The Funny Side of Physic is a Webnovel created by A. D. Crabtre.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
RUM AND TOBACCO PATIENTS.
Then there is a large cla.s.s,–men, mostly; males, at least,–who, having spent all their substance and much of their health in excess of tobacco-using and whiskey-drinking, apply to the physician for aid, “in charity, for G.o.d’s sake,” as they have nothing with which to pay him, and usually a numerous family dependent upon their miserable labor for sustenance. Woe to the physician who gets a reputation for benevolence at this day and generation of “cheek.”
“Doctor, I hope you _will_ do something for my distress,” said a gentlemanly-dressed individual, not many months ago. “I have but sixteen cents in my pocket, and I owe for four weeks’ board, and am out of employment.” He was a play actor. Could I say no to so honest a statement of his low state of finance? I treated him faithfully, without a penny.
Not many weeks afterwards I knew of his going away and stopping two days at a hotel with a strange woman.
Still there are others who are quite able, but who think it no sin to cheat a doctor by misrepresenting their inability to pay. They work upon the sympathies of the benevolent doctor; they “would willingly pay a hundred dollars, if they had it,” etc.; and thus slip off without compensating him for his services. Every physician knows that I have not overstated the above.
There is also a large cla.s.s of patients, with whom, like the “old clo’
Jew,” wisdom, brain work, advice, go for nothing. You must represent their case as perfectly fearful, and do something perfectly awful for them, or you are of no account.
Selden, who understood these failings in mankind vastly well, gives them a sly hit in his “Table Talk.” If a man had a sore leg, and he should go to an honest, judicious surgeon, and he should only bid him keep it warm, and anoint it with such an oil (an oil well known), that would do the cure, haply he would not much regard him, because he knows the medicine to be an ordinary one. But if he should go to a surgeon that should tell him, “Your leg will gangrene within three days, and it must be cut off; and you will die unless you do something that I could tell you,” what listening there would be to this man!
“O, for the Lord’s sake, tell me what this is; I will give you any content for your pains.”
THE PHYSICIAN’S WIDOW AND ORPHAN.
Scenes from “Practice of a New York Surgeon.”
I have abridged the following truthful story from the above work, which book I recommend to the perusal of all lovers of moral and entertaining literature.
_The Summons._–The experienced physician knows, from the sound of the door bell, whether it is the representative of wealth or penury who is outside at the bell-pull.
The doctor opened the door to the _timid_ summons.
“Will you please come and see my mother?” asked a little delicate and thinly-dressed girl. “She has been very ill for nearly a year, and I’m afraid she’s going to die.” The poor little heart was swelling with grief.
Almost ashamed as I donned my heavy coat, for the night was bitter cold, and the shivering little girl pattered after me with her well-worn shoes and scanty dress, I hurried along to the abode of poverty.
_The Tenement._–The faint rays of a candle issuing from an upper window of one of those wretched wooden buildings, guided us to the invalid’s tenement, and as we approached the house the little girl ran ahead of me, and stood shivering in the doorway, while I carefully walked up the rickety steps.
Poor as the tenement was, its cleanliness was noticeable, from the fact that it was isolated from the loathsome Irish neighbors, whose superior means and brutal habits allowed them to occupy the lower and more accessible apartments almost in common with the swine which are fed from their very doorsteps.
_The Invalid._–A violent paroxysm of coughing had just seized the lady, and I waited some moments before I could observe her features. She had surely seen better days. There were about her and the little apartment evidences of refinement, from her own tidy person to the little sweet rosebush in full bloom, and the faultless white board, and the scanty, though snowy curtains that shaded the attic window, which produced a melancholy effect upon me, which was not lessened when good breeding required me to address my patient.
[Ill.u.s.tration: CALL AT THE TENEMENT.]
Her countenance had evidently been beautiful; an immense ma.s.s of auburn hair, such as t.i.tian loved to paint, yet shaded her brow; the eyes were large and l.u.s.trous; the nose was slightly aquiline, the lips thin; and every feature bespoke the woman of a highly refined and intellectual nature. When her gaze met mine for an instant, I felt that pity was misplaced in the emotions which swelled my heart, for the lofty dignity, almost _hauteur_, in that look, would have become an empress in reduced circ.u.mstances.
“Go, dearest, to your little bed, and close the door, my love,” she said, turning to the child.
The girl lingered an instant. I stood between the dying mother and her child. I turned aside whilst their lips met in that holy kiss that a dying mother only can give, ay, and a prayer that she alone can breathe.
When the little creature had withdrawn, by a narrow door scarcely distinguishable from the rest of the rough, whitewashed boards that divided her little closet from the main room, the mother turned her earnest gaze upon me, and said,–
“I have troubled you, doctor, not with the view of taxing your kindness to any extent, but to ask how long I may yet linger,”–placing her hand on her wasted bosom,–“depending for every service upon that little fragile creature, for whom alone I have, I fear, a selfish desire to live.”
I could not answer immediately. My heart was too full. I had recognized the dreadful malady at a glance. She was far gone with consumption.
“I have a duty to perform, connected with her, that depends upon your answer–one that I have selfishly, alas! too long deferred.”
As I arose to take my departure, she requested me to open the door to the little chamber. I did so, and there lay the poor, pale child, with her clothes unremoved. Merciful G.o.d! an infant watching its dying mother, a refined, delicate and intellectual woman, the wife of an educated physician, in a wretched tenement, surrounded by palaces!
_How they lived._–O, my G.o.d, what a discovery was made on my next visit, the following morning! Then I saw what had before excited my curiosity, viz., the manner in which my patient contrived to support herself and child, for I was quite sure that she would never condescend to beg.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WIDOW AT WORK.]
I had observed, during my visit the previous evening, a very large package, tied up in commercial form, and by its side a large square board.
The widow was now sitting up in bed, propped up with some coa.r.s.e straw pillows, her cheeks burning with hectic, and the square board resting upon a couple of cross-pieces to keep it from her wasted limbs, and she and the child were at work putting up soda and seidlitz powders. Several dozen boxes had been filled during the morning, placed in envelopes, and labelled.
“‘Tis the lot of humanity to labor,” she said, when I had detected her at the task which taxed the last mite of her remaining strength, and I stood horrified looking on; “and why should I be exempt?” she asked, actually smiling gracefully.
I removed the board, but allowed the girl to resume her work by the little table near, saying that her remark was applicable only to those able to labor. She a.s.sured me that their contracted circ.u.mstances had “compelled her to make this exhibition of her industry.”
_Her History._–Twelve years before, this beautiful and refined lady had left a home of wealth and affluence to share the fortunes of her husband, Dr. —-, who was worthy of all the love that a pure and affectionate woman could bestow. He struggled on manfully and hopefully against misfortune until two years ago….
I had once met her husband. It was under the following circ.u.mstances. A child had been run over, and much injured. I was called, but found, on my arrival, that this young doctor had been before me, and done all that was required; but the gentleman whose duty it was said if I would attend the case he would pay all charges, and the young physician, on learning this fact on the next visit, retired in my favor. That evening I called at his office, and insisted upon his accepting one half of the fees which I knew I should receive. He hesitatingly accepted, after much persuasion on my part; and I remember that it was my impression at the time that he was excessively proud.
Now, the poor wife informed me that, at the time, their means were entirely exhausted, and when he came home that evening with a large basket of necessaries, and some little delicacies to which they had long been unaccustomed, and upon her expressing her astonishment, he _sat down and wept like a child_.
“Great G.o.d,” he cried, in agony of soul, “why did I take you from your father’s house, where you had plenty? What a reward for devoting the flower of life to such a profession! To hear a wife, and the mother of my child, expressing astonishment and joy at the unwonted sight of the very necessaries of life!”
It was only when the note-books and ma.n.u.scripts of this truly meritorious and unfortunate young man fell into my hands, that I discovered what a loss his family and the profession had sustained.
He was too proud to ask a.s.sistance. Even in his fatal sickness, he continued, until a late period, to decline medical treatment, rather than expose his poverty to his brethren. Finally he became known to Dr. —-, who devoted his time and purse to him until he died. That season Dr.
—- died also.
After his death, the lady with her child had removed to these miserable quarters. The needle, and coloring of prints, had sustained them both for a year, when, finding it impossible, with her failing health, to earn a living at that employment, she resumed the one by which her n.o.ble husband had been compelled to eke out his miserable income,–putting up seidlitz powders,–in order to sustain them.
Often, she told me, had she sat by his side till late in the night reading to him, whilst he plied his fingers industriously at this employment, so utterly repulsive to an intellectual man; and when she would beg him to retire, he would often cheerfully obey the summons to an all-night visit to some wretched and dishonest Irishman–who could not get the service of a more knowing (pecuniarily) physician without an advanced fee–in the remote hope of obtaining a few dollars, which his refinement taught these wretchedly dishonest people they had only to refuse, as they almost invariably do, in order to escape entirely the obligation! This is the grat.i.tude (!) of which we have spoken before. It was whilst attending one of these miserable people that he imbibed the fatal disease which swept him from the earth, and left his poor wife and child to struggle on alone in their cheerless journey.
It is needless to say that from the time of the visits of the benevolent physician, the widow wanted for nothing that earth could bestow, to the day of her death, which soon occurred; else she would have died at her task!
_The Unnatural Father._–On the fifth day, evening, a man entered my office and inquired for me. He was plainly dressed in black, and possessed one of those hard, immovable countenances which admit of no particular definition.
“I received a letter from you relative to my daughter.”
This was said in such a perfectly business-like manner, without the least emotion, that I was shocked, and my countenance must have expressed my astonishment, for he immediately added,–
“A sad business, my dear sir. Well, well, I will not detain you. The corpse is here?”
“No, sir. I will accompany you to the late abode of your daughter.” I was glad that she had not been removed; I thought it might do his moral nature some good to see the condition to which his unnatural conduct had brought her.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PHYSICIAN AND THE FATHER.]