Forty Years in the Wilderness of Pills and Powders: Cogitations and Confessions of an Aged PhysicianAlcott, William A. (William Andrus)
Science
Forty Years in the Wilderness of Pills and Powders: Cogitations and Confessions of an Aged Physician
Alcott, William A. (William Andrus)
Medicine -- Anecdotes
The second day after my arrival I began to expectorate a little blood.
Those who were familiarly acquainted with my consumptive tendencies
became greatly alarmed. They thought me not only presumptuous, because I
took nothing, but absolutely and carelessly ungrateful. And as I refused
to dose myself, they pressed me to send for a physician.
Yielding, at length, to their importunity, they called one of the oldest
and best physicians in the metropolis. He was an eccentric man, but he
had the full confidence of the better sort of people, and richly
deserved it; and I knew I should not be advised by him hastily. He was
acquainted with my peculiar views, at least in part. Besides, I should
not be obliged to follow his counsel implicitly. I should still be my
own physician. My disease had not, at least thus far, impaired my
intellect or taken out of my hands my free agency.
The doctor remained with me half an hour or so, during which time I made
him acquainted, as perfectly as I could, with my whole case. My good
friends, many of them, sat around waiting almost with impatience, to
hear him bid them or me to do some great thing--for great men though
some of them were, they were not great in matters pertaining to health
and disease. They were born, several of them, in the eighteenth
century.
At length the time for prescription and departure had arrived, and my
good brother and father of the lancet rose very deliberately, and said
with great gravity, "You will be obliged to stay in your room a few
days, and keep both your body and mind as quiet as possible. For the
most part, it will be well to maintain a recumbent position. For food,
use a little water gruel. In following this course, I think you will
very soon find yourself convalescent." Then, with a sort of stiff bow,
that every one who knew him could pardon in so excellent a man, he said,
"Good-morning, sir,--Good-morning, gentlemen;" and was making the best
of his way to the door of the chamber. "Will it not be needful for you
to call again?" I said to him. "I shall be most happy to call," said he,
"should it be necessary; but I doubt very much whether my advice will be
any farther required."
My friends were very much astonished that he did not prescribe active
medicine. "What can it mean?" they asked again and again. For myself,
too, I must confess that I was not a little disappointed. Not that I had
any considerable attachment to pills and pill boxes,--such a confidence
had gone by long before, as you know,--but I verily thought my
particular tendencies to pulmonary consumption demanded a little
tincture of digitalis, or something in the shape of strong medicine.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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