St. Bernard's: The Romance of a Medical StudentBerdoe, Edward
General
St. Bernard's: The Romance of a Medical Student
Berdoe, Edward
Medical students -- Fiction
He had opportunities of learning the countless little details of minor
surgery in the out-patient departments day by day, but now he was to be
introduced to a very different kind of work. He would have some forty
or fifty patients to study and report upon, to watch the progress of
their maladies, or the processes of their cure, to dress the wounds,
bandage, apply the remedies ordered by the house surgeon, or the
surgeon-in-chief, and himself perform such operations as in their
discretion he might be entrusted with. Everybody must have a beginning,
and upon whom can one begin surgery so well as an hospital patient?
Your dentist began upon somebody; he did not acquire without practice
that nice skill, that rapidity, almost amounting to sleight of hand, by
which he jerks out your offending molar, before you are half aware he
has begun. To be sure, he had a long course on sheeps’ heads from the
butchers, and then at the hospital or dispensary, he tugged away at the
mouths of poor children, or men and women of low degree, who could not
afford the chemist’s shilling, or the still cheaper barber’s fee, and
who, getting the job done for nothing, could not reasonably complain of
the several bungling attempts with the wrong instruments applied in the
wrong way, and often to the wrong tooth.
“I say, young man,” said a poor carpenter to an hospital novice, after
the fifth attempt to lug out his grinder had been fruitlessly made. “Do
they pay you here by time or by the job?”
Even your hair-dresser must have cut somebody’s hair for the first
time. You may be sure it was not a duke’s. “We allus begins on
children’s at the Workhus schools,” was the answer of a master barber
to an inquiry as to the method of learning the art. Here, then, were
fifty live subjects, all human, at the mercy of our new dresser. That
young blacksmith with the broken rib thinks he is here simply to get it
mended. He will think so in a fortnight’s time, but the officials know
better; the mended rib is a mere contingency. The butcher lad in the
corner bed has compression of the brain. He shall be cured, if
possible. Meanwhile, he shall make himself useful to those who want to
investigate the latest theory of “localisation of brain functions.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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