SPRING: ITS TROUBLES AND DANGERS.
ByMEDICUS.
A TREACHEROUS SPRING DAY.
A TREACHEROUS SPRING DAY.
A TREACHEROUS SPRING DAY.
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A
lthoughthe subject I have chosen for this month’s paper might seem to some an uninteresting one, I feel I should be casting a slur upon the good sense of the readers ofThe Girl’s Ownif I doubted for a moment their willingness to hear what I have to say.
I confess to you, however, that I would far rather discourse to you in pleasant language of perfumes distilled from flowers, of health-giving rambles by moorland, mount, or sea, of the ozone-laden air that gladdens the heart, or the sweet sunshine that warms and thickens the blood, than of rheums and aches and pains. But, was it not Solomon himself who said there is a time for all things? Yes, and the spring months in this country are fraught with a deal of little disagreeablenesses, which prudence and a modicum of care might enable us to avoid.
Perhaps the state of the weather to-day may have something to do with the production of this article. My minimum thermometer has been down to 31° during the night, and winter not yet ended. As I write a wild east wind is roaring through the trees, bending the poplars as if they were fishing-rods, tearing the brown leaves from the elms, and whirling them high over the chimneys. Determined not to have fires in my study, I am fain, nevertheless, to envelop myself in my ulster, and thus I sit defiant; the surging, sea-like roar of the storm cannot disturb my equanimity, nor eke the swaying creepers that tap at the windows like dead men’s fingers.
Winter will last with us far into April, and on the wings of east winds are borne along many of the seeds of illnesses we would do well to be prepared for.
I was looking at a lime or linden tree last autumn, when the sun was shining brightly, and ere the leaves had commenced to turn from green to yellow. All know the graceful and beautiful linden tree, with its wealth of heart-shaped leaves, so close and thick that if a man climbs but half-way up, he is hidden in a cloudland of verdure, and might consider himself a hundred miles from the earth for all he can see of it. And the linden is a spreading tree, its lower branches stretch far outwards, and their tips almost touch the ground, so that once beneath it you are in a kind of fairy alcove or bower, into which even rain cannot find its way. The tree I was looking at was covered with myriads of its strange, wee flowers, the perfume from which had attracted bees in countless thousands. As I stood beneath its shade I was delighted with the fragrance of the wee flowerets, and charmed with the drowsy music of the little artisans, that were so busy gathering honey therefrom—the sweetest and best honey in the world, by the way; but I could not help wondering when I thought of the tens of millions of seeds, which, in a few weeks, would be scattered broadcast upon the earth, not one of which from this particular tree I have ever known to take root and grow. And why not? Listen, because the answer to the question has a bearing upon the subject I have under consideration. The reason why the seeds do not germinate, lies in the fact that the ground on which they fall resists their efforts to take root and grow.
As the air is full after a time of the seeds of the linden tree, when the south wind blows, and, as the earth beneath is bedded with them, so, when the chill, cold breezes of spring are blowing, is the sky filled with seeds of illness, which fall on the lungs of those breathing them, and it depends upon the state of one’s blood and constitution, whether those seeds shall take root and develop coughs and colds, and aches and pains and rheums of every kind, or be repelled and do nought of harm.
From this we may learn a lesson. For it is strange but true enough, that so great is the struggle for existence in this world—I do not mean among human beings, but among the living though invisible germs which—everywhere and at all times surround us in clouds, that no sooner does the health of anyone of the higher forms of animal life fall below par, than it is attacked by these, and if the weakness is extreme he falls a victim, and severe illness, that may even end fatally, is the result.
It is a well-known fact, established long, long ago, that all such plagues as cholera, for instance, or typhoid fever, are caused by germs of disease afloat in the air, or in the water, and through these media introduced into the human system. These germs are ferments so strong, poisons so powerful, that if they once succeed in gaining ingress to the blood, hardly can all the skill of medicine destroy them or render them innocuous. Yet we daily hear of medical men and nurses walking about in the midst of plague and pestilence, but coming through the outbreak all unscathed. We can only account for this by believing that these individuals have well-kept up systems, that the lungs are constantly so healthy, and the surface of their bronchial tubes so smooth and pure, that the disease germs can find neither food nor foothold therein or thereon.
Now the two great enemies to the health of the delicate during the spring months are cold and damp, and just as often as not they both attack one at the same time. Nor is it the delicate in constitution alone who have to fear the evil influence of these foes to life and comfort, for strong men and women, too, must be careful.
If I were to ask any of my older readers what she considered the cold and damp of spring were most likely to give rise to in the shape of illnesses, the answer would almost certainly be, “Colds and coughs.” So far she would be right, but there is another ailment very prevalent at this time, and too often the result of exposure to the weather, namely, fits of indigestion. The sufferer feels chilly and not over well in the evening; perhaps she retires early, has a restless night, and awakens in the morning with disagreeable headache and complete loss of appetite. There may even be nausea and sickness.
These symptoms are generally put down to a chill caught, or to a bilious attack, and the patient—for patient she must be now for a few days at all events—tries to think back what she has been eating. This kind of self-examination is usually somewhat unsatisfactory, and it would be better were she to ask herself, “Where and when did I expose myself to cold and dampon an empty stomach?” You notice I have italicised the last words, because I want you to get a firm grasp of the fact that when the system is, for the time being, weak and below par, with no food pouring into the blood, it is ten times more liable just then to become the victim of unhealthful influences.
A little attack like that which I have mentioned is best got rid of by confinement for a day or two to the house, on a sofa, in an easy chair, but not in bed if possible, by diet of an easily-digested and nourishing kind, by a mild aperient and warm bath at bedtime, with, if it be deemed needful, about ten grains of Dover’s powder, while before being again exposed to this weather, a warmer woollen garment should be worn next to the skin.
In the spring months the delicate, who would avoid aches and rheums, must be careful to keep the body well-nourished.
Beware, however, I pray you, of that deluding sentence, which is the cause of so much human misery, “Keep up the strength.” To do this some people resort to the madness and folly of constantly cramming—I can use no milder verb—the body with all kinds of nourishing food and drink, till the liver and other internal organs are gorged with blood, and this blood itself is poisoned with bile and acid, and the stomach is utterly prostrated with the efforts it has to make, and the unusual strain put upon it. In this heated, half-fevered condition of system, if a person be exposed to cold wind or to damp, can she wonder that illness is the result? And this illness will take the form of rheumatism in the joints in one, muscular pains and stiffness in another, chest complaint in a third, and so on through every scale of trouble.
The corollary from the above may be summed up in these words: in spring time get up soon in the morning, and after a pleasant bath and a breath or two of fresh air, sit down to a quiet breakfast of a palatable, but not over rich nature. Ring the changes, day after day, on eggs, cold fowl or game, fish (white), mild bacon, etc., and toast—invariably toast—with sweetest of butter, and either good tea, coffee, or cocoatina. Fruit should be eaten before breakfast, or the juice of oranges in sugar and water may be drank. Be moderate in eating, and if hungry at midday take a biscuit with a cup of cocoatina. Let luncheon and dinner be all partaken of under the same restrictions, and exclude stimulants and cordials as you value your health. At bedtime, if a bad sleeper, a tumblerful of sodawater may be drank with ten grains of bicarbonate of soda dissolved therein.
This system of living is the only true way to keep up the system in spring, and to guard against its cold winds and the troubles that fly on the wings thereof.
But there are other rules to be attended to if one would have perfect health at this season.
Exercise must not be forgotten, to keep the skin acting freely; nor recreation, to keep the mind from becoming dulled and low.
Depend upon it that exercise and real healthful recreation go very far to keep sickness at bay.
Older people often suffer from cold in spring. They will not do so if they take the following advice. Sleep in a comfortable, well-ventilated room. Very great pains must be taken with the ventilation; it must be scientifically done by door and windows, and probably by chimney. I may dwell at some length another day about this; meanwhile, remember that a draught is not to be tolerated, and that this can easily be avoided by using perforated zinc, which can be painted most ornamentally, the little holes being afterwards freed with a long needle.
Too heavy or too hot bedclothing should not be used, and if a fire is lit it should be so banked before retiring that it will smoulder away all night. All kind of stimulating cordials should be avoided, but cod-liver oil should be taken.
About clothing for spring I have spoken before, and always do speak in favour of wool for young or old. I have also many times raised a warning voice against the dangers from wearing mackintoshes.
The following is from a medical contemporary, and although it refers to topcoats, it is equallyàproposof any extra over-garment.
“The general effect is well enough while the overcoat is kept on, but the moment it is removed evaporation recommences, and the body is placed in a ‘cooler,’ constructed on the principle adopted when a damp cloth is wrapped round a butter-dish—the vapour passing off, abstracting the heat, and leaving the contents of the cooler refrigerated. The point to make clear is that the overcoat, let it be fashioned and ventilated as it may, does not prevent the underclothing from being saturated with moisture, but actually tends to make the moisture accumulate therein. This is proved by the sense of genial warmth felt while the overcoat is worn, and the evidences of perspiration easily perceived, under the arms and at the sides of the chest particularly, after the overcoat has been removed. Moreover, we take off the coat when we enter a warm house, and precisely at the moment when muscular activity is suspended. A very little consideration will suffice to convince the common-sense thinker that nothing can well be worse managed than this process, both as regards its nature and the time and condition of its operation. It is opposed to all the canons of health to allow the clothing to become saturated with perspiration, and then to take off the external covering and suffer rapid cooling by evaporation; while if it were designed to do this at the worst possible time, probably none worse could be found than when muscular exercise has been discontinued. The suggestion we (Lancet) have to offer is that it would be far better policy to wear only one coat at a time, and to make whatever change may be necessary by removing a thin coat and replacing it by a thicker one when going out of doors, and the reverse when coming in. If, instead of wearing overcoats, people would wear coats of different thicknesses, according to the weather and conditions generally, they would avoid the danger of cooling by evaporation; the garments saturated with moisture would be removed, and dry off the body instead of on it. We believe no inconsiderable portion of the ‘colds,’ attacks of lumbago, and even more formidable results of what are popularly called ‘chills,’ may be traced to the practice of wearing overcoats, which arrest the ordinary process of evaporation, cause the clothing within to be saturated with accumulated perspiration, and are then removed, when rapid cooling takes place. The avoidance of this peril is to be attained by such change of coats as the conditions require.”