Cases of poisoning by lead are occurring in our country almost daily; and it becomes a matter of much importance to know how to treat them. Indeed, there are many who are so susceptible to the action of this deleterious agent, that the reception of a single tumbler of water brought through lead pipes, in a certain condition, into their stomachs, will cause serious disturbance. I have had one patient of this description—a Mr. E., of Worcester, Mass.
Some twenty years ago, much of the water used in the village of Dedham, Mass., was conveyed to the village, for half a mile or so, in lead pipes. Many who drank the water were injured by it; some of them for life. A Mr. R., a printer, is believed to have lost his life, by disease which was either induced or aggravated by this cause. I have, myself, been called to prescribe for several, who were probably led into a state of ill health by this unhealthy water. One of the clergymen of the village suffered from it very greatly, though he is, as I believe, yet living.
There is some difference of opinion as to the circumstances which most favor the action of the lead, or, rather, which cause its dissolution in the water. But, with regard to its danger, in certain circumstances, either known or unknown, there can be no doubt. Nor can we doubt that, in view of facts which exist, it is our duty to banish lead pipes, as much as possible, from common use.
During the early part of the year 1855, Capt. J. H., near Boston, aged thirty-four years, of good natural constitution and comparatively healthy habits in general, had a slow typhoidfever, from which, however, he finally recovered, though not without a continued liability to a relapse. About this time, he began to use water brought to his kitchen in lead pipes.
Late in the year 1856, he was taken down very suddenly, with fever and great debility, and in four or five days his upper and lower limbs became completely paralyzed. He was not able to stir so much as one of his hands. Indeed, the whole abdominal region seemed to be almost as inactive as his limbs; for very severe friction across the hips, and along the spine, down the legs, produced no sensation; and his bowels were so constipated, as to remain motionless from five or six days to a fortnight at a time, unless excited by medical agents.
His case was examined by several eminent medical men in the vicinity of Boston, who gave it as their unanimous opinion, that the cause of his disease was the irritation of the water. Some of them prescribed for his case, but all to no apparent purpose.
On the first day of November, he was sent to an electro-chemical bathing establishment, to be treated according to the usages of that institution. I was intimately acquainted with the establishment, and, in circumstances like his, was understood to regard it with favor. I was, therefore, from time to time, consulted in the case of Captain H. To give an impulse to the nervous and arterial systems of Capt. H., one bath was administered. The use of his limbs was restored, as if by magic. When he came out of the bath, he walked some twenty feet or more, to his bed, without assistance; and, to his great surprise, could raise his hands to his head. The second day's bath, and treatment with simple diet, not only restored sensation, but gave him a better use of his hands than he had enjoyed before for many months. His bowels, also, became immediately regular, and continued so.
It is, however, to be confessed, that his recovery was not so rapid as at first seemed probable. The baths seemed to give an impulse; but it was reserved for a proper diet, suitable exercise, and good air, to work out, slowly, a perfect cure. How much was attributable to the baths, considered by themselves,is not known. No medicine was given, from first to last, except the electricity.
It should also be confessed, that no belief was entertained, by myself or my associates, of any mechanical power possessed by the electricity, of forcing the lead out of the system; though some individuals had believed in such a power. The most we claimed was, that the invisible agent had an immediate influence on the nerves, and a more remote one on the absorbent system.
As a farther proof, if more proof had been needed, that the paralysis was induced by lead, some of the water from which he had drank was analyzed by Dr. Hayes, City Assayer for Boston, who pronounced it to be strongly impregnated with lead, and "utterly unfit for culinary purposes."
In the autumn of 1856, a fine young man, a clerk in a large mercantile house in Boston, came to me with complaints not unlike those of thousands of his own age and sex, and begged for relief; but was surprised when he learned that I treated all such cases as his without medicine. Added to the surprise, moreover, was a degree of mortification at the idea of attempting to cure himself by a change of habits, especially of dietetic habits, which, in a boarder in a family, might be observed. He would have been much better pleased to take medicine, so concentrated that a few drops or a few small boluses or pills could be taken a few times a day unperceived—than to run the risk of awakening suspicions of diseases to which he was unwilling to make confession.
And herein, by the way, comes out the secret of such a wonderful imposition on our young men, by what I have elsewhere called land-sharks in the shape of physicians. The fondness of young men for secret cures,—or, at least, their money, which is the thing most wanted after all,—leads them, almost directly, into the mouths of these monsters.
My young patient, however, had faith in me; and, after the first shock of surprise and the first feelings of mortification were over, resolved to follow my directions, and did so. He came to me, it is true, several times, and said he could not endure it; that he was losing flesh very fast, and that he was already so weak that he could scarcely walk to his desk. I comforted him as well as I could, told him there would be a change soon for the better, and kept him on through the tedious months of December, January, and February, when his strength began to return, and his flesh to be restored.Between March and May, he gained twenty-one pounds; and in June, he was in as good health as he ever had been before in his life. And yet he took not a particle of any thing medicinal, from first to last.
If you desire to know, in few words, what hediddo, I will tell you. First, he took a long walk, regularly,—sufficiently long to induce a good deal of muscular fatigue,—as the last thing before he went to bed which was at an early hour. Secondly, he used a cold hand-bath, followed by much friction, daily. Thirdly, he abandoned tea and coffee (tobacco and rum he had never used), and drank only water. Fourthly, he abandoned all animal food and all concentrated substances and condiments, and lived simply on bread (unfermented), fruits, and a few choice vegetables.
It was faith that served this young man,—not faith without works, but faith which is manifested by works. "According to your faith be it unto you," might be enjoined on every patient, under all circumstances. But the most remarkable thing connected with this case, is the fact that this young man had been brought upin the lap of ease and indulgence—an education which is as unfavorable to faith as it is to works.
A female, in Worcester County, Massachusetts, nearly sixty years of age, having for many years been a sufferer from domestic afflictions, till, along with certain abuses of the digestive function, it had brought upon her a full load of dyspepsia, was at length subjected to a trio of evils, which capped the climax of her sufferings, reduced her to a very low condition, and laid her on her bed.
While lying in this condition, a young woman who was her constant attendant, and who was acquainted with my no-medicine practice, recommended to her to send for me. She hesitated, for a time, on account of the expense; for, though by no means poor, she felt all the pangs of poverty in consequence of the hard and unworthy treatment of the individual who was to have justly executed the last will and testament of her husband.
But I was at length sent for. I found her under the general care and oversight of a homoeopathic physician; but as he was ten or twelve miles distant and had not been informed of my visit, I did not see him. His practice, however, in the case, was similar to what I had usually met with in cases which had come under the care of physicians of the same school, and was, at most, as it appeared to me, negative. She had indeed been drugged by some one most fearfully, and her whole system was suffering as the consequence; but it was a physician who had preceded Dr. A., and who was of an entirely different school.
I found no great difficulty in persuading her to ask Dr. A., when he should next call, to suspend his medicine a week or two; and, after ordering a warm bath two or three times a week, andcertain changes in diet, with particular care about ventilation and temperature, left her, to call again the next week.
On calling, at the time appointed, I was greatly disappointed in finding her with many better symptoms. There was indeed cough, which busy rumor had converted into an indication of galloping consumption; but I found no other symptom which belonged to that disease. The homœopathic medicine had been suspended, and the warm bath had been applied with apparent success.
I left, with the promise of calling again in ten days—but not sooner, unless they sent for me. At the end of the ten days, I called and found all things ajar again. Her female attendant had left her about a week before; and the new attendants—two of them—being destitute of faith in me, had found no great difficulty in persuading her that she had a fever of the lungs, and that she would die if she did not take alittlemedicine, and that she would do well to recall Dr. A., and take his medicine.
When I arrived, at this third visit, I found her taking a small amount of homœopathic medicine, but without appetite or strength, and evidently tending downward. It was too late to do any thing, especially when there was no faith in anything but pills and powders; and I left her to her native strength of constitution, her homœopathic physician, her croaking nurses, and God, vainly mourning, all my way home, about the inefficiency of works without faith, especially in the case of the sick. This woman's case is recent, and it is possible that she may recover, in spite of pills, powders, croakings, and faithlessness. I have witnessed such things. Nature is tough.
But while I lament the inefficiency of works, where faith is wanting, I have had one case which seems an exception to the general rule, "according to your faith," etc., which I take great pleasure in recording.
In June, 18—, a young man from the interior of New England called on me while abroad on business, and desired to receive my advice concerning certain complaints, attended with great debility, and accompanied by hernia and varicocele, and,in general, by dyspepsia. On examination, I found the case a very obstinate one, of long standing. The patient was a young man of twenty-two, a clerk in a country store, a man of some principle, and yet trained to find his chief happiness in the indulgence of his appetite, especially in what is called good eating.
I gave him some general directions, promising him something still more specific as soon as I got home. In July, I gave him written directions, in full, and urged him to push the treatment as fast as possible, in order to get into a beginning state of convalescence, soon enough to take advantage of the naturally recuperative effects of autumn. If he could find himself recruiting in September, the month of October, I told him, would produce on him a very decided change.
He went to work accordingly, but it was because it was a last resort, and he must do so. It was not because he had much faith in me. Some of his friends, it seems, had directed his attention this way; but when I came to talk of the starvation plan of cure, to which I so much inclined, both they and he revolted. However, he made a faint beginning.
I had foreseen most of the difficulties I had to contend with, and was prepared to meet them. Thus, knowing full well that if I laid down the laws of diet in great strictness, either as regards, quality or quantity, he would be discouraged and do nothing at all, I permitted him to use almost all kinds of food, and only insisted on a rigid adherence to the great law, and avoiding medicine. These two points I made much of, and explained them fully.
For example: I told him that all kinds of cookery or preparations which prevented the necessity of teeth labor, such as soaking in milk, forming into toast, mashing, or in any way softening, were wrong, and must be avoided. Also, that all additions to our food, whether of foreign bodies, such as pepper, mustard, vinegar, salt, etc., or of more concentrated substances, such as molasses, sugar, honey, butter, gravy, etc., should, for the same reason as well as others, be shunned as much as possible.
When, therefore, said I, the question comes before your mind,whether you may or may not eat a particular thing, consider first, whether its use would be a violation of the general laws I have laid down for you. I gave him many specific directions, at first, and yet continued to urge it upon him to reason for himself.
But it seemed, for a long time, a hopeless case. He kept writing to me, to know if he might eat toast, bread and butter, soup, milk, etc., or to know why it was that he ought not to make additions of foreign or concentrated substances, as of pepper, mustard, molasses, syrup, etc. I have before me sixteen letters from him, in most of which his pleadings abound, up to the very last but one. This fifteenth letter, dated December 27, more than six months after my interview with him and first prescription, has the following inquiries:—
"Will a diet do for me that admits of any pastry?—of pies, of any kind? Whatkindof puddings, pies, and cake will answer? What kind of meats? What food shall I be obliged to avoid to keep my passions in check? What am I to eat this winter—next spring—next summer? How much at a time? Can I eat tripe—corned beef—oysters—lean pork steak? What kinds of meat and fish will do for me to eat? Any salt fish? Is milk bad in case of liver disease? Is there any objection to baked sour apples and milk, or to sour apples after using a little milk or bread? Will you allow me to eat any simple thing between meals?"
And in this same letter, after six months' instruction, as aforesaid, he undertakes to tell me what his habits of living are, which, despite of all said and done, in the way of personal counsel and nearly twenty letters, strangely reads thus:—
"I use some milk three times a day, and almost always soak my toasted bread in milk. Since I have been out in the open air, I have usually had some wild game, or a piece of beef steak, or raw eggs, twice a day. My suppers, lately, have been toasted bread, of any convenient kind (usually Graham), with milk, about a tumbler full, at a time, or three-fourths full. I usually eat two apples, with or after each breakfast and dinner. I use considerable cream soaked into my bread, when I can obtain it, and some molasses. Now, which is the best forme to use on my bread, at supper time—cream, milk, molasses, or a little butter?—or with my other meals? Is there any objection to my using all these now, in proper quantities? Will a little plain sauce do with my supper? Why do you so strongly object to cream toasts, or cream on bread? Is chewing gum from spruce trees injurious?—or birch bark? Any objections to eating two sour apples after breakfast and dinner?"
Now the great difficulty with this young man was, that he had but little faith, either in me or in principles—though if I would direct him, from step to step, like a child, he would obey me, for the moment: though, like a child, too, he would forget my directions at almost the next moment, and ask for information on the very same point.
Was not such a trial almost too great? However, he was destined to survive it, to live on in spite of it, notwithstanding my after fears. In March, 18—, he wrote me as follows:—
"As I have been getting better all the while, and have troubled you with so many little queries from time to time, I thought I would delay this letter a while. My health has been constantly improving all winter, and I think I have not enjoyed as good health before for many years. People now say, 'How well you are looking!' and 'How fleshy you are!' I mean to live according to the 'laws.'"
In short, this young sufferer from dyspepsia in one of its worst forms, after more than half a year of works without faith, and of whining and complaining a part of the time, without either works or faith, is at last shouting victory! And a glorious victory it is! Would that the rest of our dyspeptics, with land by millions, might stand on as good a footing, with as good prospects before them, as this young man! And yet he might have come up to the same point long ago, had he used more common sense, and exercised but a little more faith and trust in just hygienic principles.
Not far from the end of July, 1857, I received the following, in a letter through the post office, as usual, and dated at Boston, but signed by a name probably fictitious.
"It was with no small degree of interest that I noticed, in a book written by yourself,—I cannot recollect its name,—some remarks upon certain diseases which you called nameless; yet, through a dread to introduce so delicate a subject, I have neglected so to do, till it has become an imperative task. And now, laying aside all feelings of modesty, allow me to be familiar with you, as with a father, and to lay my case before you, assuring you that, however unfortunate I have been, it is not my fault, but has come upon me while living with my husband, having never betrayedhisconfidence."
She then proceeded at once to describe her disease and sufferings, which were terrible. It appeared that she had not been of the number of those who, in circumstances akin to hers, so often fall into shark's mouths. She had taken but little medicine of any kind, except balsam copaiba. After the details of her symptoms and sufferings were finished, she added:
"Now, if you are able to understand me, I wish to ask you whether, from the description I have given, you cannot prescribe something that will relieve me. If so, you can be assured that you will put your humble correspondent and her erring but repentant companion under great obligation to yourself, and that you will be rewarded for all your trouble and advice."
As the result of this request, a correspondence followed, which continued several months. At first, the patient clung to the idea that she could not possibly be restored without minerals,or at least without active medicine of some sort or other, she scarcely knew what. But she at length understood me, and followed, quite implicitly, my directions. There was indeed a little shrinking, at first, from the rigidity, or, as she would call it, the nakedness, of a diet which it was indispensable to use in order to purify her blood effectually; but she finally came bravely up to the mark, and probably reaped her reward in it.
It is true, I did not hear from her till she came to the end of a very long road; but up to the last of our correspondence, she was slowly improving. My belief is that, before this time, she has fairly recovered, and with far less injury to the vital powers than if mercurial or other strong medicines had been used.
And herein we are reminded of a crime that not only has no name, but deserves none. I allude to the act of communicating a disease so distressing to an innocent and unoffending female. We had an instance of this same crime in Chapter LXXIV. If there be such a thing as punishing too severely, I am sure it is not in cases like these. The individual in human shape, who, with eyes open, will run the risk of injuring those whom he professes to love better, if possible, than himself, deserves a punishment more condign and terrible than he to whom is so often awarded a halter or a guillotine.
It is morally impossible for any medical man who has kept his eyes open for forty years, not to have been struck with certain obvious and incontrovertible facts, of which I present a few specimens.
TheBoston Medical and Surgical Journal, a few years since, in an obituary notice of Dr. Danforth, who had long been an eminent practitioner in Boston, makes the following remarks:—
"Though considered one of the most successful practitioners, he rarely caused a patient to be bled. Probably, for the last twenty years of his practice, he did not propose the use of this remedy in a single instance. And he maintained that the abstraction of the vital fluid diminished the power of overcoming the disease. On one occasion, he was called to visit a number of persons who had been injured by the fall of a house frame, and, on arrival, found another practitioner engaged in bleeding the men. 'Doctor,' said the latter, 'I am doing your work for you.' 'Then,' said Dr. Danforth, 'pour the blood back into the veins of those men.'"
Dr. Thomas Hubbard, of Pomfret, Conn., long a President of the Medical Society in that State, was, on the contrary, accustomed to bleed almost all his patients. Yet both of these men were considered as eminently successful in their profession. How is it that treatment so exactly opposite should be almost, if not quite, equally successful?
There was a discussion in Boston, many years ago, between Dr. Watson, one of the most successful old-school practitioners of medicine, and a Thomsonian practitioner, whose name I have forgotten, in the progress of which the former made the open and unqualified declaration, that, in the course of four years'practice, he had drawn one hundred gallons of human blood, and that he was then on the use of his thirty-ninth pound of calomel.
Now both these men had full practice; and while one did little or nothing to break up disease or destroy the enemy, the other did a great deal; and yet both were deemed successful. Can we explain this any better than we can the facts in regard to Drs. Danforth and Hubbard?
Let us look at the case of Dr. M., of Boston, a successful allopathic practitioner. In order to satisfy his curiosity, with regard to the claims of homœopathy, he suddenly substituted the usual homœopathic treatment for allopathy, and pursued it two whole years with entire success. Curiosity still awake, he again exchanged his infinitesimal doses of active medicine for similar doses, as regards size, of fine flour, and continued this, also, for two years. The latter experiment, as he affirms, was quite as successful as the former.
Do not such facts as these point, with almost unerring certainty, to the inefficiency of all medical treatment? Do they not almost, if not quite, prove that when we take medicine, properly so called, or receive active medical treatment; we recover in spite of it? Is there any other rational way of accounting for the almost equal success of all sorts of treatment,—allopathic, botanic, homœopathic, hydropathic, etc.,—when in the hands of good, sound, common sense, and conjoined with good nursing and attendance? Is it not that man is made to live, and is tough, so that it is not easy to poison him to death?
But the most remarkable fact of this kind with which I am acquainted, is the case of Isaac Jennings, M.D., now of Ohio. He was educated at Yale College, in Connecticut. During the progress of his education, he served a sort of medical apprenticeship in the family of Prof. Eli Ives, of New Haven. He took his medical degree in 1812, and soon after this commenced the practice of his profession in Trumbull, in Fairfield County. Here, for eight years, he had ample opportunity to apply the principles with which, at the schools, he had been fully indoctrinated.In the summer of 1820, he removed, by special request, to Derby, nine miles from New Haven. Up to his second year in Derby, he pursued the usual, or orthodox, course of practice. The distance from his former field of labor was not so great but that he retained a portion of his old friends in that region. He was also occasionally called to the town of Huntington, lying partly between the two.
On meeting one day with Dr. Tisdale, of Bridgeport, an older physician than himself, he said to him, very familiarly, "Jennings, are you aware that we do far less good with our medicine than we have been wont to suppose?" He replied in the affirmative, and observed that he had been inclining to that opinion for some time. "Do you know," added Dr. Tisdale, "that we do a great deal more harm than good with medicine?" Dr. Jennings replied that he had not yet gone as far as that. Dr. Tisdale then proceeded to state many facts, corroborating the opinion he had thrown out concerning the impotency of medicine. These statements and facts were, to the mind of Dr. Jennings, like a nail fastened in a sure place.
From this time forth his medical scepticism increased, till he came, at length, to give his doubts the test of experiment. Accordingly, he substituted for his usual medicaments, bread pills and colored water; and for many years—I believe five or six—gave nothing else. The more rigidly he confined himself to these potions, the better he found his success, till his business was so extended, and his reputation so great, as to exclude all other medical men from his own immediate vicinity.
His great conscientiousness, as well as a desire of making known to his medical brethren what he believed to be true, and thus save them from the folly of dealing out that which he was assured was only a nuisance, especially under the shelter of what they supposed to be his example, led him, at length, to call a meeting of physicians, and reveal to them his discovery. The surprise was great; but greater or less, according to their tact for observation, and the length of their experience.
But the secret was now out, and Dr. Jennings soon began to lose practice. Instead of employing a man to give them bread pills and colored water, many chose to take care of themselves, and let the physician wholly alone; while a far greater number, though they dearly loved and highly respected Jennings, as an old friend and physician and an eminent Christian, began to seek medical counsel at other hands.
The result was, that his business became so much diminished as to leave him without a full support, except from past earnings, and he began to make preparations for a removal to the West. But this his friends were unwilling to have him do, and they accordingly raised, by subscription, $300 a year, to induce him to remain. In a few years, however, the subscription failed to be renewed, and in 1839 or 1840 he removed to Ohio, where he still remains. He does a little business, and what he does is attended with great success; and yet, the number of those who follow him is small.
Facts of similar import, in very great numbers, some more and some less striking, might be related, to almost any extent; but can it be necessary? Suffice it to say that some of the oldest physicians in Boston and its vicinity, the oldest physician in Cleveland, and some of the most intelligent ones in New York and Philadelphia, as well as elsewhere, are coming rapidly to the same conclusions with Dr. Jennings, and a few of them have already arrived there.
It is from stumbling on such facts as these, together with my own long experience, all bearing in the same direction, that I have long since renounced dependence on medicine, properly so called, as a means of restoring the system, when out of order, to a state of health. In other words, I have ceased to employ poison tocurepoison.
But, lest it should still be thought I make too much of my own experience, and of the facts which have been adduced in this chapter, I subjoin another of kindred character, containing the written testimony of others, especially medical men, on the subject.
A very large amount of testimony, going to show the inefficiency and inutility of medicine, might be presented; but I have limited myself to a selection of some of the more striking and important.
Let me begin with Dr. Rush, of Philadelphia. In a published lecture of his, more than half a century ago, he made the following remark:—
"Dissections daily convince us of our ignorance of disease, and cause us to blush at our prescriptions. What mischief have we done under the belief of false facts and theories! We have assisted in multiplying diseases; we have done more; we have increased their mortality.... The art of healing is like an unroofed temple, uncovered at the top, and cracked at the foundation."
Magendie, late a distinguished French physician and physiologist, says, as follows:—
"I hesitate not to declare,—no matter how sorely I shall wound our vanity,—that so gross is our ignorance of the real nature of the physiological disorders called diseases, that it would, perhaps, be better to do nothing, and resign the complaint we are called upon to treat, to the resources of nature, than to act, as we are frequently compelled to do, without knowing the why and the wherefore of our conduct, and at the obvious risk of hastening the end of our patient."
Dr. Good, a learned and voluminous British writer, also says:—
"The science of medicine is a barbarous jargon; and the effects of our medicines upon the human system, are, in the highest degree, uncertain, except, indeed, that they have alreadydestroyed more lives than war, pestilence, and famine combined."
Professor Clark, of the Harvard Medical School, in Boston, in an address of his, recently published, insists, again and again, that medicine never cures, and that it rarely, if ever, so much asaidsnature; while he exalts, in an unwonted degree, the remedial effects of every hygienic influence. Let him who longer doubts, read this most remarkable production; and with the more care from the fact that it is a very fair exponent of the doctrines now held at the very fountain-head of medical orthodoxy.
From a work entitled, "Memoirs of James Jackson, Jr.," late of Boston, written by his father, I have extracted the following. It is part of a letter, written from Europe, to his venerable father, the present elder Dr. James Jackson, of Boston.
"But our poor pathology and worse therapeutics—shall we ever get to a solid bottom? Shall we ever have fixed laws? Shall we everknow, or, must we always be doomed tosuspect, topresume? Isperhapsto be our qualifying word forever and for aye? Must we forever be obliged to hang our heads when the chemist and natural philosopher ask us for our laws and principles?... If honest, must we not acknowledge that, even in the natural history of disease, there is very muchdoubtful, which is received assure? And in therapeutics, is it better yet, or worse? Have we judged—have we deduced our results, especially in the last science—fromall, or from a selection of facts?
"Do we know, for example, in how many instances such a treatment fails, for the one time it succeeds? Do we know how large a proportion of cases would get well without any treatment, compared with those that recover under it? Do not imagine, my dear father, that I am becoming a sceptic in medicine. It is, not quite as bad as that. I shall ever believe,at least, that the rules ofhygeiamust be and are useful, and that he only can understand and value them, who has studied pathology. Indeed, I may add that, to a certain extent, I have seen demonstratedthe actual benefit of certain modes of treatment in acute diseases. But, is this benefit immense? When life is threatened, do we very often save it? When a disease is destined byNatureto be long, do we very often materially diminish it?"
It is worthy of remark, that the discussions in the pages of theBoston Medical and Surgical Journal, for two or three years past, concerning the treatment of scarlatina, have usually resulted, practically, in favor of the no-medicine system. It clearly appears that the less our reliance on medicine, in this disease, the better. But what shall hinder or prevent our coming to similar results, in the investigation, in time to come, of other diseases?
Dr. Reynolds, one of the most aged as well as most distinguished medical men of Boston, has been heard to affirm that if one hundred patients were to call on him during the day, and he could induce them to follow such directions as would keep them from injuring themselves from eating and drinking,—no matter what the disease,—he should be surprised at a mortality of more than three per cent of their number; and he shouldnotbe surprised if every one who implicitly followed his direction should finally recover.
I will only add, in this place, the testimony of two or three distinguished individuals on this subject, whose opinion, though they were not medical men, will with many have weight, as it certainly ought.
Thomas Jefferson, in a letter to Dr. Caspar Wistar, of Philadelphia, thus writes: "I have lived to see the disciples of Hoffman, Boerhaave, Stahl, Cullen, and Brown succeed each other, like the shifting figures of a magic lantern.... The patient treated on the fashionable theory, sometimes recovers in spite of the medicine. The medicine, therefore, restores him (!!!), and the doctor receives new courage to proceed in his experiment on the lives of his fellow-creatures!"
Sir Walter Scott says, of Napoleon: He never obeyed the medical injunctions of his physician, Dr. O'Meara, and obstinately refused to take medicine. "Doctor," said he, "no physicking.We are a machine made to live. We are organized for that purpose. Such is our nature. Do not counteract the living principle. Let it alone; leave it the liberty of defending itself; it will do better than your drugs. The watchmaker cannot open it, and must, on handling it, grope his way blindfold and at random. For once that he assists and relieves it, by dint of tormenting it with crooked instruments, he injures it ten times, and at last destroys it."
The Massachusetts Medical Society, in the year 1856, were authorized by an unknown individual to offer a premium of one hundred dollars for the best dissertation which should be presented to them, on or before April 15, 1857, on the following subject, viz.: "We would regard every approach towards the rational and successful prevention and management of disease without the necessity of drugs, to be an advance in favor of humanity and scientific medicine."
A number of essays were accordingly presented, having, as is usual in such cases, various degrees of merit; but the preference was given to one written by Worthington Hooker, M. D., of New Haven, Conn. This essay is to be published in due time, and it is devoutly hoped there will be as little delay as possible in the circulation of so remarkable, and, as I have no doubt, valuable, an essay.
The facts in connection with this essay, taken as an item in the history of human progress, are truly remarkable. The very title of the essay is at once peculiar and striking; but the main idea which it suggests to the mind is much more so. That a learned society, in the literary metropolis of New England, if not of the United States, should, at the present time, in any way or shape, encourage a discussion of the question, whether, in the practice of medicine, drugs can be dispensed with, was not an event to be expected or so much as dreamed of. It is, therefore, I repeat, very remarkable, and must have a deeper meaning than at first appears.
What, then, let us inquire, is that meaning? Does it intimate that there is a belief,—a lurking belief, if you choose to call it so,—among our scientific medical men, that drugs mightbe entirely dispensed with? Or, does it rather imply a belief in the possibility of approximating to such a point,—with those approximations of two mathematical lines, of which we sometimes hear,—without the possibility of ever reaching it?
It is by no means improbable, at least in my own view, that the essay intended by the Boston Society had its origin in a growing tendency, everywhere, among scientific medical men, to the belief that, in the most rational and successful practice of medicine, drugs are not indicated; and that they are only necessary on account of the ignorance or credulity of the community.
The family practice of many sensible physicians, perhaps I might say of most, is strongly corroborative of this main idea. I can point to more than a score of eminent individuals, in this department, who never, or at most but seldom, give medicine in their own families; above all, they never take it themselves. It is indeed true, that some of them are hardly willing to own it, when questioned on the subject; but this does not alter the plain matter of fact.
Thus Dr. S——, ten miles from Boston, is subject to attacks of a species of neuralgia, which sometimes last two days; and yet, none of his family or friends or medical brethren have ever been able to persuade him to do any thing to mitigate his pain, except to keep quiet and abstain almost entirely from food; and a daughter of his assures me that she can scarcely recollect his giving a dose of medicine to any member of his family. Dr. H., seven miles from Boston, not only does the same, but frequently disappoints the expectations of his patients, by giving them no medicine. Yet both these individuals are exceedingly slow to be seen in company with those men of heterodoxy in medicine, who dare to advocate, everywhere and on all occasions, what they habitually practice on themselves and their families.
What, then, I repeat it, can these things mean? Is there not reason for believing that the truly wise men of the medical profession, at the present time, are beginning to see, in certain facts which in the providence of God are forced uponthem, that in the general management of disease, and as the general rule of treatment, no drugs or medicines are needful?
There is a wide difference between that practice of our profession which, as a general rule, excludes medicine, and that which, as a general rule, includes it. And an entire change from the latter to the former, is, perhaps, too great to be expected immediately. Yet, in the progress of society towards a more perfect millennial state of things, must it not come?
It is a notorious fact, that while the number of physicians and the expenditure for drugs and medicines is constantly increasing, in every civilized country where they have been much employed, diseases have been multiplied in proportion. Perhaps, too, they have, in a like proportion, become more fatal; but this does not so clearly appear. Nor is it quite so certain that acute diseases have been multiplied, as chronic ones.
Another fact deserves to be placed by the side of this; viz., that in those countries, or portions of country, where no physicians have ever been in vogue, and very little medicine beyond a few herbs, and roots, and incantations, or charms, the health of the people is quite as good, and the longevity quite as great, all other things being equal, as in those countries and places where physicians and medicine have obtained a strong foothold.
There is no evidence that the want of physicians before the flood,—if such a want or deficiency there was, which appears probable,—had any influence in shortening human life, since Methuselah, who lived at the end of the series, was the oldest of all. Nor does it appear at all probable that there were more diseases, or more fatal ones, at that early period, than since.
One thought more. It is confidently expected that a better day than the present is yet to dawn upon our dark world. Not only is it predicted that the child shall die a hundred years old, by the highest authority, and that men, like the oak tree, shall live several hundred years, but profane writers no lessthan prophets and sacred ones, have expected and still expect it. The better time coming is, as it were, in everybody's mouth.
But, is it probable that this better day will dawn on a world which, in respect to health and longevity, is going in the other direction? While nearly half our children die under ten years of age, and the mortality is increasing, are we tending towards the point when a child shall die a hundred years old? And are our physicians and our medicines likely to bring us there?
If not, and if a radical change is desirable, when is it to be made? Shall we wait till we have run down a century or two longer, or shall we begin the work immediately? And if we are to begin it at once, on whom shall the work devolve?
These are questions, I grant, more easily asked than answered. Nevertheless, they must soon be met; they cannot much longer be shuffled off. Would it not be the part of wisdom to meet them now, rather than postpone?
Here, then, I leave the subject. Let it be pondered in the light of reason, common sense, conscience, and, above all, the truth of God. Let there be no immature or hasty decisions. Truth, in truthful hands, has nothing to fear.
William A. Alcott was born in Wolcott, Conn., August 6th, 1798. His father, a farmer in the rough mountain town, employed his son, as soon as he was old enough to be useful, in laboring on the farm, so that, from childhood, he was trained to habits of industry. His early employments were, in many respects, beneficial, and his feeble constitution was probably invigorated by this out-of-door work. The only apparent drawback was being kept at work too closely, with very little time left for amusement; and, as he was too conscientious to neglect the tasks assigned him, he plodded on, thus losing, in a great measure, while young, the natural and healthy relish of boys for athletic games and sports. As a natural consequence, his mind developed too rapidly. He early showed a great fondness for books, and the love of reading came to be his chief and almost only amusement.
Till eight years of age he attended the district school, in summer and winter, but after this period his father employed him in farm labor constantly, except during the winter term. At the age of fourteen he had measles, from which he suffered greatly at the time, and in its consequences for several years. He grew rapidly, was, when a lad, tall and thin, and his strength, when young, and, indeed, through his whole life, lay chiefly in a strong will, combined with great energy and perseverance. To these qualities, doubtless, is owing the continuance of his life for many years.
When little more than eighteen years of age, he commenced teaching, which was continued, during the winter, for several years; sometimes through the entire year. But a strong desire to improve and elevate the schools, led him to overtask himself.Mr. Barnard'sJournal of Education, speaks thus of his labors at this period: "The severity of his exertions and self-denials, joined to other causes, especially a feeble constitution, brought on him a most violent attack of erysipelas, from the effects of which, though he escaped with his life, he never entirely recovered."
About this time he commenced the study of medicine, and the succeeding winter, 1825-6, attended medical lectures in New Haven, not so much with the design of making it a profession, as with the hope that it might prove an aid in fitting him to become a more thorough teacher. The following March he received a license to practice medicine and surgery. But his health was far from being good, and he was, himself, more apprehensive of a fatal result, than consumptive people usually are.
However, he soon found an opportunity to engage in teaching again, and embraced it eagerly. But here he was destined to disappointment. His pulmonary tendencies, which had for ten years been increasing upon him, aggravated, no doubt, by hard study and improper diet of the preceding winter, now became very alarming. Beside a severe cough and great emaciation, he was followed by hectic fever, and the most exhausting and discouraging perspirations. He fought bravely to the last moment, but was finally compelled to quit the field, and endeavor to regain his health.
For a time, he followed the soundest medical advice he could obtain; kept quiet, took a little medicine, ate nutritious food, and when his strength would permit, breathed pure air. This course was at length changed, for one of greater activity and less stimulus. He abandoned medicine, adopted for a time the "starvation system," or nearly that, and threw himself, by such aids as he could obtain, into the fields and woods, and wandered among the hills and mountains.
In autumn, he was able to perform light horticultural labors, a few hours of the day, and to ride on horseback. For six months he rode almost daily in company with a physician; at the end of which period he commenced the practice of medicine,in the place where he had last labored, and where he was born.
After continuing in the practice a few years, and his health seeming to be restored, he ventured to return again to the work dearer to him than any other—that of teaching. But his labors seemed again to be slowly undermining his health, and, fearful of a relapse of the pulmonary tendencies, he abandoned for a time all hope of teaching permanently.
The following year, he became connected with Rev. William C. Woodbridge, and continued to labor in the cause of education for several successive years.
In Jan. 1833, he removed to Boston, and during the winter had a severe attack of bleeding at the lungs, and other dangerous symptoms. These, however, passed away; and the great change which, in 1830, had been made in his physical habits, seemed to be working one equally great in his constitutional tendencies. For while his labors were constant and often severe, there was a steady gain in health. The strength and elasticity of youth returned, and, to use his own words it was with him, now, "morning all day." The effects of an unfavorable climate, which he had feared, were apparently held in check, and he sometimes said that "Obedience gave him command over climate, in a great degree." Yet, during all these years when his health was apparently most firm, it was kept in this condition only by a rigid obedience to the laws of life and health, as he understood and expounded them. His precepts and practice were in harmony.
In the spring of 1848, owing to some unusual exposure, a return of the cough and other symptoms of his old disease made their appearance.[N]But, with care, and light labor in the garden, they gradually passed away, and his usual measure of health returned, and continued, with slight interruptions, till 1855. During this year he was confined to his room several months with a broken limb. The change, at his age, from exercise daily in the open air, to confinement without exercisenearly all winter, was very unfavorable, in its results, to his general health. The lungs, doubtless, suffered greatly, and were never able to resist, as before, the effects of exposure to sudden changes of temperature.
Still he labored on from year to year, untiringly as ever, writing, lecturing, visiting schools, etc. During the last winter, his time was employed more exclusively in reading and writing, and he went out less than usual. His lungs were weak and very easily affected. A difficulty of breathing after much exertion was frequent. His feet and ankles were often much swollen, and there was a loss of strength and general debility quite new to him.
These indications were not to be mistaken, and in the retirement of his own home he often spoke of the possibility and even probability, that his earthly labors were drawing to a close.
On the 18th of March, he left home to be absent a few days, partly with the hope that being more in the open air might prove beneficial. On Friday of the following week, though scarcely able to be moved, he was brought home, having been prostrated by what appeared to be a violent attack of pleurisy, which terminated his earthly existence, on Tuesday, March 28, 1859.
In many minds the question will naturally arise: What should induce such an apparently violent disease, in a person who so rigidly obeyed the laws of health? A satisfactory answer to this can be given only by supposing the acute disease to have been merely a finishing up or termination of that disease which for years had been held in check. His own views on the subject were in accordance with this conclusion, and the condition of the lungs, as shown by a post mortem examination, served to confirm it. The amount of disease found in the lungs was so great that the examination could not be as careful and satisfactory as would have been desirable.
The hand that wrote this volume, and that would have drawn important lessons from this page of life, now moulders in thedust. To the reader it is left to gather from it instruction and motive and courage, for a like battle against evil, for a like victory over self, until he, too, shall accomplish his mission upon earth.