This is to certify that I have examined Mrs. Erna L. K. Sawyer, age 25;
twenty-five years, six months, four days. The “Mrs.” says you are married. Months ago, you wrote to Martin, just after graduation, when you could finally be addressed as Mrs. Sawyer without fear of being tossed out of nurses’ training. You were visiting
his family and told him of his brother’s teasing: “Don was telling me at noon I didn’t look like a married woman and the girls at home keep telling me that too. You’d better come home and do something about that Martin.”
Height 5' 2"
At five foot two, with eyes of blue, you are the tallest and second-oldest of five dark-haired sisters. This letter of reference helps you get a job in Regina. You move back home to live in your parents’ house. You share a bed with your younger sister, Lydia. Hilda, the eldest, is also married, already the mother of two. You babysit your nephews and write to Martin about wanting children someday. Your youngest sister, Frieda, soon follows your polished, white-shod footsteps into nursing.
Weight 120
One hundred and twenty pounds of determination: determined to marry LAC Martin C. Sawyer, Leading Aircraftman in the Royal Canadian Air Force; determined to get your RN; determined to work and save for the future you know is coming, even if you don’t know when or where or how it will unfold. You are buying silverware, household linens, and Victory Bonds, slowly filling the hope chest that you had no chance to open when you married on such short notice in September 1942.
Blood Pressure 102/60
Nursing must agree with you. Your BP has weathered the shift work, but you speak of fatigue in your letters, and sleeping late into the day after a night on the ward. Decades from now, you will look back and recognize the symptoms of myasthenia gravis, the autoimmune disease diagnosed in your forties. More decades from now, your blood pressure will soar and plummet, wax and wane, clandestine veins and arteries causing you and me all kinds of grief.
— Laura Wershler’s creative nonfiction is anthologized in You Look Good for Your Age, Wonder Shift, and Musings on Perimenopause and Menopause, which she also co-edited. “To Whom It May Concern” distills key elements of a completed memoir about Erna and Laura’s excellent (and harrowing) adventure into deep old age.
