Lt. Kathleen Tiggs
Profile
- Name
- Kathleen Tiggs
- Nickname
- Kate
- Born
- 1910-08-03
- Hometown
- St. Brigid, Oregon
- Occupation
- Army Nurse Corps, 1st Lieutenant, 121st Evac Hospital
Kathleen (a.k.a. Kathy, a.k.a. Kate) Tiggs was born on a rural Oregon farm in 1910. Her mother Donna was a strict, hard working Catholic who heavily influenced Kathleen’s ethics and world view.
She grew up in turbulent times, including World War I and the Spanish Flu. In 1918 she lost her younger sister to diphtheria. Her sister was 5.
She began nursing school just as the Great Depression hit. She barely made enough to get through it, only to find upon her completion in 1932 that there were no jobs. So she joined the Army Nurse Corps. She has served ever since.
In World War II, she served in the North African and European theaters. After the conclusion of the war, she was stationed in Tokyo.
In 1950, at the outbreak of hostilities in Korea, she was transferred to the 121st Evacuation Hospital.
Kathleen goes by ‘Kathy’ to casual friends and colleagues, only ‘Kate’ to close friends and family. And unless you’re her mother, don’t dare call her ‘Katey’.
Notable Quotes:
Silence is a choice. When people go quiet, it's usually because they don't trust what might come out if they speak.
I’ve never seen boots that didn’t belong to the war.
Get some rest. You’re safe here. At least as safe as Seoul ever gets.
You’re not cleared for sarcasm yet.
Just rest some more. Let your mind heal along with your body.
Maybe you ought to think of a better answer.
But I stay. Because most days, someone needs me more than I need to go.
You’re filthy. Go get cleaned up.
The war won’t wait.
You act like we’re all trying to pin something on you. We’re not.
It’s the quiet resistance, right? The way… nobody waves a flag or gives a speech. They just… refuse.
Don’t flatter yourself. They’re shipping you out Tuesday and I’m not letting you leave my hospital looking like a stray.
I don’t think he’s insane. And that’s starting to scare me.
We’re not interrogating him, are we?
They’re done with you. But I’m not.
It’s triage on top of triage, the kind of work that makes the hours vanish and the nights blur.
There’s something about this wave — they aren’t just wounded, they look hollow. Like whatever hit them didn’t just take flesh, it reached inside and cracked something.
I can live with that. I can’t live with doing nothing.
I’d rather be wrong at your side than right behind a desk when they come for you.
I've been patching boys up for two wars. I sew them up, send them out, and they come back in pieces again. Or they don't come back at all.
I need to know that all this blood... that it leads somewhere. That we’re not just… drowning.
We’re almost there. Just a little longer.