Forty Years in the Wilderness of Pills and Powders

He was subjected to the treatment, with few variations, which is mentioned in the preceding chapter. He was not permitted, however, to do much in the way of deep breathing till his general health and strength could be improved by other measures. Warm water, in his case, was preferred, also, to cold, and was used in the form of a tub-bath, at five o'clock in the afternoon.

Thomas had been with me about three weeks, without much variation of condition or prospects, when I received a long letter from his friends, the purport of which was that they had been favored with a communication from the "spirit world," which was attended with the appearance of so much truth and reality, that they were not at liberty wholly to disregard it. The communication purported to be made by the late Dr. Benjamin Rush, of Philadelphia.

As these friends of Thomas well knew I was not a believer in this new-fangled spiritualism, they had taken much pains to satisfy me that I was to have for my venerable counsellor not a mere pretender, but the veritable Dr. Rush himself. As one evidence in the case, they had inquired through the "medium," who were the present associates of the good doctor in his new abode; who, nothing loath, had deigned to gratify their supposed curiosity, by giving them the names of five distinguished physicians, among whom were the elder and younger Dr. Ingalls, of Massachusetts, and Dr. Sanborn, of New Hampshire.

And then, with regard to Thomas, he only said, at first, that he was very much interested in him, and that he would examine him and report. Soon after this, at another communication, he said his case was a difficult one, but he thought not incurable. He added, that he was already in very good hands, the best, perhaps, that could be found in this mundane sphere, but rather cautiously insinuated that there were symptoms in the case which I had not yet got hold of, but which would, if rightly apprehended, modify, in some of its particulars, my treatment. What it was in the case which I had not discovered, he did not say directly, but subsequently intimated that the young man's disease was not scrofula, as I had pronounced it, but dropsy of the joints.

It was not long afterward that the mother paid us a visit, and brought, well written out, the substance, as she said it was, of quite a number of communications from Dr. Rush. Much was said in them about the necessity of exercise and a plain diet. And, in general, so far as the mere treatment was concerned, the statements of the spiritual doctor accorded so well with those of the earthly one, that had I been a believer in these modern mysteries, I should have been highly gratified, not only on Thomas's account, but my own.

But the spirit doctor urged a few variations in the treatment of the young man. Beside pressing a little harder than myself the use of green vegetables, and particularly of vegetable juices, he requested, with great apparent earnestness, that he might be permitted to occupy a room heated by a wood fire, rather than by coal. He also made a few other suggestions of less importance.

His mother was a very good woman, save her great credulity. And even here, perhaps, I do her injustice, for there were some curious facts and coincidences. The venerable spirit doctor appeared to have possessed himself of certain secrets which it was extremely puzzling to conjecture how an impostor could have obtained.

After spending a day or two with me, and giving me "much exhortation," the mother returned to her friends. Of her safe arrival, as well as of certain changes that had been resolved on, the husband informed me, by a letter, which, so far as the case of Thomas is concerned, I copy entire.

"Dear Sir: – By Mrs. P., in her recent visit to your place, you have been made acquainted with some of the manifestations of spirits, made to us through a young lady, a medium of our acquaintance.

"The communications purporting to come from Dr. Rush (as he says in his last communication, tell Dr. – that it is the veritable old Dr. Rush, the signer of the Declaration of Independence), and with such apparent earnestness and reality, we feel that, to us, they are something more than human or earthly, and of momentous account in this case of Thomas, and that we are not at liberty longer to disregard them. And though we have great confidence in yourself and your practice, we hope you will not think we are losing either when I say that we have decided to have Thomas return to – , and commence following the prescriptions of this invisible personage. They appear to be harmless, and may be of great virtue; and much which pertains to them appears to be in harmony with your practice.

"Again, in closing, I must say that these communications come to us with such force and apparent reality and truth, that I think it would not be doing justly, either to Thomas or our Creator, longer to disregard them.

"With much esteem, yours, etc., – ."

In a somewhat extended postscript it was added: "We have witnessed other manifestations, of several of which we had ample proof of their correctness."

On another small portion of a sheet which was appended to the former, I found, in pencil, the following: —

"We have, this evening, had another conversation with Dr. Rush. His medium was in – to-day, and was brought to us in order that she might speak to us (Mrs. P. and myself). We are directed to tell you this: that he wants Thomas to be under her (Mrs. P.) care; that there are no earthly physicians that can cure him; that we could not have placed him in better hands than with you. He (Dr. Rush) says he can and will cure him. He says he could cure him without our help, if he could impress him, but in that he has not yet succeeded. He says he has seen Thomas with rubbers on, and that he would have taken them off if he could. Says positively, he must not wear them. Be good enough, dear sir, to see that he does not wear them in coming home." He adds, in conclusion, "Tell Dr. – to remove him from the room he now occupies, and place him in one with a wood fire, and where he will have no bed-fellow."

Thus ended the communication. Thomas went home, according to request, and was, forthwith, put under the treatment of the spiritual doctor. All appeared to be going on very well for a short time; but after the lapse of about three weeks, I heard of his death. No particulars were added, in the papers, but I afterwards learned that his death was rather sudden.

I did not chance to fall in with Mr. P. for several months, and out of respect to his feelings and those of Mrs. P., I did not depart from my usual track to call on them or even write. At the end of the year, however, I visited them, and after the usual passing remarks, the following conversation took place.

"It seems, then, that Dr. Rush with all his wisdom and skill could not save Thomas."

"No; he said it was too late for any power of earth or heaven to cure him."

"But he was very confident he could cure him?"

"Perhaps he spoke with more confidence than he really felt, in order to encourage us and lead us to exert ourselves."

"Do I understand you? Do you mean to say that perhaps the spirit doctors, like the fleshly ones, in order to encourage the friends of the sick, will depart a little from the truth?"

"Not exactly that. Rather this: we do not consider it a departure from the truth."

"I am of a different opinion. In earth, or elsewhere, I call such a course as you intimate a species of white lying – quite common on earth, but which, till now, I did not suppose had found its way to the confines of the world spiritual."

The conversation ended here, and was not afterward resumed. I have, indeed, witnessed a good deal of spiritual doctoring since that time, but it was of a somewhat different character from the foregoing.

For example: I saw a family in the interior of Massachusetts, whose faith in spiritualism and spirit doctrine was perfect. The mistress of the house was the patient. The physician a young man who had been a mechanic, but who had very recently become convinced that it was his duty to attend the sick, – not to do anything for them, on his own responsibility, but only to suffer an old Indian physician to operate through him as a medium.

The chief thing which Dr. H. did, so far as I observed, was to lay his hands on her, and sit for some time in that position. I am not sure that he did not prescribe a few very simple things, from time to time, such as a little weak tea, or the infusion of some domestic herb, from the garden. He was counted, everywhere (for his circuit was a large one), very successful; for his patients generally recovered. Their recovery, it is true, was often very slow.

CHAPTER LXXXI

REMARKABLE CURE OF EPILEPSY

When I was a lad, a man was employed by my father on his farm, who used occasionally to fall down in convulsions, lie for some time, not entirely still, but foaming at the mouth and agitated or rocked to and fro, as if in great distress; and yet, as I afterward learned, senseless. These attacks, they told me, were falling sickness fits. The man was weak in mind, and not vigorous in body, though, by diligence and perseverence, he could accomplish something in the progress of a whole day. He died but little beyond middle age.

Since that time I have been intimately acquainted with several individuals who were subject to these attacks of epilepsy, some of whom were affected in one way, some in another. The cause, too, was as various as the manner of attack, and in a few instances was peculiar and remarkable. In general, their memory and intellectual faculties, as well as their bodily strength, became, ultimately, a good deal impaired. In my practice as a physician, I had very few of these cases, and none in which I could afford relief at first. The patients were, however, for the most part, of middle age, or at least beyond thirty years. Several had taken nitrate of silver or other minerals, till their skins were of a blue-black color.

In the beginning of the year 1854, a young man about seventeen years of age, of scrofulous and nervous temperament and of great delicacy, came under my care, to be treated for this disease, whose history, from beginning to end, was remarkable. I will call him Samuel.

When about twelve years of age he had difficulty with another boy, – an Irish or Scotch lad, – which ended in a personal affray, in which Samuel was worsted, and his head severely injured. It was thought by some that a portion of the skull, which, by the violence of the blow it had received, had been forced in, ought to have been elevated by the trephine; but I believe no surgeon of reputation ever saw him. Being young, the depressed portion of skull gradually resumed its place, so that the depression could scarcely be seen.

All, however, was not right within, for he was soon afterward attacked by epilepsy. Whether, at first, any connection between the disease and the bruised skull was suspected by the friends, I was not able to learn; but probably not. The attacks having been once commenced, were frequent and severe, and every year became more so. They were particularly frequent and severe during the winter and spring.

The medical art was invoked in his behalf, especially in the region round about New Haven, Conn. He was not only treated by the regular physicians, of different kinds and schools, but by not a few empirics or quacks. By some of them he was evidently injured, and by none was he benefited. The tendency still continued to be downward, on the whole, and his friends were, at length, almost discouraged.

All this while his diet appears to have been the usual diet of that part of New England in which he resided – too stimulating, and too much refined by cookery. In general, too, his active and perverted appetite led him to excess in quantity; but, as his friends never thought of its being a morbid or diseased appetite, no strong efforts were made to control it. In truth, as he was feeble and growing, it was thought necessary that he should eat stimulating and highly seasoned food, and in large quantity. He was also accustomed to tea and coffee. All his appetites, as it afterwards appeared, were, to say the least, very active, though the gratification of the third appetite was wholly confined to solitude.

No restriction, nor indeed any direction, so far as I could learn, had been made at this period, with regard to his mental food. Whatever he chose to read, he was indulged in, both as regards quantity and quality. And as usually happens, in the case of epileptic, and scrofulous people, he was quite too much inclined to works of imagination, with which the age and country abound. It appears, also, that being regarded as quite unequal to the task of laboring in field or garden, he was thus, in large measure, deprived of two essentials of health and happiness, especially to epileptics; viz., air and exercise.

In August, 1853, he went to an institution that had once been a water-cure establishment, but which had undergone many modifications, till it better deserved the name of College of Hygiene, than water cure. Here he remained several months.

The peculiar treatment he received at this institution consisted, first, in a plain and unstimulating diet. Water was his only drink, and bread and fruits, with a few well-cooked vegetables, his only food. But, in the second place, he was subjected to a course of treatment not unlike that described in Chapter LXXIX, with the exception of the deep breathing and cold-bathing. The last, however, was, I believe, used occasionally.

There was, indeed, one important addition made to the treatment above alluded to. This consisted in an exercise designed to expand and strengthen the lungs, by what was called shaking down the air. This exercise was practised very frequently, and was curious. I will describe it as well as I can.

He was first required to inflate his chest as much as possible, and then, while retaining the air with all his might, rise on his toes, and suddenly drop on his heels, with a sort of jerk, several times in succession, till he could hold his breath and retain the air no longer, which was now suffered gradually to escape. A new recruit was then drawn in, and treated in the same manner. The exercise, as a whole, seemed to consist of a series of jumpings up and down, without quite raising the toes from the floor, and of deep sighing. The object aimed at was to shake down a large amount of good, pure air, into the cells of the lungs, and retain it there as long as possible; and then, to let out or force out the air, so as to empty the lungs as perfectly as possible.

The warm bath was occasionally used at four o'clock in the afternoon, but with doubtful effect. Exercise, especially mechanical exercise, was of much more service, and so was the gymnasium. He was, however, required to forbear all violence, in his exercises and amusements; nor was he allowed any severe studies. His reading was to be light, though not trifling.

For several months next subsequent to his arrival at the institution, he appeared to improve. Instead of weekly, or semi-weekly, or still more frequent attacks, he suffered but rarely; and, in one instance, he was exempt from an attack for several weeks. But in December and January they became, once more, rather frequent. They had, however, usually been most frequent in winter and spring.

He now began to be apprehensive of a return of his disease, in all its former violence; and the dread of February, March, and April had an influence on his system which was any thing but favorable – since fear, in these cases, is often worse than the evils which excite it. And, according to his faith, or rather according to his want of faith, so it was with him. The attacks became very frequent, sometimes daily; and, in one or two instances, twice a day.

He came under my special and almost exclusive care, Feb. 1, 1854. I soon discovered that there was a close connection between excess and irregularity, in regard to his food and his paroxysms of disease. I saw, also, that a part of his food had been too stimulating. In justice, however, I ought to say that in the government of the other appetites, he had succeeded far better than I had expected, though his power to control himself was far from being perfect.

While, therefore, I did not materially change the general treatment in other particulars, I determined to regulate his diet; and, with a view to this important end, to watch him, and even to deal out to him his daily rations, with just as much care and particularity as if he were a mere child. He ate but two meals a day, and these were taken at twelve and six; and then I always sat by him. I did not leave him, except for one single meal, for a period of fifty-five days.

During the whole of this long period – long, I mean, to the patient – he not only had no attacks of his disease, but none of the giddiness or other symptoms which had formerly accompanied or preceded them. He did not, it is true, gain in flesh or strength during the time. In all this and in many more particulars he remained nearly stationary.

Towards the close of March, his friends became desirous of taking him home. I was not without apprehension; but, hoping for the best, I submitted to their wishes as cheerfully as I could. He was among them for a short time; and was then, by my particular request, as well as in conformity with his own choice, placed on a farm.

Nearly three months after his return to his friends, I received a letter from him, which I insert here, not only as a convenient nucleus around which to cluster certain suggestions I wish to make to the general reader, but also as a continuation of my patient's history. It was dated June 18, 1854.

"My Dear Physician, – I am now at Mr. – 's. Every thing seems to be in perfect accordance with the wishes of those who are concerned in the case. I can get as plain a diet as I please, and have nothing, so to say, to tempt me. I confine myself to a very small variety. I have had strawberries ever since I came here, which was June 7th. I eat sometimes nearly a pint at a meal. Sometimes I eat nothing but strawberries and dry bread. I have some sugar on the table, and sweeten the berries a little. I eat considerable potatoe – say two or three at dinner – sometimes a little more. I have had two dinners of asparagus, just boiled in a little water, and poured on to some crusts of toasted bread. It was good. I do not think I have had more than three things set on the table for me, at a time, while I have been here. I have bread, potatoes, and berries for dinner. For supper I have bread and berries, and sweetened bread, as it might be called. It is sweetened but a very little. Now don't I live plainly.

"But I have left out some things that I have had. I had Graham mush a few days, but I like the bread better, as Mrs. – makes such good bread. Mr. – likes it better than superfine. I have had boiled rice – a few meals. I had one meal of bag-pudding – Indian – with a few whortleberries in it.

"I have now given you an account of how I live. I eat at ten or half-past ten, A. M., and at four, P. M. So I do not have to go to bed with a meal of victuals on my stomach.

"After I left you, and before I came here, I had, all the time, a great looseness of the bowels. It seemed to weaken me. Afterwards I thought it was caused, partly, by some very tart, dried apples, of which I ate freely at every meal. Aunt – thought it was working at hoeing up turf around trees, for she said that working hard with her arms affected her in that way. My stomach did not seem quite right. Perhaps I strained it in coming home. The very next day after I came here, I commenced eating the ripe strawberries at meals, and have eaten them freely ever since. I sometimes eat nearly a pint at a meal. From the first they have seemed just the thing for me. They regulated my stomach and bowels, and they have strengthened them ever since.

"I eat alone, and enjoy it capitally. I would not go back to the Institution (the Hygiene establishment) for a great deal, because there are so many things there to harass one's mind, or tempt him, at every corner of the street and almost every shop. Since I came here I have not tasted of any thing between meals, and have had no inclination to do so. I think there will be no trouble on that account.

"I am busy out of doors a good deal of the time. I have hoed corn, piled cord-wood, driven team, picked strawberries, etc. At night I milk one cow. I go barefooted three or four hours in the middle of the day, use no flannels, dress very thin, – as little as I can get along with.

"Do you wish me to learn to swim, if possible? There is a pond – a natural one – about a mile from this place. Will you not answer me soon, and give me your opinion on this and other subjects?

"In love, yours, etc."Samuel."

About a month later, viz., July 18, he wrote thus:

"My dear Doctor: – Five months and a half without a symptom! I have not the slightest feeling to remind me of my old attacks. Should I not be thankful?

"A short time since, I had a very sore stomach. It got out of order, I think, in consequence of eating too much. I broke off, went a day without nothing to eat; eat less now, and feel well. When Mrs. – was here, she told me she thought I might eat all I craved. I did so, and suffered the consequences, though I cured myself.

"There is a place here in the woods where raspberries are so thick that people get six quarts at a time. Apples are nearly ripe. Pears will soon succeed them.

"Yours truly,"Samuel."

Two weeks later than the above, – a little more than six months after the discontinuance of the epileptic attacks, – I received a letter from Samuel's guardian, in which he wrote as follows:

"We have continued the same course of diet as at your house; in short, have carried out your views perfectly as possible. Notwithstanding all this, he (Samuel) has lost flesh and strength; and, for the last few weeks, has fallen off greatly, in mental and physical vigor. He has run down in flesh to eighty pounds, is pale as this paper, coughs considerably, especially at night, yet does not expectorate very much. He had a spell of spitting blood, some five or six weeks ago, raised perhaps a gill. I do not think that it debilitated him very much at the time."

Not far from this time Samuel was taken from the farm, and subjected to various changes in his habits, which were unauthorized, and which probably proved injurious. He took a large amount of cream, – an article which had not before been allowed him, – also a little fresh meat at his dinners. Instead of going without his breakfast, as before, he now appears to have taken breakfast; and in some instances, at least, to have used not only large quantities of cream at this early hour, but animal food likewise. There was a strong and increasing belief among his friends, that his food was not sufficiently nutritious, and that he was suffering for want of materials for blood; whereas the error lay in the other direction. His stomach and other digestive organs were overloaded and depressed by the large amount of nutriment he had for some time received. But more on this hereafter.

He now appeared to be falling into what is called a galloping consumption, of which he died a few weeks afterward. There should have been a post mortem examination; but, from various causes, it was not attended to. At the time of his death he was about eighteen years of age.

The treatment of this young man on the farm, was by no means what had been intended. The experiment of having him eat alone was hazardous, and I sternly protested against it. But the hours at which he chose to take his two meals, especially the first, were such as to preclude, practically, a better arrangement. There was no one that wished to eat at ten in the forenoon, but himself; and it was not customary for the family to convene for eating in the afternoon, till six. Now, although, abstractly considered, he selected the best hours for his meals, yet, taking society as it is, and human nature as his was, it would have been much better, in the result, had he eaten with the family at twelve and six. He would have eaten less, and yet would probably have been better nourished and better satisfied.

No housekeeper who has the usual feelings of a housekeeper, will be content to set before a young man of seventeen or eighteen years of age, no more, for example, than one-sixth as much food as she would prepare for six such persons. It would seem to her almost like prisoner's fare. And then, few young men or old ones will content themselves with one sixth as much food when sitting alone, entirely unrestrained, as when in company, where pride or self-respect would have influence. And of one thing we may, at least, be sure, viz., that Samuel, with his almost illimitable appetite, tempted by abundance and assured that he might, with safety, eat as much as that appetite craved, would never be the individual to stop short of fifty per cent more of carbon than his feeble machinery could appropriate; while every ounce of the surplus was burned up by his lungs, at an expense of that vital energy which should have been husbanded with the greatest care, and expended no faster than was indispensably necessary.