Life Unveiled, by a Child of the Drumlins — Chapter 9 Part II - The Medic-Continued

During my second year, Sister came on to Boston to take up nursing.

What delight when she landed there!

She looked so pretty, and I was so overjoyed to have her there, so proud of her, so eager to show her about and introduce her to my friends!

She had been over to the hospital only a week when one day, between lectures, one of the young men came to me and said, “Miss Arnold, there’s an awful nice little thing out in the hall wants to see you.

” Just then another rushed up and said, “Miss Arnold, if you’re not in here, you’re out in the hall, and you want to see yourself.

” I ran out and found Kate in her nurse’s garb, smiling, blushing, and enjoying having these young men dance attendance on her.

I was flattered that they had seen so marked a resemblance when she was so much more attractive than I. Not wishing to pledge herself to the two-year course, Kate stayed at the hospital only during the probationer’s term, deciding that she would go home and say Yes to the wooer to whom distance was lending enchantment.

But she occupied herself with private nursing in and around Boston till I went home in June.

Once she just missed an opportunity to go as companion to the invalid wife of Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, but an unkind Providence prevented--she having accepted a case in that city.

How I bewailed her untimely absence--actually to have been in the same house with the dear Autocrat!

I was almost tempted to go myself--medicine or no medicine.

During that second year, Dr. “Conrad” asked for volunteers for drug-provings among the students: A drug was prepared for each prover with directions for taking, and whatever symptoms were experienced while taking it were to be recorded in a little book, whether we thought them due to the drug or not.

The provers were enjoined not to compare notes, but to turn in their reports at a stated time.

I was one of six to volunteer.

For a few days I had only the slightest symptoms to record, but after that there developed an intestinal disturbance which gradually became pronounced.

I began to get interested, wondering if it was really the drug that was responsible--those tiny tasteless powders--so, doubting it, kept on with the medicine.

I suppose I was a little skeptical because of a rumour that they always gave some of the provers _saccharum lactis_, and that not infrequently records were turned in with a long string of symptoms, when the provers had only been given _sac.

lac.

_ Naturally I did not want to attribute symptoms to drug action if I were not taking a real drug; so, though growing worse and worse, I kept on with the proving.

The day came for our examination in pathology by the very professor who had solicited the provings--our skeptical pessimist.

Uncomfortably ill by that time, I could hardly hold out to take the examination.

Miss Wilkins had insisted that if I did not go to see Dr. “Conrad” immediately afterwards, she would go herself, so as I handed in my paper, I told him I was ill, and would like to call at his office in the afternoon.

I added that I was one of the drug-provers, but was not sure whether this illness had anything to do with what I had been taking.

He bent upon me those scrutinizing eyes, his face stern but kindly, and said, “Poor child, why didn’t you tell me before?

How have you sat through the examination?

Go home at once, and come to me at two o’clock.

” That afternoon I went to his office on Commonwealth Avenue--a luxurious place, a side of life that, as students, we saw only from the outside, our entrée in Boston houses being chiefly in those of the Lynches, the Sullivans, and O’Gradys.

The kind, fatherly look he bent upon me as he drew me in his office and listened to my confused, embarrassed tale, was worth it all.

Weak and in pain, I was unable to tell a clear story.

He snatched my note-book, read the symptoms, looking up every few minutes, then read on, after which he gave me a soothing talk, and I have loved him ever since.

Though commending my zeal, he deplored the fact that I had carried it to the extent of suffering so much.

“No one else did it--no one else did it,” he scolded, half to himself.

“They turned in their worthless notes before the time was up, pretending they had taken the drugs faithfully when I knew they hadn’t; some of them got symptoms on taking _sac.

lac.

_--a good list of them!

but you wanted to be sure yourself--that is the only way to get at the truth.

” Who would not have been willing to suffer to get this from the stern Dr. “Conrad?

” Rigidly prescribing my diet and rest, he gave me some medicine and sent me home in his carriage, calling on me that evening to my delight.

In two days I was as well as ever.

I learned later that it was _mercury_ that I had proved, but in so weak a potency that he had been surprised at the results.

That same year I experimented with _atropine_ in my eyes (a silly, risky thing to do), applying it just to see how I would look with the pupils widely dilated, little knowing how it would incapacitate me for my work.

Putting in a tiny bit just before starting for College one morning, by the time I got there I could not see to take notes or to read, and it was only a day or two before “exams”!

For one of the meetings of our College Society, I was given the subject _materia medica_ to treat in any way I chose.

Having just been reading the “medicated novels” of Dr. Holmes--“Elsie Venner” and “The Guardian Angel”--I thought it would be fun to take a case described in one of them, as given in the nurse’s report, ask the students to diagnose it and prescribe, leading them at the start to think it a _bona fide_ case.

The one I chose, I myself diagnosed as one of _globus hystericus_, and decided what remedy I would give, were she a real patient.

Then it occurred to me that it would be interesting to know what our professor in _materia medica_ would prescribe for such a case in real life; and that it would add to the interest if I could tell the students that I would give them Prof. S----’s prescription after they had submitted theirs.

I had no intention of deceiving the professor when I first thought of going to him, but growing bold on arrival, as I handed him the paper with the symptoms copied off verbatim, told him I was especially anxious to prescribe carefully for this case, as it had come into my hands from _a prominent old school physician_.

As he read, his eyes twinkled at the nurse’s phraseology; he looked up at me once or twice, curiously, as I sat there scared, then, at what I had done.

Seeing my pencilled diagnosis with a question mark at the bottom, he said: “Yes, you have diagnosed the case correctly beyond a doubt, and now for the remedy--I see you have three suggested, but first, let me know more about the case.

” Then he plied me with questions.

By this time I was greatly embarrassed; a suspicious twinkle in his eye, as he remarked that the nurse herself must be a unique person, made me uncomfortable.

Finally he queried, “Who _is_ this ‘old school physician’ who had the case?

” “Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes,” I confessed timorously.

How he laughed!

Hastening to explain and apologize, I told him how I had come to present the case to him, and that only on the spur of the moment had I conceived the idea of offering it as a real case.

He had seen from the start that there was something queer, but was at a loss to unravel the mystery.

After a jolly chat about it, he discussed the symptoms as seriously with me as though it had been a case in real life; so I went to the Society meeting in great glee, hoodwinking them until their answers were turned in, then telling them the whole story.

The experiences of that second-year vacation kept pace with the advance in our studies.

Uncles, aunts, and cousins, school-mates, neighbours, and chance acquaintances came rehearsing their aches and pains, expecting me in my inexperience to help them promptly.

I took them all seriously.

I was a good listener, but was often of little further help.

So many of them had complaints about which we had as yet had no lectures.

Still I had the hope and confidence that go with youth, and the temerity to “rush in” where the more experienced might fear to tread.

The coloured woman who did our washing asked me to attend her in confinement--her confidence in me was touching; for, although we had had our lectures in obstetrics, and I had been to a few cases with seniors, I had then managed none myself.

But Josie had had several children so would be likely, I thought, to have an easy time; and, if I should need help, I could call on Dr. Campbell--the physician for whom I had had the girlish infatuation.

It was a hot Fourth of July when they called me.

Josie’s poor little home was a paradise in neatness and order compared to those I had frequented in dispensary practice.

I felt quite elated at the prospect of managing a case alone.

But from my first examination I felt uneasy, seeing that I had a different condition to deal with than any encountered in my limited experience.

As labour progressed, to my consternation I found the cord, instead of the head, presenting, so knew that I had a case of transverse presentation--one which would require turning and speedy delivery to save the child.

Of course I was incompetent to do this, nor would it have been lawful to attempt it, being an undergraduate.

Dr. Campbell responded promptly to my summons, performed version, and delivered the child and the adherent placenta.

I managed the after-care without difficulty.

Josie was glad of her enforced rest in bed.

In the days preceding her confinement I had gone past her house and seen her, big with child, standing at the ironing-board, late at night, thus supporting her family while her great lazy husband, John Wesley Freeman, would loll about all day, then sit by her at night and read the Bible and exhort as she stood ironing.

True to his name, he felt called to preach, and, failing a larger audience, preached to poor Josie, in and out of season.

While I kept her in bed, the lazy fellow had to shift for himself or starve, as his swarming offspring were too small to be of service in the household.

One morning, on finding Josie worse, and learning that John Wesley had been preaching to her the night before, and scolding her because she had fallen asleep, I berated him soundly.

It was a good time to chastise him generally; to warn him against deeds of omission and commission.

So I set forth how near Josie had come to losing her life, and said she probably would not live through another pregnancy.

When I had done, in his drawling, falsetto voice, and with a sanctimonious air, he said: “Yes, Miss ’Genia, I reckon she was mighty sick, but she’s gettin’ on now, and you know, Miss ’Genia, the Bible says we chillun must be fruitful and multiply and ’plenish the earth; and, Miss ’Genia, we sholy must do as the good Book says.

” More exasperated than amused, I snapped out: “Well, John Wesley, I think you have done your share toward being fruitful and multiplying and replenishing the earth--I guess the Lord will excuse you if you turn around now and help Josie to support the ones you have on hand.

” But he didn’t; he continued compliant to his favourite text; and after one or two more evidences of his cheerful obedience came, Josie left her wash-tub and ironing-board forever and replenished the earth with her worn-out body, able no longer to be fruitful and multiply at the rate John Wesley thought necessary in order to fulfil the Holy Scriptures.

All that summer I attended an old man dying of Bright’s disease, prescribing for him and helping his over-burdened wife in nursing him.

It was hard work--those bed-sores, his extreme emaciation and helplessness; but I then learned the luxury of feeling myself really useful.

I knew I was helping to lighten burdens growing well-nigh unendurable.

Yet how critical I was in my heart of the poor wife when, the morning I went there early and found her carrying out blankets and pillows to air, I heard her announce, with a relief in which there was no attempt at concealment, “Well, he’s gone at last!

” She let me do the autopsy.

I invited Belle and Dr. Campbell.

I can remember the appearance of those worn-out kidneys far better than the details of many a later autopsy.

CHAPTER X