Paul’s in-theater training did not progress smoothly. On 5 October, he suffered a severe attack of appendicitis while flying. He managed to land safely, and they rushed him to the 181st General Hospital at Malin for surgery. In his diary, he said:
I do feel like a “piker” in here compared to the majority of other patients. My mere appendectomy is as nothing—for here with me are many cases back from China and Assam—shrapnel and bullet cases—eyes out by 20 mm cannon shot from Zeros—lungs punctured, legs broke, horrible wounds—burned cases—and broken backs! Really makes me realize for the first time, the war in all its grim reality has at least me—or I it.
Despite their grievous injuries, the wounded seemed “a cheerful lot” to Paul, who observed, “Typically American, in that they say ‘what the hell’ and make the best of what they have…Most everyone has the purple heart, and from listening to their tales of the horror they experienced—I can readily say they well deserved it.”
While in the hospital, he wrote a letter to Joyce, telling her:
Everything worthwhile takes time Bunny Darling—especially a total war. You may contest that statement and say that a war is not worthwhile but deep down inside of you—you know this one is. Worth everything we’ve got. And the more we put into it—the sooner we get our heart into it—the sooner I and thousands like me will return. So now you know what I dream about living here in this hospital.
He finally got out of the hospital on 26 October, after seeing his friends fly off to forward combat positions. Paul’s recovery kept him grounded in India for another month. “I sure hate to see them pull out without me—but I am absolutely helpless to do anything about it,” he wrote in his diary.
Paul liked to clip photos and news items from newspapers and magazines and glue them into his diary. He stuck this one among his diary entries while in the hospital.
Paul’s clipped photo of P-40s in the N. African desert
(original source unknown)
