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CHAPTER LXXVII
BLEEDING AND BLISTERING OMITTED

One of my neighbors had fallen down-stairs, and injured himself internally, in the right side of the chest; and a degree, greater or less, of inflammation had followed. The pain was constant, though not severe; but the soreness was considerable, and did not give promise of speedy amendment.

My advice was to keep quiet, both in body and mind, and to avoid all kinds of exertion that could possibly affect the chest. I also advised the use of water, not only for drink, in small draughts, but, if the pain and soreness should be troublesome, as an external application to the part affected. The food was to be mild and unstimulating. A tendency to crowd around the fire was to be guarded against and prevented, by putting on, if necessary, an increased amount of clothing.

Two days passed away with no great variation of the symptoms, either for better or worse. I was now fully convinced that I had taken the true course, because, otherwise, my patient must, by this time, have become worse. Accordingly, I persevered in my general let-alone plan for about two weeks, when the patient fully recovered.

He was a slender boy, in the fifteenth year of his age, strongly inclined, by inheritance, to disease of the chest and brain; and this consideration, among others, led me to be extremely cautious about his treatment. The greater the danger the greater the necessity that what is done should be done right, or we shall defeat our own purposes.

But the most remarkable fact in relation to this very interesting case is, – and it is chiefly for the sake of this fact that I have related the story, – that more than forty-eight hours had passed, after the occurrence of the accident, before it came into my mind that any thing could, by possibility, be done for the chest, in the way of bleeding, blistering, etc., – so utterly irrational had this treatment, once so fashionable, come to be regarded, both by myself and a few others. How strange that I should not think of it in two whole days! Twenty years before, I should not have dared to pass through the first twenty-four hours, in such a case, without thinking, at least, of balsams and mustard poultices and the whole paraphernalia of external treatment, to say nothing of bleeding and blistering.

CHAPTER LXXVIII
MEDICAL VIRTUES OF SLEEP

My own child, a boy nine or ten years of age, and somewhat inclined to croup, was one evening wheezing considerably, and, as his mother thought, was threatened with an immediate attack, either from this or some other disease. Of course, there was not a little anxiety manifested in the family on his account, and we were deliberating what to do with him, when the late Dr. Shew, the hydropathist, chanced to come in.

After a little general conversation, we turned our thoughts again to our little patient, and asked Dr. Shew what he would do with him if he were his patient. "If it were my case," said he, "I would give him a tepid bath – say at about the temperature of 80° or 85°." "Would you do nothing more?" "Nothing at all, except to put him early to bed."

I was not committed to hydropathy, as I have before told you. I never have been, though I had a sort of general respect for Dr. Shew; and hence it was that, incidentally, I asked him the question which I did; and I was pleased with his reply. There was nothing suggested which was at all akin to violence. He did not propose a shower bath of any kind. He did not speak of hot bathing, which for that hour of the day might have induced too violent a perspiration. He did not propose vapor bathing or steaming. A tepid bath could, abstractly considered, do no harm. It would, at least, while away the time till nature could have opportunity to rally. And then, if the return to health should be attributed to the application of the tepid water, we had no special objection to it. We had no medical pride – most certainly I had none – that would lead me to fear lest I should add to the popularity of the cold-water system.

But it was rather late in the evening, – between seven and eight o'clock, – almost time for such a child to be in bed. In order to get up a tepid bath and make the application, so much time would be required that it would keep him from sleep till nine o'clock, and perhaps later; whereas, I had a very high opinion of the healing and renovating power of natural and healthy sleep. It struck me that to put the child to bed immediately, and let him have a good night's rest, would be a much wiser measure than to bathe him even in tepid water. So, after thanking Dr. Shew for his advice, I told him that, for the reasons above stated, we had concluded to omit the bath and put the child immediately to bed.

On being put in bed and suitably covered, he went to sleep immediately, and fell into a gentle perspiration, and in about two hours his breathing was much better. It continued to improve till the next morning, when he arose, at the usual time, and was nearly well. Dr. Shew himself jocosely observed that the sleep cure had proved quite as successful as the water cure.

Much, therefore, as I prize bathing of all sorts, in its proper place, it must never take the place of other and more important influences, whenever these influences can be brought to bear on the case. Indeed, no bathing of any kind can be desirable, any farther than as it serves to aid these natural processes. It has no magic or miraculous power. If we do not eat, drink, sleep, and wake, all the better for it; if the various offices of digestion, respiration, circulation, perspiration, and cerebral action are not thereby, as a whole thing, better performed, it might as well – nay, better – be omitted. Otherwise we waste time and trifle away vital energy.

If all the functions of the body and all the faculties of the mind could be kept steadily employed, and in healthful proportion, it is obvious that a person could not be sick. Or, if one of these only should be deranged, and we should fall sick, as the consequence, what else, pray tell me, is needed, but to effect a speedy return of the faltering function or part to its proper post and duty?

But sleep, more than all things else, whenever the usual hour has actually arrived, has the effect to facilitate a cure. We all know how wakeful some maniacs are, and how hurried and deranged all the movements of the muscular and nervous systems are apt to become, no less than those of the brain itself. And we all know, too, how much good it does such persons to be able to obtain good, sound, substantial, quiet sleep. It acts like a charm, and does more than charms can do, or mere medicine.

Half the formality of having watchers by night in the sick room, does more harm than good. It were better, in many instances, to extinguish all the lights, except at certain set times and on particular occasions, and let the patient sleep. And yet I have as exalted an estimate of the importance of careful nursing as any other individual.

For example of my meaning, in a case of seeming contradiction, I may say that I have taken all the needful care of a young man who was very sick, for more than thirty successive nights with the exception of two, and yet maintained my health, which, as you already know, was never very firm. And I have known those who could do this for three months. But they extinguish or hide their light, and acquire a habit of waking at certain times, so as never to neglect the wants of the patient.

So true is it that sleep is the grand restorer as well as the great curer of disease, that its salutary influence in the case of various infantile complaints, has long been known and regarded. And one reason why infants should neither be nursed nor fed in the night, as many physiologists maintain, is, that it breaks in upon the soundness of the sleep, as experience has most abundantly proved. Sleep, in short, if not a "matchless" sanative, is at least a universal one.

CHAPTER LXXIX
CURE BY DEEP BREATHING

A young man, fifteen or sixteen years of age, who was in the habit of suffering from protracted colds, nearly the whole winter, till they seemed to terminate almost in consumption in the spring, came under my care about March 1st, 1854, and was treated as the nature of his case seemed to require, though with a few of what may be, by some, regarded as peculiarities.

He was directed to rise in the morning at about six o'clock, which at that season of the year is about as early as any one can see well without lamp-light. At the moment of leaving his bed, he was required to wet his body all over, as quickly as possible, either with the hand or a sponge, or if preferred, with a coarse towel, and then wipe himself hastily and partially, so as to leave on the surface a little moisture, and yet not enough to cause, by evaporation, any sensations of chilliness. The water to be used was to be cold, or at such temperature as is usual at that season, when standing all night in a room without fire. This was to be followed by a rapid rubbing with crash mittens, a coarse towel, or the hand, as long as he could keep up a good reaction and a proper degree of vital warmth.

Or, if rubbing the body increased the cough, and an assistant was required, in this case, a healthy man well charged, so to speak, with electricity, was always to be deemed preferable. In general, however, the young man found no difficulty in keeping himself warm, in this exercise, about half an hour.

Whenever his strength began to flag, or a little before, – for I did not think it desirable to go farther than the mere borders of fatigue, – he was placed in bed and well covered, so as to be immediately warm. The room itself was kept as cool as possible, even in the coldest weather, the fire having been entirely removed at bedtime the night before, and the room well aired and ventilated.

This method of placing him in a warm bed was called dry packing. In this dry pack he usually remained from half an hour to an hour. At the end of this period, he was required to get out of bed, and repeat the former course of rubbing the naked surface of the body a long time, in the cold air, though, in this case, without repeating the application of the cold water.

Thus the forenoon passed away, with a few slight but unimportant variations. At twelve o'clock, this alternation of air-bathing with friction and dry-packing, ceased, and the patient was expected to put on his clothes and come to dinner. You will, perhaps, ask when and where he had his breakfast. No breakfast was allowed him. Nothing was to be taken, except small draughts of water, till twelve o'clock.

Another operation, which had much more the appearance of peculiarity than any other part of the treatment, but which was deemed, more than all else, indispensable to his recovery, consisted in a series of deep inspirations or breathings. It may be described thus: The patient was required to draw as much air into his lungs as possible, and then immediately expel as much of it as possible. This was to be repeated and continued till a suitable degree of fatigue was induced. At first, it was only required as a species of amusement while in the dry pack; but subsequently it was demanded in other circumstances.

I have usually required a person to begin the process by ten, twenty, or thirty deep inspirations, according to his strength of lungs and their irritability; for, at first, it often makes him cough. In the present case, I began with fifty, and gradually increased the number to one hundred. Sometimes, by way of experiment, and to pass away the time while in the dry pack, he went much farther; once to six hundred. In this case, however, the face became slightly flushed, the eyes reddened, and the whole arterial action became hastened. It was evidently like "too much of a good thing," and was never repeated.

The afternoon was spent in physical exercise, active amusement, reading, conversation, etc. The first consisted chiefly in sawing and splitting wood, and in walking abroad. The amusements were of various kinds. The reading was chiefly of the lighter sort, such as newspapers and magazines. The conversation – not always controllable – was the best we could furnish him. Some of the walks were long, extending to five or six miles.

Music, both vocal and instrumental, was regarded as a most valuable amusement, and was not wholly overlooked. It had its difficulties, but most of them could be surmounted. As a devotional exercise, its soothing influence was almost always evoked.

I have said that no breakfast was taken by this young man, and no drink used but cold water. The dinner was also without drink, and so was the supper. The first consisted of a very few kinds of coarse food, – generally not more than two or three at once, – such as coarse whole-meal bread, rice, potatoes, apples, etc., and was the principal meal. The supper was a lighter meal, both as respected quantity and quality, and was taken at about six o'clock. No condiments were allowed except salt, and very little of this; and no animal food, or the products of animals, except, occasionally, a little milk. Fruits, either raw or cooked, were frequently among the staples at dinner, but never at supper.

This treatment, with slight variations, would be applicable to most persons suffering with lingering complaints, and to persons in health, as a means of invigorating their systems; but my present purpose is, chiefly, to speak of it as a remedial agency in the particular case of this young man.

I had hoped to be able to effect a cure on him in about a month. But I was happily disappointed in finding him recover so fast that he was dismissed and sent home on the twenty-fifth day. Nor has his consumptive tendency ever again appeared with much severity. Since the spring of 1856 – now between two and three years – it has not appeared at all.

This method of cure, by deep breathing, consists simply in using the lungs freely, without overworking them. They may be overworked as well as used too little; though the danger is generally in the latter direction. They are made, most undoubtedly, for a great amount of action, in breathing, conversation, singing, reading, etc.; and yet, in all these respects, they are sadly neglected.

Our ordinary conversation is such as hardly to exercise the lungs at all. We talk with the mouth and throat rather than the lungs. So is it, for the most part, with our singing. And, as for breathing, we only breathe a little way down, even when our dress is such as to form no impediment. Full breathing, except in making violent efforts, is hardly known.

CHAPTER LXXX
SPIRIT-DOCTORING

One of the most amusing incidents of my "Forty Years among Pills and Powders," is found at full length of detail in the following chapter. The amusement it affords has, however, a tinge of sadness.

A young man came under my care in the early part of the year 1854, who, for the sake of convenience, I will call Thomas. He was about eighteen years of age, but as delicate, sensitive, and effeminate as a female directly from Broadway would have been, or as a plant reared in a hothouse. In truth, he had been reared very much like many females of the present day, in a manner entirely sedentary – the creature of over-tenderness and over-kindness.

His disease was scrofula; but, with his scrofulous tendencies were conjoined some other difficulties, more obscure and still more unmanageable. His joints were enlarged; and in particular portions of his body were various watery swellings or sacs.

As it was a scrofulous tendency that lay at the bottom or basis of his complaints, I proceeded to treat him accordingly. I was to have him under my care three months, during which time, it was believed, something might be done, if ever. At least, it was believed that a beginning might be made, if indeed the disease should prove to be at all curable.

He was subjected to the treatment, with few variations, which is mentioned in the preceding chapter. He was not permitted, however, to do much in the way of deep breathing till his general health and strength could be improved by other measures. Warm water, in his case, was preferred, also, to cold, and was used in the form of a tub-bath, at five o'clock in the afternoon.

Thomas had been with me about three weeks, without much variation of condition or prospects, when I received a long letter from his friends, the purport of which was that they had been favored with a communication from the "spirit world," which was attended with the appearance of so much truth and reality, that they were not at liberty wholly to disregard it. The communication purported to be made by the late Dr. Benjamin Rush, of Philadelphia.

As these friends of Thomas well knew I was not a believer in this new-fangled spiritualism, they had taken much pains to satisfy me that I was to have for my venerable counsellor not a mere pretender, but the veritable Dr. Rush himself. As one evidence in the case, they had inquired through the "medium," who were the present associates of the good doctor in his new abode; who, nothing loath, had deigned to gratify their supposed curiosity, by giving them the names of five distinguished physicians, among whom were the elder and younger Dr. Ingalls, of Massachusetts, and Dr. Sanborn, of New Hampshire.

And then, with regard to Thomas, he only said, at first, that he was very much interested in him, and that he would examine him and report. Soon after this, at another communication, he said his case was a difficult one, but he thought not incurable. He added, that he was already in very good hands, the best, perhaps, that could be found in this mundane sphere, but rather cautiously insinuated that there were symptoms in the case which I had not yet got hold of, but which would, if rightly apprehended, modify, in some of its particulars, my treatment. What it was in the case which I had not discovered, he did not say directly, but subsequently intimated that the young man's disease was not scrofula, as I had pronounced it, but dropsy of the joints.

It was not long afterward that the mother paid us a visit, and brought, well written out, the substance, as she said it was, of quite a number of communications from Dr. Rush. Much was said in them about the necessity of exercise and a plain diet. And, in general, so far as the mere treatment was concerned, the statements of the spiritual doctor accorded so well with those of the earthly one, that had I been a believer in these modern mysteries, I should have been highly gratified, not only on Thomas's account, but my own.

But the spirit doctor urged a few variations in the treatment of the young man. Beside pressing a little harder than myself the use of green vegetables, and particularly of vegetable juices, he requested, with great apparent earnestness, that he might be permitted to occupy a room heated by a wood fire, rather than by coal. He also made a few other suggestions of less importance.

His mother was a very good woman, save her great credulity. And even here, perhaps, I do her injustice, for there were some curious facts and coincidences. The venerable spirit doctor appeared to have possessed himself of certain secrets which it was extremely puzzling to conjecture how an impostor could have obtained.

After spending a day or two with me, and giving me "much exhortation," the mother returned to her friends. Of her safe arrival, as well as of certain changes that had been resolved on, the husband informed me, by a letter, which, so far as the case of Thomas is concerned, I copy entire.

"Dear Sir: – By Mrs. P., in her recent visit to your place, you have been made acquainted with some of the manifestations of spirits, made to us through a young lady, a medium of our acquaintance.

"The communications purporting to come from Dr. Rush (as he says in his last communication, tell Dr. – that it is the veritable old Dr. Rush, the signer of the Declaration of Independence), and with such apparent earnestness and reality, we feel that, to us, they are something more than human or earthly, and of momentous account in this case of Thomas, and that we are not at liberty longer to disregard them. And though we have great confidence in yourself and your practice, we hope you will not think we are losing either when I say that we have decided to have Thomas return to – , and commence following the prescriptions of this invisible personage. They appear to be harmless, and may be of great virtue; and much which pertains to them appears to be in harmony with your practice.

"Again, in closing, I must say that these communications come to us with such force and apparent reality and truth, that I think it would not be doing justly, either to Thomas or our Creator, longer to disregard them.

"With much esteem, yours, etc., – ."

In a somewhat extended postscript it was added: "We have witnessed other manifestations, of several of which we had ample proof of their correctness."

On another small portion of a sheet which was appended to the former, I found, in pencil, the following: —

"We have, this evening, had another conversation with Dr. Rush. His medium was in – to-day, and was brought to us in order that she might speak to us (Mrs. P. and myself). We are directed to tell you this: that he wants Thomas to be under her (Mrs. P.) care; that there are no earthly physicians that can cure him; that we could not have placed him in better hands than with you. He (Dr. Rush) says he can and will cure him. He says he could cure him without our help, if he could impress him, but in that he has not yet succeeded. He says he has seen Thomas with rubbers on, and that he would have taken them off if he could. Says positively, he must not wear them. Be good enough, dear sir, to see that he does not wear them in coming home." He adds, in conclusion, "Tell Dr. – to remove him from the room he now occupies, and place him in one with a wood fire, and where he will have no bed-fellow."

Thus ended the communication. Thomas went home, according to request, and was, forthwith, put under the treatment of the spiritual doctor. All appeared to be going on very well for a short time; but after the lapse of about three weeks, I heard of his death. No particulars were added, in the papers, but I afterwards learned that his death was rather sudden.

I did not chance to fall in with Mr. P. for several months, and out of respect to his feelings and those of Mrs. P., I did not depart from my usual track to call on them or even write. At the end of the year, however, I visited them, and after the usual passing remarks, the following conversation took place.

"It seems, then, that Dr. Rush with all his wisdom and skill could not save Thomas."

"No; he said it was too late for any power of earth or heaven to cure him."

"But he was very confident he could cure him?"

"Perhaps he spoke with more confidence than he really felt, in order to encourage us and lead us to exert ourselves."

"Do I understand you? Do you mean to say that perhaps the spirit doctors, like the fleshly ones, in order to encourage the friends of the sick, will depart a little from the truth?"

"Not exactly that. Rather this: we do not consider it a departure from the truth."

"I am of a different opinion. In earth, or elsewhere, I call such a course as you intimate a species of white lying – quite common on earth, but which, till now, I did not suppose had found its way to the confines of the world spiritual."

The conversation ended here, and was not afterward resumed. I have, indeed, witnessed a good deal of spiritual doctoring since that time, but it was of a somewhat different character from the foregoing.

For example: I saw a family in the interior of Massachusetts, whose faith in spiritualism and spirit doctrine was perfect. The mistress of the house was the patient. The physician a young man who had been a mechanic, but who had very recently become convinced that it was his duty to attend the sick, – not to do anything for them, on his own responsibility, but only to suffer an old Indian physician to operate through him as a medium.

The chief thing which Dr. H. did, so far as I observed, was to lay his hands on her, and sit for some time in that position. I am not sure that he did not prescribe a few very simple things, from time to time, such as a little weak tea, or the infusion of some domestic herb, from the garden. He was counted, everywhere (for his circuit was a large one), very successful; for his patients generally recovered. Their recovery, it is true, was often very slow.