MY FIRST CASE IN SURGERY.
My first surgical case of any magnitude, was that of a wounded foot.
For, though I had been required to bleed patients many times,--and
bleeding is properly a surgical operation,--yet it had become so common
in those days, and was performed with so little science or skill, that
it was seldom recognized as belonging to the department of surgery.
One of my neighbors had struck his axe into the upper part of his foot,
and cut it nearly through. Happening to be at home when the accident
occurred, which was in my own immediate neighborhood, I was soon on the
spot, and ready to afford assistance; and, as good luck would have it,
the man was not at all weakened by loss of blood, at my arrival.
My lesson from an old surgeon[D] was not yet forgotten. I still knew, as
well as any one could have told me, that to put together the divided
edges of the wound and keep them there, was half the cure. But how was
this to be done? Slips of adhesion plaster would bring the divided edges
of the wounded surface into their place, but would the deeper-seated and
more tendinous parts unite while left without touching each other? Or
should a few stitches be taken?
The wound was lengthwise of the foot, and no tendons were divided. I
made up my mind to dress it without any sewing, and acted accordingly.
The bleeding soon ceased. When all was secured, the patient inquired
what he should put on it, to cure it. Had he not raised the question, I
might, perhaps, have followed out my own ultra tendencies, and left it
without any application at all; but as it was, I concluded to order
something on which he might fasten his faith,--something which, though
it should do no good, would do no harm.
"Nothing is better for a fresh wound," I said, "than the 'Balsam of
Life.' Just send Thomas over to Mr. Ludlow's, and get a couple of ounces
of his 'Balsam of Life.'" It was soon brought, and the surface of the
wound and its bandages moistened with it. "Now," said I, "keep your foot
as still as you can till I see you again. I will be in again before I go
to bed."
I called again at nine o'clock in the evening. All appeared well, only
the patient had some doubts whether the Balsam of Life was just the
right thing. Several of the neighbors had been in, as he said, and,
though they admitted that the Balsam might be very good, they knew, or
thought they knew, of something better. However, I succeeded in quieting
most of his rising fears for the present, by assuring him that nothing
in the wide world was equal, for its healing virtues, to the "Balsam."
My voice here was law, for _I gave no reasons_!
On making inquiry, afterward, with a view chiefly to gratify
curiosity,[E] I found that the first individual who came in after I had
left the house, assured them there was nothing so good for a fresh wound
as a peach leaf. The next, however, insisted that the best way was to
bind up the part in molasses. The third said the best way was to take
just three stitches to the wound, and bind it up in the blood. The
fourth said the most sovereign thing in the world, for a fresh cut, was
tobacco juice!
Now I could have told these various representatives of as many various
public opinions, that all these things and many more which might have
been named, are, in a certain sense, good, since any mere flesh wound,
in the ordinary circumstances of ordinary life, will heal in a
reasonable time, in spite of them. I could have told them, still
further, that the Balsam of Life was probably little, if any, better
than the other things proposed, any farther than as it secured more
faith and confidence, and prevented the application of something which
was worse. I could have assured them that all the external applications
in the world are of no possible service, except to defend from cold air,
and prevent external injuries, or reduce inflammation; and that the
last-mentioned symptom, should it occur, would be best relieved by cold
water. But what good would it have done? Just none at all, according to
my own experience. Positive assurance--mere dogmatism--was much better.
The wound did well as it was, though it might have done much better,
could the patient's faith have been just as firmly fixed on nothing at
all but Nature, as it was on _medicaments_. However, the tincture I
proposed, which somebody had dignified with the name of Balsam of life,
had done very little harm, if any, to the parts to which it had been
applied, while it had done a great deal of good to the patient's mind,
and the minds of his friends. It was nothing, I believe, but a compound
tincture of benzoin. I have used it a great number of times, and with
the same wonderful results. The patient always gets well, either on
account of it, or in spite of it! Does it make much practical difference
which?
FOOTNOTES:
[D] See Chap. VIII.
[E] Even such inquiries as these are usually of doubtful tendency. They
weaken public confidence. There must be but one opinion of any value to
the physician or his patients, and that must be _his own_!