IN THE WEST LONDON HOSPITAL--BEFORE THE OPERATION
A few days afterwards I received a card from the West London Hospital.
The card said I must be at the door of the hospital at 10 A.M. on May
21st, just the next day of Whitsun Bank Holiday.
I drove a cab there quite punctually and presented the card to the
porter. He asked me my full name and age and occupation, and my
religion.
“My religion? I have none!”
He said, “Um ...m, you are a Free-thinker then?”
“Yes, will that do?”
“Yes, that will do quite well. You must go into the ‘Accident Ward’ and
see the sister.”
I entered into the ward with my little dressing-bag. The sister gave me
a bed, Number 12.
By a glance at this ward-room my very first impression was something
which I cannot express by any word. My heart was shuddered. “A quite
different world altogether,” was my first exclamation in my heart. Every
patient in bed looked so deadly pale. Perhaps the light green walls made
them look more so.
The ward-room was on the ground floor. It was a long room, its four
windows on one side facing on the street, and the four windows on the
other side facing to a corridor. Twelve beds were placed all around the
room. No. 1 as starting from the nearest one to the entrance door, and
No. 12 was by the entrance door again. In the middle part of the room a
stove was placed. Beyond the stove was a large table for the sister to
write the reports. Half of this table was covered with many flowers,
which were given to the patients by some kind sympathizers. A few
evergreen palms were spread high above these flowers. They seemed to
tell me that “all those beautiful flowers in this world shall fade away
quite soon. It is very sad thing, but it is so true. Only the pure,
simple, and sincere green leaves live forever and ever.”
This ward-room had two wings at the bottom. One was for bath-room and
the other for washing dishes, and making tea and beef-tea. Everything
was so neat and clean. I was quite astonished at it. How could it be
possible in this smoky London!
I had a fish luncheon on the first day. After the luncheon Dr. Baldwin
came and told me that I was going to be operated on Thursday afternoon.
From three to four I was allowed to go out to the back garden. There was
a man on No. 11. He was nearly convalescent, though he looked so pale
and weary. He and I went out together. He could not walk down a few step
stairs, so I carried him on my back.
“Do I walk too quick?”
“Oh no, that’s all right.”
“Give me your right arm around my neck. That’s it.”
“Oh, my legs are so stiff; do I weigh you down too much?”
“Not at all.”
We sat down together on a garden bench. The garden was about ten yards
square and quite secluded from the outer world by a high wall, and the
buildings round. There was one evergreen tree against a fence. It was
such a calm sunny day. The green grass ground was divided half and half
diagonally by the shadow. A gentle breeze was playing the leaves on the
tree, showing their green fronts and white backs alternately. The sun
ray reflected on them, and they looked more like ladies’ sequined
dresses. Those brick buildings in shadow had such tender grayish mauve
color as if they were mourning. Only the mild and happy pink light of
the sun illuminated all the edges to prevent me from going into too deep
melancholy. There were so many sparrows on the ground. They were busy to
pick up their foods, and were in dead silence. Oh, why don’t they sing?
Oh, why don’t they play? They gave me such a pain to think that I should
waste my time like this! It is all through my nuisance illness! The man
began to tell me the cause of his illness. While he was working at
Shepherd’s Bush he caught a great pain suddenly. It was far more serious
than he first thought. He was operated right up from his chest to
abdomen. He had been in this hospital more than two months and a half.
Now he was going to be sent to a seaside. He was worrying so much about
his wife whom he left at home.
We filled up our pipes with tobacco which I brought in, and enjoyed
smoking together.
A porter came out from the hospital and ran across the garden, and went
away through the back gate. The man said to me, “Ah, some poor patient
must have died; you see he is gone to fetch the undertakers.”
I said, “Have you noticed that porter dressed his hands with black thing
like india-rubber or leather?”
“Yes, that is to prevent the poison from the dead.”
In a few minutes two men came, and they all carried away a dead man
covered with black cloth, on stretcher.
The man pointed to a roof, and said: “You see that little square roof.
It is the skylight roof; under that roof there is the theater. Everybody
is operated there. I have finished my worst time there. But you have not
done yet. The day after to-morrow you must go.”
The time had come for us to go back to the ward-room. I wrote such a lot
of letters and postcards to all my friends.
After the tea I had a go-round to all the patients. No. 4 had an
operation the day before. He looked almost dead. He told me he had the
same illness with me. I spent most time with him. We all had suppers at
6.30, and had to go to bed 7.
All the day nurses went away and a night nurse came. The curtains were
dropped on each window, and all were dead silent. One electric over the
nurses’ table was lit. The sister was informing all day’s work to the
night nurse. They were whispering with such low voices. I often heard
them saying, “No. 12, No. 12.” That meant myself, but I could not
understand what they were talking. I only saw their faces between the
palm-leaves.
Sisters and nurses must be women just same with all my John Bulless
friends. They were as sweet and charming as could be. But why they
looked somewhat different from my other friends? I felt as if I were in
a Holy Mountain, far far away from this world.
After the sister was gone, the night nurse pulled down the electric
light very low, and she was eating her own supper. Now the whole room
looked quite gloomy. I looked at the clock, and with some difficulty I
found out its hands pointed fifteen minutes to eight.
Some time before that, Sir Beerbohm Tree gave me seats for this night,
and I was intended to see his “Trilby” with one of my John Bulless
friends. Alas, I got this illness. My friend had to go to the play with
her friend. I began to make all sorts of mental pictures of my friends,
according to the movements of the clock hands on each minute.
Ah, now they must be on the way to the theater; now they must have
arrived at the theater. When the clock hands pointed 8.15 my heart
beated so high, as it was the time that the curtain was raised up!
My eyes followed after the clock hands until 11.15 P.M. Ah, the play was
over! I could not sleep a few minutes longer till I finished my mental
picture of my friends returning to their house.
Then I covered my face with the sheet. A few groaning voices of those
poor patients sent me into a melancholy dream. The nurse so tenderly
shook my pillows to wake me up. It was the next morning about five. She
wanted to put a thermometer under my arm to examine my temperature.
From this day I was told to fast. Only a cup of milk, or tea, was given
to me at each meal time. In the morning the attendant doctor came to
see all the patients. The No. 9 was a very painful case. He must be
about fifty years old. All the nurses used to call him “Dad.” One day
while he was steering one of those tugs on the Thames, a rope caught his
left foot and it severed his foot almost off from the ankle. Only a few
tendons connected it. Now the attendant doctor took off the bandages.
Lo! all the skin was off. It was such a dreadful sight to look at. The
two nurses got hold of his leg, and the doctor was going to wash it with
some medicine. The poor man screamed and groaned so loud. Such voices! I
myself felt as if I were in the Zoo rather than a human room. Poor
fellow, he was such a jolly man, but he could not control himself with
that terrible pain.
This day was the visiting day. After the luncheon all those families,
relatives and friends of the patients, were pouring in. Here and there
on the beds I saw some affectionate kisses and warm handshakes. All the
poor patients, who were quite isolated from the outer world, had their
hearty communication at last.
There was some indescribably cheerful atmosphere in the ward now. Those
dead-pale faces had some color. Really, this was a Ladysmith or a
Mafeking day for them.
Horace Ward, one of the staffs at my publishers, came to see me. While
he and I were talking, a patient was sent to the No. 2 bed, just
operated a few minutes ago. He brought the full odor of ether, and he
himself was so pale and quite unconscious. Ward seemed very much
frightened. I told him it was a good job he did not come on the next
day, or he must see me just like that!
On the next morning I was told “better to keep myself in bed,” because I
must be operated in the afternoon.
No. 3 was a small boy. He said he was nine, but he did not look more
than five or six. He had been operated more than six times. He was no
more than skin and bones. He had a large forehead, with beautiful fair
hairs. His big eyes were sunken so deep. His nose and mouth were so
clearly cut. Dante Rossetti might have painted such a portraiture. So I
nicknamed him “Dante Rossetti’s boy.” This morning the nurse came to him
to wash the wounds on his leg with a syringe. The poor boy knew too
well that it was painful to be washed like that. But he was too weak
either to cry or to move. He laid himself quite flat on the bed, and
every time when the nurse poured the medicine into his wounds, he
stretched his maple-leaf-like little hands and tiny, bony feet, and
shivered them as if they were electrified.
Watching this poor boy from my bed, I recollected my own boy life. I was
such a naughty and cruel boy. I used to go around a pond in my garden
and beat those little frogs with my stick. The poor frogs would stretch
their four limbs straight and tremble themselves to death. Now that
Dante Rossetti’s boy was so much like those poor frogs I killed. So
unconsciously I went into sleep for an hour or two, and I was dreaming
of those poor frogs all the time.
In the afternoon the nurse told me to have a bath, and after the bath
she gave me a night-shirt especially for the operation. It was too big
for me. I could not put my hands out of its sleeves!
It was 5.10 P.M. the nurse prepared such lots of bandage in a big
basket, and took me to the theater upstairs. Dr. Baldwin was standing
between a bed and all his medical instruments for my operation. He was
in a white coat and white apron. I never saw him like that before. He
always looked a very dignified gentleman in his frock-coat. To-day he
looked exactly like a butcher. Another doctor was sitting side by him.
This doctor was to put me into a magical death.
I lay down on that awfully hard and small bed.
“Doctor, you know I am such a heavy smoker, and my heart is rather weak.
Do you think can I stand for a magical death?”
Dr. Baldwin put his ear to my chest.
“Your heart is quite perfect. You need not be afraid.”
“I suppose the ether is not quite as bad to my heart as some charming
English young ladies?”
They all laughed!
The ether operator was on my left side, and covered my nose and mouth
with a large India rubber thing.
“Now shut your eyes. Breathe in deeply from your nose, and breathe out
to this tube from your mouth. Th-a-t’s it! On-ce more! Th-a-t’s it!
On-ce more, again! Very go-o-d! Again. Th-a-t’s it!”
Then suddenly he sent lots of ether at once. I wanted to say that was
too much, but I could not utter a single word! While I was being treated
like this, my heart was beating so high, and it sounded exactly like the
steam-engine of a large boat, which you hear from your cabin.
First I saw some three dozens small red catherine wheels running round
so quickly on a brown ground. Then they became less number and running
slower on blue ground. Then I saw only three or four large white
catherine wheels running so slowly on blue ground. At last one large
light round thing jumped out from below. At the same time I threw my
right hand to the other side, which somebody caught.