A SUDDEN CURE.
I was called one morning very early, to see a little girl, five or six
years of age, who, it was said, was extremely sick, and without
immediate aid could not probably long survive.
She was one of a very numerous family, most of whom, though suffered to
run almost wild, like so many rabbits, were comparatively healthy. I do
not suppose they had ever called in a physician more than once or twice
in a year. In truth, they had very little confidence in physicians;
though in extremities, they were accustomed to call on them almost as
much as other people. In any event Caroline was very sick now; and they
loudly demanded aid. I was forthwith on the spot. Caroline was groaning
most piteously. "Where is your distress?" I inquired. She gave no direct
answer, but continued to groan and writhe, as if she were impaled. As I
could obtain no reliable information from her, and could discover no
special or exciting cause of her suffering, and as the case was urgent,
I proceeded to do _something_, though, as I must honestly confess, it
was to labor quite in the dark. One thing I knew, it is true; that there
were spasms, and that it depended on a diseased condition of the brain
and nervous system; but what the cause or causes were, I could hardly
divine. Nor, in truth, had I time to ask many questions.
Though the days of Hydropathy had not yet arrived, the world, even then,
had a good deal of water in it, and physicians were sometimes wise
enough to use it. It was demanded, as I thought, on the present
occasion. It would, at least, by whiling away the time, give opportunity
for further observation and reflection, and deeper investigation. There
was a good fire in the kitchen, and I ordered a warm bath immediately.
Every effort was made to hasten the process of warming the water, as
well as to keep the patient quiet and within doors; for she raved like a
maniac--partly indeed from a childish fear, but partly also from real
bodily suffering. The family and neighborhood--for the latter were very
largely collected together--were almost as much alarmed and distressed
as the little patient, and this reacted on the patient to her increased
disadvantage.
As there were no special preparations in those days for bathing--I mean
in the region of which I am now speaking--we used a large wash-tub. The
water was soon ready, and was made rather warm, quite above 100 deg. of
Fahrenheit. I had taken the precaution to have my patient already
undressed, so as to lose no time. The very instant the bath was ready,
she was plunged into it. It cost some trouble, for she resisted with
almost superhuman strength, and uttered most terrific screams. But as
the ox is dragged to the slaughter, she was dragged into the water and
held in it.
The effect was like magic. She had not been in the water twenty seconds
before every thing was quiet; and I do not know that she has ever had
another pang to the present hour. Certain it is that she seemed to be
entirely cured by this single bath, and none of her spasms ever
returned.
The family were greatly delighted, and so were the neighbors. And was
the physician, think you, an uninterested spectator? Had he been wholly
destitute of the love of doing good, by relieving human distress, he
must at least have been susceptible of receiving pleasure from general
approbation.
He certainly sought respectability as a physician. And this he was by
degrees now attaining.
It is hardly possible to refer the sudden quiet which followed in this
instance from the application of warm water, to a mere coincidence, as
if the system was ready, just at this very instant, to react or rally.
The bath must have had something more than a mere imaginary or
accidental effect, though its prescription may be said to have been
empirical.
Had the experiment in the present instance wholly failed, it is by no
means improbable the physician would still have been on a par with other
men. The _guess_ he made was his _only_ thought. He had nothing in
reserve. But he was successful; he _guessed right_, and it built him up.
His fame now began to spread far and wide, wafted, as it were, on the
wings of every breeze. If he succeeded, it was supposed to be undeniable
proof of his skill; if he failed, it was not supposed to be so much his
fault as the result of circumstances; or, more properly, the severity of
the disease. And even in the case of failure, as I have said elsewhere,
he often gained credit; for he had boldly contended, at great odds, with
a mighty because intangible antagonist!
It is an old proverb,--but by no means the less true for its age,--that
when a person is going down hill every one will give him a kick. But is
it not equally true that when he is resolutely going up hill, they are
equally ready to help him on? So at least I found it at this period of
my progress.