Forty Years in the Wilderness of Pills and Powders. Alcott William Andrus

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      Physicians are usually either very greatly addicted to the habit of dosing and drugging for every little ill, real or imaginary, or particularly hostile to it. I have seldom found any such thing as a golden mean in this respect, among them. My feelings, saying nothing at present of the sober convictions of my head, led me almost to the extreme of no medicine, if extreme it can be called. I did not even retain my daily tumbler of ale.

      Though I began my medical career as an apprentice or journeyman, merely, and went abroad chiefly as the associate of my predecessor, I was soon called upon in his absence, and in other circumstances, to take the whole charge of patients; or at least to do so till a longer experience was available. Thus I was gradually inducted into an important office, without incurring a full and proportionate share of its responsibilities.

      CHAPTER XXV

      MY TEMPERANCE PLEDGE

      The subject of Temperance, in its present associated forms, had, at this time, just began to be agitated. At least, it had just begun to receive attention in the newspapers which I was accustomed to see. It could not be otherwise than that I should be deeply interested in its discussion.

      I had been brought up, as I have before intimated, to a pretty free use of cider and tea; but not of ardent spirits or coffee. Neither of these was regularly used in my father's family; though both occasionally were. But I had abandoned cider long before this time, because I found it had a tendency to produce, or at least to aggravate, those eruptive diseases to which I was greatly liable. Temperance, then, in the popular sense of the term, was, to me, an easy virtue.

      And yet as a temperance man – in the circle of my acquaintance – I stood nearly alone. No individual around me was ready to take the ground I occupied. Of this, however, I was not fully apprised, till a patient attempt to recruit the temperance ranks convinced me of the fact. But I will give you a full account of my enterprise, since it has a bearing on my subsequent history and confessions.

      With the aid of a Boston paper which I habitually read, I drew up the customary preamble, declaration, and pledge of a temperance society. It involved the great idea of total abstinence from spirituous liquors; though by the term spirituous liquors, as used at that day, was meant chiefly distilled spirits. Having first affixed my own name to the paper I went to the most influential of my patrons and friends and asked them to sign it likewise. But, reader, – will you believe it? – not a single subscriber could I obtain far, or near. They all, with one consent, made excuse.

      The elder deacon of the most evangelical church in the place where I resided, had for his apology that he suffered seriously from a complaint for which his physicians had prescribed the daily use of gin, "Now," said he, "though there is nothing in the pledge which goes to prohibit the use of spirits in a case like my own, yet as some might think otherwise and charge me with inconsistency, I must on the whole be excused from signing it."

      His son, who was also a deacon in the same church with the father, excused himself by saying he was young, and without influence, and it would be far better for the old people to put their names down first. "Perhaps," said he, "I may conclude to sign the paper by-and-by. I will consider well the matter, and if I conclude to sign it, I will let you know."

      Other leading men in the church as well as in the town affairs, refused to sign the pledge, because Deacon H. and son would not. It belonged to the deacons in the church, they said, to take the lead in all good things, and not to them. When they had put their names to the document, others would not long hesitate to follow.

      In short nobody would consent to sign the paper, and it remains to this day, just as it was when I drew it up; and it is now more than thirty years old. There it is, with my name attached to it, as large as life. I have been President, Vice President, Treasurer, Secretary, and "all hands too," of my would-be Temperance Society, from that day to this. I doubt whether many societies can be found which in thirty years have made so little change as the one under consideration.

      For about four years from the time of getting up the above-named temperance society, strange as the assertion may seem, I retained the right to use a little beer and a good deal of coffee. But in May, 1830, I abandoned all drinks but water, to which custom I have ever since adhered and in which I shall probably die.

      CHAPTER XXVI

      TRIALS OF A YOUNG PHYSICIAN

      The poet Cowper, in his delineations of a candidate for the pulpit, prescribes, as one needful condition or qualification,

      "That he is honest in the sacred cause."

      So, when I entered upon the medical profession, which I regarded as next of kin to sacred, I deemed honesty quite a high recommendation; and whatever in the abstract appeared to me to be right, I endeavored to pursue through the routine of every-day life. Alas, that I should ever have had occasion to doubt the policy of common honesty!

      I was called to see Mrs. – . The case was an urgent one. There was no time for deliberation or consultation. I understood her case but very poorly; yet I knew that in order to success I must at least seem to be wise. Besides, what was to be done must be done quickly; so I boldly prescribed. My prescription was entirely successful, and I left the house with flying colors. I left, moreover, with the full consciousness of having acted in the main like an honest man.

      A few days afterward I was sent for by Mrs. – , who immediately filled my ears with the most piteous complaints, the sum total of which was that she was exceedingly nervous, and I told her so. Of course I did not complain of culpability or crime. But I told her, very plainly, that she needed no medicine – nothing but plenty of air and exercise, and less high-seasoned food. My great frankness gave offence, and impaired my reputation. She employed, in my stead, Dr. Robinson, who continued to attend her till his bill amounted to a sum sufficient to buy a good carriage and harness, and till his credit for skill was advanced in a degree corresponding.

      Mr. B.'s child was sick, and his wife besides. He came for my predecessor; but, not finding him at home, – though he still remained in the place, – he was compelled to Hobson's choice – myself or nobody; Dr. Robinson lived at too great a distance. I was accordingly employed, and was soon on the spot. The child was very sick; and for some little time after my arrival I was so much occupied in the performance of my duties that I paid no attention to any thing else. But having prescribed for both my patients, I sat down quietly to look over the newspaper.

      Presently I heard from Mrs. B. a deep groan. I was immediately at her bedside, anxious to know the cause. "Oh, nothing at all," she said, "except a momentary feeling of disappointment because Dr. – did not come." I said to her, "You can send for him now, madam, as soon as he returns. Do not think yourselves compelled to adhere to me, simply because you have been obliged to call me once. I will yield most cheerfully to the individual of your preference."

      Mrs. B. apologized. She knew I had done as well as I could, she said; and perhaps no one could have done better. "But little Leonora," said she, "is dreadfully sick; and I do very much want to see Dr. B. He has had more experience than you. These young doctors, just from the schools, what can they know, the best of them?"

      I saw her difficulties; but, as I have already intimated, I did not look so wise as Dr. B., nor had I so grave a face, nor so large an abdomen. I could neither tell so good a story, nor laugh so heartily; I could not even descend to that petty talk which is so often greatly preferred to silence or newspaper reading, not only by such individuals as Mrs. B. and her friends, but by most families. A physician must be a man of sympathy. He need not, however, descend to so low a level as that of dishonesty; but he must come down to the level of his people in regard to manners and conversation. He must converse with them in their own language. He must not only СКАЧАТЬ