HEALTH.
It is surprising, in these days when everybody is an authority on
matters of health, how few people there are who can tell you what it
really is. The majority, if asked to describe it, would probably say
that a man is healthy when he is not ill.
[Sidenote: Health, not illness, the standard.]
Now when you come to analyse this statement, it conclusively shows one
thing, namely that people take illness as the standard. Most human
beings, in civilised countries at any rate, have something the matter
with them--a weak digestion, tendency to sore throats or colds, or a
predisposition to ailments of one sort or another.
Yet the fact that most people suffer from illness is no reason for
calling it a natural condition. It is health that is natural; illness
is an anomaly. Medical men themselves are the first to recognise the
truth of this statement. Animals as a rule are sound and vigorous
so long as they are in a wild state. It is only when they are in
captivity that they become delicate. Similarly savages are much freer
from disease than civilised races. It is when they live in artificial
surroundings that they become prone to sickness.
Health is not a negative thing. It is a state in which every part is
sound and acts in harmony with every other part.
[Sidenote: The nature of health.]
A motor-car consists of a great number of different parts--the gear,
the engine, the petrol supply, the firing. It is not sufficient that
each section should be in good order. For each must also fit in, both
mechanically and in point of time, with every other. The petrol pipe
may be clear, but unless the spark reaches the cylinders exactly in
the nick of time there will be misfiring, and a loss of power in
consequence.
This loss of power is not the only harm done. It means that there will
be unnecessary friction also, causing extra wear and tear to the engine
and gear. If this occurs but seldom, and is put right at once when
detected, little damage may be done. If repeated often, and allowed to
go on uncared for, the whole structure of the car will suffer and the
life of the machine be shortened.
It does not follow that the car will come to a standstill. It will
continue to run, but badly. For like every other engine, it has the
faculty of compensation. That is to say, when one part is out of order
other parts will take on some of its work, and help, for a time at
least, to make good the deficiency.
For instance, in a four-cylinder car one of the cylinders may cease to
act. Yet the other three will take on a certain part of the work, and
help to some extent to make up the deficiencies of the faulty one.
This will be only for a time, however, for the additional strain will
slowly but surely have a bad effect on the rest of the engine, and
through it on the other parts of the machine. One by one these will
give way, and have to be compensated in turn. If still neglected and
left to take care of itself, there will come a time when so many
sections are affected, that the remainder cannot overcome the mischief,
and compensation will fail. The car will become practically useless.
Perhaps, like the one-hoss shay, it will collapse _en masse_. It has
gone beyond the stage of running badly, it has broken down.
[Sidenote: The human machine.]
The human system is much like a motor-car, in that it consists of
a vast number of parts acting in unison. Yet it is infinitely more
wonderful, for it is much more complicated, and can create its own
supply of energy. It is made, roughly speaking, of a framework of
bone and muscle, a delicately-adjusted alimentary system, whereby it
takes in and assimilates food, and of a circulatory apparatus which
drives blood and nourishment to all parts of the body. It contains also
a nervous system, compared with which these other parts are crude,
mechanical contrivances. For it is on their nervous supply that they
depend for their usefulness. Cut the nerves that go to a limb, and the
finest muscles in the world are as helpless as the meat in a butcher’s
shop. Deprive the heart of its nerve supply for a single minute, and it
will never beat again.
Yet we pay vastly more attention to a weak heart, as it is called, or
still more so to a broken leg, than we do to a threatened failure in
the nervous system, which outweighs them all in importance. Once that
has got out of order, the driving power is gone. Not only the heart
and muscles, but every other faculty we possess loses its energy and
usefulness.
So closely allied, however, are the different parts, that the nervous
system itself, which governs all else, is dependent for its welfare on
the very organs it governs. Like the power of a king, it rests not only
on its own intrinsic qualities, but also on the strength and harmony of
the units over which it rules.
[Sidenote: Interplay.]
And there is a constant interplay going on between the various parts
of the body. No one organ or system can stand alone. If it is working
badly, it affects other parts, and disturbs the harmony on which the
health of the whole depends.
One of the most marked examples of this is to be found in the action
and reaction which take place between the digestive organs and the
nervous system. The presence of congenial company at meal-times is one
of the best aids to digestion; a cantankerous discussion is the very
opposite. Similarly, if a man sits down to his dinner with a grievance
or a worry on his mind, it is safe to predict dyspepsia.
A lady once received a telegram containing disastrous news just as
she was finishing a meal. Up to that time she had never known what
indigestion was, yet for the next couple of days she suffered from it
in a most acute form. The nervous shock had thrown the stomach out of
order, inhibiting the secretion of gastric juice.
We cannot help troubles of this sort, but it is only once in a
lifetime, perhaps, that we get a message of that sort during the
progress of a meal. It is to be feared, however, that it is of almost
daily occurrence for some people to sit down to table worrying over
the business of the day. And the accumulated effects of these minor
disturbances may in the long run prove more detrimental than one big
one.
Conversely, the stomach has an equally potent influence over the
nervous system. Everyone knows that when their digestion is out of
order, and they are feeling uncomfortable or bilious, their heads are
not so clear as usual. And with this there is a feeling of langour
and irritability, and a difficulty in doing work efficiently. This is
because the body fails to get its proper supply of nourishment, and
also because it is poisoned at the same time. In order to understand
the manner in which this is brought about, it is necessary to know
something as to the events which are taking place throughout the body
every moment of our lives.
[Sidenote: Combustion and elimination.]
When food is taken it is first digested and then passes out of the
stomach, and is carried by means of the circulation to all parts of the
body. It nourishes the various tissues, replacing the loss which is
constantly going on.
For there is throughout the whole system a process corresponding to
combustion, and this combustion, like the furnace of an engine, is the
source of our energy.
As in an ordinary fire, ashes are produced in the form of waste matter
of a poisonous nature. This waste must be removed from the tissues,
else it interferes with the process, as a neglected fire is apt to
become choked up and burn badly.
This removal is also accomplished by the circulation. In any community
you may see on any ordinary working day two sets of carts, those
belonging to tradesmen which distribute groceries and vegetables, and
the scavengers’ carts which gather up the refuse. The same processes go
on in the human body, with the difference that in this case the same
agency which brings the supplies also carries away the waste.
These impurities are eliminated from the body by means of the lungs,
the skin, the kidneys and bowels. And in order that this elimination
may be sufficient, the circulation must be maintained in all parts
of the body. Unless the blood is kept moving, this waste matter will
tend to collect somewhere or other and give rise to trouble. The way
in which this motion is kept up is by exercise, which squeezes out the
fluid like an automatic sponge. If the body was kept perfectly still
for weeks, it would became loaded with this impure material, as a room
that is shut up is found to collect, in such a surprising manner, dust
and dirt.
When it reaches the lungs it is purified by means of the air. For the
air which we exhale is very different from that which is breathed in,
the former being charged with impurities. The drowsy feeling which we
experience in a crowded, ill-ventilated room is due entirely to the
influence of these toxic gases. The purer the atmosphere we breathe,
the more effective it is in carrying off impurities from the blood, so
that fresh air and hygiene are essential to health, whilst exercise
acts as a valuable adjunct by increasing the respirations.
Yet exercise itself, important as it is, needs to be carried out in
moderation. For the muscles, whilst fulfilling the vital functions just
enumerated, produce a poison of their own, if exertion be too violent
or prolonged. The severe cramp from which athletes are liable to suffer
is due to an accumulation of this toxin.
This poison is eliminated from the system during repose, and especially
during sleep. Rest is therefore as requisite as exercise itself, and
unless the body gets regular rest and sufficient of it, severe damage
may result. The muscles will not only become permeated with their own
peculiar poison, but will be so enfeebled as to be unable to assist
in discharging the waste matter which is constantly being formed
throughout the whole system.
These impurities are the source of many of the ills with which mankind
is afflicted--headaches, vague pains in various parts, languor, and the
great majority of rheumatic troubles. But their worst effect of all is
that which they exert on the nervous organisation.
[Sidenote: Waste matter and the nervous system.]
For the ramifications of the nervous system penetrate to every part
of the body, including the internal organs. From its seat of honour
in the brain and spinal cord it sends its messages to every tissue in
the body, and receives messages in return. It may be compared to an
electric power station, which distributes its current to every part of
a town. But with this difference, if the electric light in a house goes
wrong, it does not affect the main station, whereas if any portion of
the body however small or insignificant gives way, it adversely affects
the central parts of the nervous system. And if the various sections
and organs do not work together smoothly, the nervous system, which
governs them all, suffers along with them.
The nervous system suffers in two ways when the internal organs and
other parts of the body fail to do their work properly.
[Sidenote: Starvation.]
First of all, it languishes from starvation. This does not mean that
the individual is not taking sufficient quantity of food. He may
be taking enough, even too much, but it is not being digested or
assimilated satisfactorily, and though there is plenty of food there is
a deficiency of nutriment.
[Sidenote: Poisoning.]
Secondly, it may suffer from poisoning. This may be the result of
dyspepsia, for when food lies in the stomach undigested, it is apt to
ferment, producing a poison that circulates throughout the body. Or
it may be because the impurities, which are found throughout the whole
body, are not being got rid of, owing to a want of exercise and fresh
air. Or it may be owing to undue wear and tear in consequence of a lack
of sufficient rest.
Too often it is a combination of the two processes, the nervous system
being attacked by starvation and poisoning at the same time.
The whole of man’s structure is a marvellous automaton, and once the
nervous element is disturbed the trouble which first upset the harmony
is increased tenfold.
[Sidenote: Compensation.]
Yet the mischief may not be apparent all at once, for the whole
organisation is so accurately balanced that defects in one part will
be compensated for by other organs. And whilst this is a safeguard in
one way, it is a serious menace in another. For the fault is apt to be
overlooked, until at last the process has gone on to such an extent
that the balance is upset. The machine does not stop running, but, like
a motor-car in similar circumstances, it begins to run badly. The man
himself becomes what is called “run down.”
It is a provision of Nature that the nervous system, being the
mainspring of our existence, holds out longer than any other structure
in the body. If it did not do so most of us would have been dead or
broken down long ago. Yet it means that when the loss of balance
reaches such a point that compensation fails, the breakdown is all the
more disastrous.
[Sidenote: The cause of the breakdown.]
Then, when the crash comes, we blame our nerves, our civilisation, our
worries and troubles, our heredity, anything in short except ourselves.
Of course, there are cases in which circumstances have entered over
which the patient has had no control. Sometimes neurasthenia follows
a severe illness or a bad accident. Sometimes it comes on at critical
periods of life. And in some instances heredity has played a part.
There are some unfortunate individuals who have been born with weak
frames and little stamina, so that even the ordinary conditions of
life, however favourable, prove too much for them.
[Sidenote: The Remedy.]
Such cases are the exception. In the great majority of instances the
faults which have undermined the system are the results of mistakes,
either through ignorance or thoughtlessness, in the mode of life. Not
necessarily, observe, a vicious mode of life. The victims may have
been consistently sober and virtuous. Yet they may have been guilty
of egregious errors in regard to the quantity or quality of the food
they have taken, or the way in which they have eaten it or in their
neglect of fresh air, exercise or rest. The fault may lie in any one
of these elements, or in more than one; in all of them, perhaps. And
it is only by close examination of the habits of life that the source
of the mischief can be brought to light. In like manner the treatment
of nervous breakdowns consists in remedying these faults, once they
have been ascertained. Patients seldom understand this fact. What they
particularly desire is a tonic to restore their jaded energies, on the
principle, evidently, of whipping up a tired horse to make him go.
They look for some patent food which shall build them up in marvellous
manner. Articles of this sort are valuable aids in cases where
starvation from lack of sufficient food has been the cause of the
trouble. But where there has been an error in diet, it has been, in
an overwhelming proportion of cases, an excess of food rather than a
lack of it, and when this has been so, it is about as rational to give
such remedies, as it would be to pile more coals on to a fire that was
already choked.
It is not sufficient merely to treat individual symptoms, taking
phenacetine for headache, pepsin for indigestion, and so forth; for
that is but to touch the fringe of the matter, leaving the real secret
of the trouble undealt with.
Neither is it of any use to tell the sufferer that there is nothing
the matter, that all he requires is to rouse himself or cease his
restlessness, as the case may be. You might as well tell a drowning man
who cannot swim to buck up and be cheerful.
The rest cure, so much in vogue, may have its advantages in some cases,
but too frequently the patient leaves the institution only to resume
his former mode of life, and repeat the very mistakes which brought on
the illness. A consumptive might as well never enter a sanatorium if he
is to return to a badly-ventilated house and unwholesome surroundings.
Not uncommonly it happens that a man will make up his mind to have a
course of treatment at some spa, even though it means a sacrifice of
time and money. When he is told that it is his manner of life that
needs overhauling, the commonplaceness of the observation affronts him.
Like Naaman, he expects to be sent, if not to the waters of Jordan,
at any rate to those of Homburg or some such resort, and he strongly
objects to being told that all he needs he can get at home.
Some time ago I was travelling from London to Buxton. There were two
other men in the carriage, and one of them was telling the other that
he was going there for his health. He said that he found it necessary
to go several times a year, as he got so run down. The other man asked
him what treatment he had on these occasions, did he have baths or
drink the waters or what?
“No,” answered the first one, “I simply get up early and go to bed in
good time and take plain food.”
“And why don’t you do it at home instead?” inquired the other.
There was no reply.