Forty Years In The Wilderness Of Pills And Powders Part 12

My doubts were at length removed, and the cause of trouble, as I then supposed and still believe, fully revealed. The disease so putrescent in its tendencies, had originated in animal putrefaction. The circ.u.mstances were as follows:--

The individual with whom the young men who sickened had been residing and laboring, had laid aside, in his chamber, some time before, quite a pile of lambskins, just in the condition in which they were when removed from their natural owners, and had suffered them to lie in that condition until they were actually putrescent and highly offensive. The two young men, owing to the relative position of the chambers they occupied, were particularly exposed to the poisonous effluvia.

I did not forget--I did not then forget--the oft inculcated and frequently received doctrine, that animal impurity is not apt to engender disease. It most certainly had an agency--a prominent one--in the case before us. Perhaps it has such an influence much more frequently than is generally supposed.

One of my patients, in the family which I first mentioned,--a little boy two or three years old,--died almost as soon, after being seized with disease, as his elder brother had done. The rest, though severely sick, and at times given over to die, finally recovered. Some of them were sick, however, many months, and none of them, so far as I now recollect,--with perhaps a single exception,--ever enjoyed as good health afterward as before.

I had in these families six or eight of the most trying cases I ever had in my life; and yet, with the exceptions before named, all recovered.

How much agency my own labors as a medical man had in producing this result, I am at a loss to conjecture. As an attendant or nurse, I have no doubt my services were valuable. And it was because a good nurse is worth more than a physician that I so frequently ran the risk of watching over the sick so closely as considerably to impair my own health.

The neighbors and friends of the two sick families, as I have already intimated, looked on in silent agony during the whole campaign; expecting, first that _their_ families, too, would soon be called to take their turn; and secondly, that I, the commander in chief, should be a sufferer, which of course would be a great public disadvantage. They were almost as much gratified as I, when we all came forth from the fire unscathed.

On the whole, except as regards health, I was a gainer rather than a loser by the affair. I mean, of course, in the way of medical reputation. I was by this time fairly established as a powder and pill distributer, of the _first water_. In other words, I was beginning to be regarded as a good family physician, and to be sought for, not only within the narrow limits of my own native township, some four or five miles square, but also quite beyond these narrow precincts. Occasionally I had patients in three or four adjoining towns, and I was even occasionally called as counsel to other physicians. My ambition was high, perhaps higher than it ought to have been; but it had its checks and even its valleys of humiliation; so that on the whole I retained my sanity and a full measure of public confidence.

And yet, in conclusion, I have to confess that besides exposing my own health, I made many medical blunders. I would not again run the risk to health or reputation which, during this long trial of several months, I certainly ran, for any sum of money which king Croesus or the Rothschilds could command. Nor do I believe an intelligent physician can do it, without being guilty of a moral wrong. Every one has his province; let him carefully ascertain what that is, and confine himself to it. The acting commander in an important military expedition has no right to place himself in the ranks of those who are about to leap a ditch, scale a wall, or charge bayonet. Paul has no right to labor in Athens when he knows perfectly well that he can do more good in Jerusalem, and the voice of G.o.d, by his Providence or otherwise, calls him thither. And "to him that knoweth to do good and doeth it not, to him it is sin."

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

MILK PUNCH FEVER.

A certain young woman who had great general confidence in my skill, after I had stood by her many long hours in one of Nature's sorest trials, was left at length in a fair way to recover, except that she was exceedingly exhausted, and needed the most careful attendance on the part of those around her. She no longer needed any medicine, nothing but to be let alone. In other words, she needed nothing but good nursing and entire freedom from all care and responsibility.

Being obliged at this juncture to leave her for nearly the whole night, I gave the best directions to her princ.i.p.al nurse of which I was capable, as well as the princ.i.p.al reasons on which it was founded. She seemed entirely submissive, and perhaps, in theory, was so. But in my zeal to make them understand that I was acting on common-sense principles, I committed one error, a very common one, indeed, but yet an error. It was that of reasoning with them with a view to make every thing particularly intelligible. One has authority, in these matters, as long as he takes the _att.i.tude_ of authority, but the moment he descends to the general level of his patients, and in true republican style puts himself on a par with them, he begins to lose their confidence as a physician. You may not be sensible of a loss of this sort, nor even the physician. You may even think the reverse were more true. But you deceive yourself. Though your patients may love you better as a friend or even as a father, yet they have lost confidence in you medically, in nearly the same proportion. Strange indeed that it should be so; but so, according to my own observation, it ever has been. That a prophet is "without honor"--and most so in his own country and among his own personal friends--is as true now as it was eighteen hundred years ago.

Had I told Mrs. D.'s attendants to do so or so, and left them without saying a word more, they would probably have done it. But I had condescended to reason with them about the matter; their belief that medical men dealt with the stars, and spoke with a species of supernatural authority, had been shaken; and they were emboldened to reason on the subject, and to hearken to the reasonings as well as to what had but the slightest resemblance thereto in others, during my absence.

Having occasion to use all possible precaution against the supervention of milk fever in my patient, I left particular directions that nothing stimulating should be administered, and a.s.signed several good, substantial reasons. No food was to be given, except a little bread and some plain chicken broth, with no condiment or dressing but a little salt; and this at intervals of about four hours. No drink--not a particle--was to be given, except frequent very small draughts of cold water.

While I was absent Mrs. D.'s mother came into their family, not only to rejoice with them in an accession to their number, but to render them a little aid. She was one of those mothers whose kindness so often defeats their best and purest intentions. She was all eyes, ears, and attention, and _nearly all talk_. The daughter's treatment soon underwent a special scrutiny, and was found "wanting."

"Has the doctor ordered my daughter no milk punch?" she said to the attendants. "Not a drop," they replied. She raised both hands in astonishment. "How, then," she asked, "can the ninny expect she can ever have any nourishment for that _boy_?" The attendants could not inform her. "The doctor," they said, "gave reasons," but they could not fully understand them.

"He did not probably understand them himself," said she. "There are no reasons against it, I am confident. It is only a notion of his. These young doctors are always full of their book wisdom. Why, a little experience is worth a whole world full of theories. Now _I_ know--and so does every other person who has nursed children--that a little milk punch, in these cases, is necessary. Not a great deal, it is true; but a little, just enough to give the system strength. Nature is weak in these cases. I wish some of these young doctors themselves were obliged to endure the trials we have to endure, and we should see whether they could get along with no drink but cold water!"

The rebellion soon reached the daughter's ears, who, till now, had confided in the "doctor's" prescription, and was doing well. She was soon as uneasy with things as they were, as her mother and the nurse and the neighbors. The husband was not of the clique; but then he was one of those good-natured men who leave every thing to their wives; and though they may not fully approve of every thing that is attempted, will yet do and refrain from doing many things for the sake of peace. He interposed no veto on the present occasion.

The mother, in short, soon reigned "sole monarch," and proceeded to issue from her imperial throne, the sage decree that a little milk punch must be made. Judith, the nurse, was to have it prepared so and so, and she would herself administer it. Only just so many spoonfuls of rum must be added to the tumbler of milk and water, and just so much sugar. It must be weak, the decree said.

Mrs. D. drank freely of the punch, because her mother told her that it would do her good. True, she asked after the first swallow, "what will the doctor say to this?" but her mother bade her be quiet, she would see to all that. "It is made very weak," said the mother, "on purpose for you; drink of it a little and often. It will be both food and drink to you. It will be good for the babe, dear child! how can these doctors wish to starve folks? I have no notion of starving to death, or having my children or grandchildren starved."

It was now past midnight, and Mrs. D. had as yet slept but very little.

Had she simply followed out my directions she might have slept an hour or two before midnight, and several hours in the aggregate afterward.

This, though done by stealth and in short naps, would have given her more real rest and strength than a whole gallon of milk punch, and instead of kindling fever, would have carried off all tendencies of the kind.

On my arrival, early the next morning, I found a good deal of headache, such as cold water and plain food and rest seldom, if ever, create. My fears were at once excited, and they were greatly strengthened when I saw her mother. But the blow had been struck, and could not be recalled.

Mrs. D., in short, was already in the beginning stage of a fever which came within a hair's breadth of destroying her.

It is indeed true that she finally recovered. No thanks, however, were due to the mother's over-kindness, nor to my own over-communicativeness.

Had I done my duty, had I kept my own counsel, n.o.body, not even the mother herself, as I now verily believe, would have ventured to disobey my positive injunctions. And had this mother done, as she would have been done by in similar circ.u.mstances, all would probably have been well still. We should have saved a little reputation, and a good deal of health.

I learned, I repeat, from this unexpected adventure, that it was wisdom to keep my own secrets. I do not say that I have always acted up to the dignity of this better knowledge, but I am justified in saying that I have sometimes profited from an acquaintance with human nature that cost me dear. It is no trifle to see an individual suffer from painful disease a couple of weeks, and jeopard the life of a child during the whole time, when a little knowledge how to refrain from speaking _ten words_ of a particular kind and cast, would have prevented every evil.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

MY FIRST CASE IN SURGERY.

My first surgical case of any magnitude, was that of a wounded foot.

For, though I had been required to bleed patients many times,--and bleeding is properly a surgical operation,--yet it had become so common in those days, and was performed with so little science or skill, that it was seldom recognized as belonging to the department of surgery.

One of my neighbors had struck his axe into the upper part of his foot, and cut it nearly through. Happening to be at home when the accident occurred, which was in my own immediate neighborhood, I was soon on the spot, and ready to afford a.s.sistance; and, as good luck would have it, the man was not at all weakened by loss of blood, at my arrival.

My lesson from an old surgeon[D] was not yet forgotten. I still knew, as well as any one could have told me, that to put together the divided edges of the wound and keep them there, was half the cure. But how was this to be done? Slips of adhesion plaster would bring the divided edges of the wounded surface into their place, but would the deeper-seated and more tendinous parts unite while left without touching each other? Or should a few st.i.tches be taken?

The wound was lengthwise of the foot, and no tendons were divided. I made up my mind to dress it without any sewing, and acted accordingly.

The bleeding soon ceased. When all was secured, the patient inquired what he should put on it, to cure it. Had he not raised the question, I might, perhaps, have followed out my own ultra tendencies, and left it without any application at all; but as it was, I concluded to order something on which he might fasten his faith,--something which, though it should do no good, would do no harm.

"Nothing is better for a fresh wound," I said, "than the 'Balsam of Life.' Just send Thomas over to Mr. Ludlow's, and get a couple of ounces of his 'Balsam of Life.'" It was soon brought, and the surface of the wound and its bandages moistened with it. "Now," said I, "keep your foot as still as you can till I see you again. I will be in again before I go to bed."

I called again at nine o'clock in the evening. All appeared well, only the patient had some doubts whether the Balsam of Life was just the right thing. Several of the neighbors had been in, as he said, and, though they admitted that the Balsam might be very good, they knew, or thought they knew, of something better. However, I succeeded in quieting most of his rising fears for the present, by a.s.suring him that nothing in the wide world was equal, for its healing virtues, to the "Balsam."

My voice here was law, for _I gave no reasons_!

On making inquiry, afterward, with a view chiefly to gratify curiosity,[E] I found that the first individual who came in after I had left the house, a.s.sured them there was nothing so good for a fresh wound as a peach leaf. The next, however, insisted that the best way was to bind up the part in mola.s.ses. The third said the best way was to take just three st.i.tches to the wound, and bind it up in the blood. The fourth said the most sovereign thing in the world, for a fresh cut, was tobacco juice!

Now I could have told these various representatives of as many various public opinions, that all these things and many more which might have been named, are, in a certain sense, good, since any mere flesh wound, in the ordinary circ.u.mstances of ordinary life, will heal in a reasonable time, in spite of them. I could have told them, still further, that the Balsam of Life was probably little, if any, better than the other things proposed, any farther than as it secured more faith and confidence, and prevented the application of something which was worse. I could have a.s.sured them that all the external applications in the world are of no possible service, except to defend from cold air, and prevent external injuries, or reduce inflammation; and that the last-mentioned symptom, should it occur, would be best relieved by cold water. But what good would it have done? Just none at all, according to my own experience. Positive a.s.surance--mere dogmatism--was much better.

The wound did well as it was, though it might have done much better, could the patient's faith have been just as firmly fixed on nothing at all but Nature, as it was on _medicaments_. However, the tincture I proposed, which somebody had dignified with the name of Balsam of life, had done very little harm, if any, to the parts to which it had been applied, while it had done a great deal of good to the patient's mind, and the minds of his friends. It was nothing, I believe, but a compound tincture of benzoin. I have used it a great number of times, and with the same wonderful results. The patient always gets well, either on account of it, or in spite of it! Does it make much practical difference which?

FOOTNOTES:

[D] See Chap. VIII.

[E] Even such inquiries as these are usually of doubtful tendency. They weaken public confidence. There must be but one opinion of any value to the physician or his patients, and that must be _his own_!

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

EMILIA AND THE LOVE CURE.