Forty Years In The Wilderness Of Pills And Powders Part 20

Mr. W. was a distinguished minister of the gospel, and teacher of females. He could not at this time have been much less than seventy years of age. He was originally a man of iron const.i.tution and of great mental activity.

Of late it had been observed by some of the members of his family, that his mind had seasons of great inactivity, and it was even suspected he had, either in his sleep or at some other time, suffered from a slight attack of paralysis. His face seemed a little distorted, and one of the angles of his mouth a little depressed. There appeared to be a slight change even of his speech. It was recollected, too, that he inherited a tendency of this kind.

Along with other difficulties was a lame knee. This he called rheumatism; but was it so? People are very fond of having a name for every thing; and yet names very often mislead. Prof. Ives, of the Medical College in Connecticut, was wont to say to his students, "Diseases, young gentlemen, are not creatures to whom we can give particular names, or a.s.sign particular marks of distinction. They are merely _modes of action_." My friend's over solicitude for a name to his complaint was therefore no new thing.

I explained the matter as well as I could, very cautiously. I told him it was of little consequence about the name of his disease, provided we could ascertain the cause and remove it. "However," I said, "we will conclude to call it rheumatism." For though possessed of a good natural const.i.tution, and, in general, of comparatively temperate habits, he had nevertheless set at defiance some of nature's laws, and was suffering under a just penalty.

One member of his family, a favorite son, was suspicious of coffee. He himself had abandoned it long before, and had thus placed himself in a position to observe its effects on others. His father used it very strong, he said; and had used it in this way for a long time. He even ventured, at length, to express his fears to his father.

"Nonsense, my son," said the father; "do you think coffee is powerful enough to give a man a lame knee? Why, the whole world--I mean the whole civilized world--use it; and do they all have stiff knees?"

"Perhaps not," said the son; "but almost every coffee-drinker has, sooner or later, some ailment about him, that may very possibly have its origin in this source. Our troubles, as you yourself are accustomed to say, do not spring out of the ground. Coffee, as the best authorities tell us, is a slow poison; and if it is so, its effects must, at some time, be manifested."

"Ay, a very slow poison this coffee must be, my son," said the half-indignant father; "for I have used it pretty freely forty years, and am not dead yet. But to be serious for a moment, Henry, do you really believe that such a small transgression as this, even if it could be proved to be a transgression at all, would be the cause of so much suffering?"

"You admit, then, that your troubles may possibly be the result of transgression, and that they did not spring out of the ground."

"Oh yes, I suppose it must be so; but there is such a strange disproportion between the transgression and the penalty, in the case you mention, that I cannot for one moment believe any thing about it. Why, what rational man in the world will believe that a little coffee, once a day, will entail upon a person severe rheumatism?"

"To what larger transgression, my dear father, will you be more ready to refer it? You do not use tobacco, or rum, or opium; and I am happy in being able to say that you never did. You are no tea-drinker. You are no worshipper of the apothecary's shop. You have not, so far as I know, strained your knee, by over exertion, either in labor or amus.e.m.e.nt Yet, here you are a sufferer; and you have suffered for months. Now, how do you account for it?"

"There is no possibility of accounting for it, my son, and why should we talk about it? If any thing can be done to cure it, I am sure I shall be glad; but though I admit that the complaint may have had a cause--and indeed _must_ have had--I do not think we shall ever be able to trace it out."

The son still adhered to the opinion that the coffee was the cause of the father's sufferings; and there was reason for believing that the father was more than half convinced of it himself; only that he was too proud to confess it. He concluded by asking his father if he would like to consult me on the subject--to which he cheerfully consented.

On a careful investigation of the case, I came to a full conclusion that the son was right in his conjectures; that the coffee was the princ.i.p.al source of his troubles; and that troubles still more serious might befall him unless he abandoned it; and accordingly I told him so.

It was a severe trial. He was, in truth, a most inveterate coffee-drinker; and the greater his slavery to it had become, the greater his reluctance to believe it produced, on him, any injurious effects. He consented, at length, to leave off its use for two months, and see if it made any difference with him. Being, however, about half a convert to hydropathy, as was also his son, it was concluded, with my permission, to apply the cold _douche_ every day to his knee, by way of an adjunct to the abstinence plan. No change was made in his diet; as, in fact, very little was needed after the coffee had been removed. "But one thing is needful," at the same meal, had long been his motto; and he was never excessive in the use of even that.

The coffee was laid aside, and resolution was put to the test. He suffered in his feelings for want of his accustomed stimulus during the first month; but during the second, very little. In about five weeks after I saw and had prescribed for him, I met him one day, by accident, and inquired about his lameness. "Very much better," said he, smiling; "but no thanks to you for it. It is the _douche_ which is curing me." I replied that I was not very solicitous to know the cause, provided he was cured.

On a more particular inquiry I found that his lameness had nearly disappeared already; and what is more remarkable still, it never returned. As long as he lived he could walk up and down stairs nearly as well as I. He continued to be a water-drinker about ten years, when he died, as he had lived, rejoicing in his emanc.i.p.ation from slavery to coffee. He believed, most fully, in its evil effects and tendencies, and did not hesitate, for many years before he died, to acknowledge that belief. Neither his son nor myself had firmer faith in the connection of law with penalty, in these matters, that he. And his only regret, in this particular, seemed to be that he had suffered himself to remain, almost all his lifetime, in what he now regarded as utter ignorance. And yet, compared with most men of his day, he was quite enlightened.

The case of Mr. W. was a pretty apt ill.u.s.tration of the truth of what I regard as the great or cardinal doctrine of temperance, faintly announced in Chapters XVIII., XXI., XXVIII, and elsewhere, viz., that, as a general rule, much more mischief is done to society at large by the frequent or at least habitual use of small quant.i.ties of poison, than by an equal aggregate quant.i.ty in much larger doses. I mean just this: The poisonous effects of Mr. W.'s coffee, though the amount daily taken was trifling, produced a greater aggregate of mischief, in the end, than if the same amount of poison had been applied in a very short time. A pint of rum drank in a single day will do much less mischief to the human const.i.tution, than if divided into twenty _small_ doses and two of them are taken every day for ten days. In the first case the effect will be severe, but temporary; in the second, it will seem to be trifling, but there will be an acc.u.mulation of ill effects, a heaping up, as it were, of combustible matter in the system, till by and by when an igniting spark comes to be applied to the pile, lo! we have an explosion.

Some of the hydropathists who knew the facts concerning Mr. W.,--for the case did not occur in a corner,--tried to make it appear, perhaps in all honesty, that he was cured by the cold _douche_. Now I have no disposition to deny, wholly, its good effects. I have given you the facts just as they were. Yet I have not a doubt that had he returned to his coffee, the same troubles or others of equal magnitude would have fallen to his lot again, despite the influences of the _douche_. In truth, I know of no sensible hydropathist who, in such a case, would rely upon the _douche_ alone; which is to concede, practically, all that I desire to claim.

CHAPTER LIV.

THE OPIUM PILL BOX.

The statements of the following chapter will include a confession of one of the princ.i.p.al faults of my life,--a fault, moreover, which, as a physician, I ought to have guarded against with the most a.s.siduous and unwearied care. For no man more than the medical man, is bound to let his light shine--especially in the matter of general temperance, in such a manner that others may be benefited by it.

When, in the beginning of my medical career, I attempted to establish a temperance society, though I was exceedingly free from the charge of using distilled liquors, according to the tenor and spirit of the pledge, yet exposed, as I was, to colds, and delicate in const.i.tution, and above all, particularly liable, in the daily routine of business, to temptation, I was yet one of those who lay aside one stimulus and retain or resort to another. I did not, indeed, use my subst.i.tute with much freedom, at first. The example daily before me, which was alluded to in Chapter LII, was sufficient, one would think, to deter me from excess; and so it proved. All I did for some time, whenever I had been peculiarly exposed and feared I had taken cold, was to go and swallow a small pill--say about a grain--of opium.

But as usually happens in such cases, though the pill seemed to remove all tendency to cold, or in other words to cure me for the time, the necessity for recurring to it became more and more frequent and imperious, till I was, at length, a confirmed opium taker. And yet--strange to say it--all the while I regarded myself as a rigid temperance man; nay, I was a violent opposer of the use even of opium as a daily stimulus, in the case of everybody but myself. My apology was--and here was the ground of self-deception--that I only used it as a medicine, or rather as a medical means of prevention.

It is, however, quite obvious to my own apprehension now, that a substance is hardly ent.i.tled to the name of medicine, in any ordinary sense of the term, which is used nearly or quite every day. Yet to this stage of opium taking I soon arrived. Nay, I went even much farther than this, and was, at length, pretty well established in the wretched habit of using this poisonous drug three times a day.

In the summer of 1830, while under the full habitual influence of opium, I had a slight attack of dysentery. It even went so far as to derange all my habits, and to break in, among the rest, upon my opium taking.

Opium or laudanum was, indeed, included in the prescription of my physician,--for I did not wholly rely on my own judgment in the case,--but as a habitual daily stimulus, at certain fixed hours, it was, of course, omitted. As I began to recover, however, my old desire for the opium pill began to recur, at the accustomed former hours, and with all its wonted imperiousness.

In a moment of reflection, reason resumed her throne, and the inquiry came up, whether I should ever again wear the chain which had been temporarily loosened. After a short debate, it was decided in the negative. But a second question soon came up, whether I could keep my resolution. This was a matter of serious inquiry, and it caused a somewhat lengthy mental discussion.

During the discussion a new thought struck me. It was a child's thought, perhaps; and yet it was interesting, and not to be despised for its simplicity and childishness. It was that I would take my opium, what I had in the house, and after carefully enclosing it in my pill box, would make use of the box as a nucleus for the twine I was daily using. "When I am inclined to break my resolution," thought I, "nothing shall be done till I have unwound the ball of twine. I shall thus gain a little time for reflection; and perhaps before I come to the opium, I may permit reason to return and to mount the throne. The trial shall, at all events, be made."

My resolution was carried into effect, and steadily adhered to. The opium was fairly entombed in the twine, where, for aught I know, it still remains. Most certainly I never saw it more; nor have I ever tasted any of the opium or laudanum family, from that day to the present, whether in sickness or in health.

CHAPTER LV.

BLEEDING AT THE LUNGS.

Having occasion to go to the metropolis, one day, I took the most expeditious public conveyance which the times and the season afforded.

It was January, 1832. Railroad cars were not so much in vogue that I could step into one of them, and, unless in case of accident, be there in four or five hours, as I now could. It required something like twenty-four hours to perform the journey I proposed, especially in the winter.

We started at three o'clock in the morning. It had recently snowed, the snow was deep, and the path was not well broken. Of course it was not daylight when we set out, and as it was cloudy, it proved, as is not unfrequent in such cases, to be the darkest time in the whole twenty-four hours. However, we did as well as we could--driver, horses, pa.s.sengers, and all.

Our company consisted of seven males and two females. The coach was small, and we filled it to the brim. The weather was by no means very cold for the season; at least, it was not extreme. There was a sound of rain,--the January thaw, perhaps, as we are wont to call it,--but as yet, fortunately for us, the storm had not begun.

We had proceeded about ten miles, and the day had not yet dawned, when, in pa.s.sing around the point of a hill and winding our way among the deep drifts, our driver and his charge missed the path, and we were precipitated down a steep bank. The horses stopped immediately. Every effort was made to rescue us from the stage-coach, which was lying on its side, deeply embedded in the snow. I was so situated at the first moment after the overturn, that most of the affrighted pa.s.sengers made use of me as a stepping-stone in their endeavors to reach the door above, which was either opened or broken. At last we were all fairly outside of the coach; no one appeared to be seriously injured.

As we were at a considerable distance from any dwelling-house, and as the stage-coach was somewhat broken, and the harnesses torn, it required a full hour to put things to rights, so as to enable us to proceed.

Meanwhile, though the weather was not very cold, it was quite chilly.

Some of the pa.s.sengers stood still or sat still; others walked about.

The day had broken when we renewed our journey.

The sleighing here was better than at the place where we started. At the next stage-office we exchanged our coach for a huge sleigh, which was not only more commodious than the coach, but more easily drawn over the ground, especially for a short time.

About noon it began to rain. Soon the travelling became worse again, and our progress was slow and tedious. To me, the tediousness of the journey was increased by a lame shoulder--the effect either of the overturn, or of being used as a stair when the pa.s.sengers made their sudden exit, or of both. No bones were broken, nor joints dislocated; though there were several considerable bruises.

Our other troubles were not yet over. In the midst of a violent rain, and at a considerable distance from any public house, our sleigh broke down, and we were obliged to send for a wagon. In making the exchange, moreover, we were more or less exposed to the storm. I for one became considerably wet, and did not get perfectly dry till we reached the metropolis.

We arrived at evening at a large thoroughfare, forty miles or more from our point of destination, when, after procuring a comfortable supper and a good sleigh, with a new relay of horses, we set out to perform the remainder of our journey. This was fortunate and very expeditious. We reached our place of destination just before midnight, having travelled the last forty-two miles in little more than four hours. This was almost equal to railroad speed; but it was good sleighing, and we had with us, in the sleigh, the United States mail, which imposed on the driver a necessity of being as expeditious as the nature of the case would admit.

For even then, we had been twenty-one hours in making our pa.s.sage.

I soon discovered that I had taken a severe cold during the journey; nor do I believe my opium itself would have saved me. My only medicine was a warm bed, into which I threw myself as soon as possible. In the morning I repaired as early as I could to a boarding-house, in which a friend to whom I had previously written, had made ready a place for me.

I was at first quite ill; but in the hope that a few days of rest would restore me, I was not particularly anxious about myself, though some of my friends were so. Several individuals called to inquire after my health--nearly every one of whom pressed me to take medicine.

The second day after my arrival I began to expectorate a little blood.

Those who were familiarly acquainted with my consumptive tendencies became greatly alarmed. They thought me not only presumptuous, because I took nothing, but absolutely and carelessly ungrateful. And as I refused to dose myself, they pressed me to send for a physician.