There were bits of humour now and then amidst the procession of
human tragedies.
“While feeling the pulse of the patient and holding my watch
to count its beat, another man sitting by begged me to feel
his, and after I had counted it he gravely asked me ‘in just
how many years after this he would die.’”
Some of the humour was grim humour indeed; for one day he was
hastily summoned only to find that the supposed patient was a
corpse. Humourous from one point of view but quite perturbing for
a physician was the innocent disregard for the directions left with
medicines; indeed the doctor could never tell whether the failure
of a prescription was due to the ineffectiveness of the drugs or
to the failure of the patient to take the medicine as prescribed,
for he found that the patient was liable to take the whole potion
at once or just as liable to have another member of the family take
the remedy vicariously.
Quite frequently, when the callers from a distance came to see
him, they made the parting request for medicine to take home with
them, and thought it altogether needless for the doctor to know
what disease they expected to use it for. Pathetic was the case of
the cholera patient consumed with fever who begged the doctor to
give “medicine to cure the desire for drinking water.” Even more
simple-minded was the old man who came to inquire if he could be
healed if he “wyed” to Jesus,—that is to make the reverential bow
of worship customarily accorded to the image of Buddha. Then there
was the deaf man who came back to report that he had read “the
Christian book of magic” and that it had failed to cure him.
Not the least perplexing of these absurd situations was the
difficulty of securing necessary permission to administer the
medicines even after the doctor had been especially summoned:
“The poor woman who lay on a mattress bolstered up was in
great distress evidently—and I soon found that no time was
to be lost. I shall never forget how piteously she turned
her anxious eyes towards me as she faintly said, ‘Can you
heal me?’ I recommend certain treatment. Nothing could be
done, however, till the matter had been submitted to the
Praklang. So a messenger was despatched, His Excellency again
aroused from his nap;—and what a message brought back: The
application of hot cloths would be permitted, but the more
effective treatment proposed was something new—he did not
know—he could not consent to it. Thinking then of another
mode of treating the case and not dreaming but that this I
might venture to give—but no; this prescription must be
reported to headquarters before it could be administered.
Again a messenger was despatched. The answer came back: we
must wait to see what a hot fomentation would do; if this did
any good then the prescription might be tried.”