returned his hand to Sniper’s back, gently tracing the line of his spine until the soft beating of the heart so close to his slipped into the easy cadence of sleep.
You seem to have a pretty good knowledge of Vikings so can I ask what sort of care hiccup would get after he lost his leg? For a fic.
I’m actually sitting on a couple of asks about Viking medicinal knowledge, but this one’s pretty specific, so…Yeah. I’m going to go ahead and answer it.
Most of this is actually not going to be based on Viking knowledge but on actual medical fact. I’m just going to be using the methods available to them. The risks associated with Hiccup’s losing his leg are the same as they would be anywhere at any time, including today. There is an absurd amount of realism in this.
Actually, it would be wise to retain some of this information, as a lot of this is based in survival skills. So, just in case you’re stranded in the wilderness with no medical assistance beyond a first-aid kit with Neosporin and something pretty serious happens…There is some life-saving advice in here.
Remember when Pokemon X/Y came out and one of the random trainers you could battle was a trans lady and she was like “I used to be a battle king! Modern medicine is amazing” or something like that in the Japanese version
Angel Of The Confederacy- Nurse Sally Louisa Tompkins-
A Name Lost To History- Her Hospital Had The Lowest Mortality Rate Of Any Military Hospital During The Civil War
Humanitarian, nurse, and philanthropist. Many believe that she was also the only woman officially commissioned in the Confederate Army.
She is best-remembered for privately sponsoring a hospital in Richmond, Virginia to treat soldiers wounded in the Civil War. Under her supervision she had the lowest death rate of any hospital Union or Confederate, during the Civil War. Whatever her devotion and work she has been remembered as the “Angel of the Confederacy"
At nearly 28 years old, Sally was among the civilians who responded by opening the home of Judge John Robertson as a hospital In Richmond. . Judge Robertson had taken his family to the countryside for safety and left his home to Sally to use as a hospital for as long as she needed. Sally was not alone in this effort. A number of ladies from the Saint James Episcopal Church volunteered their time and finances to keep the hospital running. These women were collectively known as “The Ladies of Robertson Hospital.”
The Robertson Hospital, as it was known, treated patients continuously throughout the war, discharging its last soldier on 13 June 1865. During its four-year existence, Robertson Hospital treated 1,334 wounded with only seventy-three deaths, the lowest mortality rate of any military hospital during the Civil War.
Since Sally and a number of the other ladies had remained constant at the hospital through the war, they ultimately won the love and respect of their patients. Despite her plainness, Sally faced a number of marriage proposals from former patients out of gratitude for what she had done, all of which she declined. More than 1,300 men fortunate to be sent to Robertson Hospital called her simply "Captain Sally.”
My life is not an apology, but a life. It is for itself and not for a spectacle. I much prefer that it should be of a lower strain, so it be genuine and equal, than that it should be glittering and unsteady. My life should be unique; it should be an alms, a battle, a conquest, a medicine. I know that for myself it makes no difference whether I do or forbear those actions which are reckoned excellent.
It wasn’t rare for the Shepherds to be sick. Even a minor flu or fever would kick in every now and then. Though the diseases weren’t as dire as the deep cuts and wounds that they had received from the enemies, it still became a hindrance during battles. That was why medicines and staffs were stocked constantly. Healers alike were always busy during and after battles, tending to the sick and bruised until they were at the peak of health.
This, unfortunately, wasn’t an exception for the leader of the Shepherds as well.
His body was burning, that Robin had taken note since she sat with him for the past minutes. Pant by pant his mouth exhaled, drawing out hot air that burned just as great as his skin. As the man lay under the thick blankets, Robin only furrowed her brows in worry. Since this morning, she had realized that Chrom hadn’t come out from his tent for breakfast. And when she came to check up on him, the tactician only jumped like a rabbit to see Frederick scrambling out from their leader’s tent and madly screaming for Lissa’s name.