St. Bernard's: The Romance of a Medical Student. Edward Berdoe

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СКАЧАТЬ embittered his life. This sort of thing is common enough. That woman on the next table, with the spinal fracture, a tight-rope dancer in her early days; used to delight the habitués of Old Vauxhall; one night fell and broke her back. Folk soon got tired of helping her. Her husband made her happy, and was good to her; till, in old age, he died, and she was left bedridden and without means. Even the church folk got tired of the case. She went into the workhouse, died, and so came here. All this as likely as not. Think of those long years of suffering! From the last dazzling lights and gaiety of Vauxhall, to the gradually beworsening room where she lay a cripple for so many years, while her husband did his best to cheer her, and make her as easy as he could. Behind her is a coloured woman not more than forty. How came she here? A stranger from beyond the seas, knowing nothing of our language, brought here by friends who held out hopes of gain and pleasure, and then left her sick and dying in St. George’s Workhouse, down by the London Docks.”

      “Oh! hang it all, Lennard!” cried Mahoney; “you are preaching like a teetotal orator. Confound it, we can’t stand the whole seven of ’em. That’s enough! Why, what could the old parson want more than to give a medical school like ours his ‘body of divinity’? He has preached a better sermon in the hands of Professor Sturge than he ever did at church, and his illustrations are much more telling, I dare say; and he makes no reservations now. I can imagine nothing more honourable than to devote one’s body to a dissecting-room out of mere gratitude to a science that has helped us in life. But this is a dismal strain we are in. Give us your song, Williams; dear old Albert Smith’s ‘Student’s Alphabet.’”

      Williams laid aside his pipe, and took a pull at the tankard of ale on the mantel board, and began: —

THE STUDENT’S ALPHABET

      Oh, A was an Artery, filled with injection;

      And B was a Brick, never caught at dissection.

      C were some Chemicals – Lithium and Borax;

      And D was the Diaphragm, flooring the thorax.

Chorus

      Fol de rol lol,

      Fol de rol lay,

      Fol de rol, tol de rol, tol de rol lay.

      E was an Embryo in a glass case;

      And F a Foramen that pierced the skull’s base.

      G was a Grinder who sharpen’d the tools;

      And H means the Half-and-half drunk at the schools.

Fol de rol lol, etc

      I was some Iodine, made of sea-weed;

      J was a Jolly Cock, not used to read.

      K was some Kreosote, much over-rated;

      And L were the Lies which about it were stated.

Fol de rol lol, etc

      M was a Muscle – cold, flabby, and red;

      And N was a Nerve, like a bit of white thread.

      O was some Opium a fool chose to take;

      And P were the Pins used to keep him awake.

Fol de rol lol, etc

      Q were the Quacks, who cure stammer and squint;

      R was a Raw from a burn, wrapped in lint.

      S was a Scalpel, to eat bread and cheese;

      And T was a Tourniquet, vessels to squeeze.

Fol de rol lol, etc

      U was the Unciform bone of the wrist;

      V was the Vein which a blunt lancet missed.

      W was Wax, from a syringe that flowed;

      X was the ’Xaminers, who may be blowed!

Fol de rol lol, etc

      Y stands for You all, with best wishes sincere;

      And Z for the Zanies who never touch beer.

      So we’ve got to the end, not forgetting a letter;

      And those who don’t like it may grind up a better.

Fol de rol lol, etc

      One of the party, a Mr. Randall, a second year’s man, was very groggy, and it was rather unlucky that he was called out to a maternity case in the midst of all this enjoyment. Not that he took it to heart much, indeed he went with alacrity. He had to prove attendance on fifty cases before he could compete for the Obstetric prize, and as this would bring his number up to forty-three, it was important not to miss it; so he left the company with many ribald jokes aimed at him, and was soon in attendance on the unfortunate woman whose life, and that of her babe, were entrusted to his care. The young man meant well, but he would have been less scandalous to the assembled matrons had he been sober. It seemed, however, so natural for a hospital student to be slightly elevated, and the class of medical men who sent their boozy unqualified assistants to look after their poorer clients had so familiarized them with vinous doctors, that he got a better reception than he deserved. Sometimes very terrible accidents arose in this way, but nothing ever came of the investigations that followed. The staff of the hospital, with their great names and solemn opinions, were always at the service of the students to extricate them from a difficulty; and had they amputated a patient’s head while serving their hospital, there were plenty of good men with a string of letters to their names, who would have been found to swear at the inquest that the treatment was justified on high medical authority under the circumstances. This is called medical esprit de corps, and it is born, bred, and educated in our great medical schools.

      Under the ægis of this protection there is very little that a student cannot do with a live or a dead human subject. Nice for the subject, especially if a live one! The interesting object of Mr. Randall’s attendance on the evening in question recovered her health, and ultimately died a natural death.

      After Randall had started, Dobbs was called upon to tell a story. He was good at this sort of thing; had written several capital tales for the press, and was generally suspected of being engaged upon a medical novel.

      “Well, lads,” said he, after mixing himself a whisky and soda, “I will tell you a true story to-night. I don’t think any of you know it, save perhaps one or two. I don’t always feel in the vein for telling it, but to-night I do. So here goes.

      “It was one day towards the end of November, four years ago, when the great fog lasted three whole days and nights without lifting. London was in total darkness, save for the feeble ghostly glimmer the gaslights gave here and there. There were few men about the place, but I was working hard for a prize and could not leave town – every spare moment was passed in the dissecting-room. On the afternoon of the day I refer to, two or three fellows came bothering me to go and play billiards with them. They were half screwed, and I was occupied with my work and didn’t want their company. So as soon as I got rid of them I took my ‘part’ down to the vaults below, where the coffins are kept waiting for the weekly visit of the undertaker. I lit the gas, and soon got absorbed in my work. It must have been about four o’clock when I went below, because the fellows who had been bothering me had just left the Anatomy Lecture, and nobody knew of my having done so at all. When one gets interested in the brachial plexus, the flight of the hours isn’t noticed, and I was first recalled to the fact that it was closing time at the schools by hearing the heavy slam of the great iron door at the top of the steps leading down to the vaults. Dropping my scalpel with a rush, I made for the staircase, and in real terror of being locked in for the night, shouted to be let out. No answer came; all I could hear was the banging of more doors, fainter and fainter, as they were more distant; and then, hearing the thud of the great outer door, knew I was imprisoned for the night, with no chance of escape. When I returned to my vault, of course the gas was turned off – the porters had seen to that – and I was in total darkness. I had a box of vestas in my pocket I had fortunately bought of an urchin as I came in, and luckily had plenty of tobacco. Lighting a match, I began to explore the place more carefully than I had done. I did not look for any means of getting out, as I knew there were none; СКАЧАТЬ