Читать книгу Life is an Adventure - R. J. Manion - Страница 13

Table of Contents

Although having done well in my final examinations, I realized, as every student of medicine must, that one has no right to practise the profession until after a post-graduate course in a hospital under the eyes of well-trained men. The law should compel graduates in medicine to do this, since it is unfair to the public that a young man with little more than theoretical knowledge should immediately go into the practice of a profession in which human life is at stake. Having applied unsuccessfully to two of the Toronto hospitals for a “House” position, I obtained a post in a general hospital of another city, not so large as Toronto. This hospital accepted every class of case, including medical, surgical and obstetric. A splendid staff being in charge, and the work of a varied character, a year here gave me an excellent training. This was followed by another year in the University of Edinburgh, and in London and Paris—in Edinburgh taking what was called a “triple degree,” which made me a Licentiate of Edinburgh and Glasgow in medicine and surgery.

These two years were, from a professional standpoint, the most valuable that one could possibly have had. A house surgeon in a hospital not only comes intimately into contact with the patients, but is permitted to handle many of the cases himself under the watchful eyes of the staff, and therefore is in the best possible surroundings to obtain in a year as much well-directed experience as he would get in five years of actual practice outside, with the added advantage that the house surgeon’s errors are corrected by members of the profession who have been for years carrying on their activities. Without this experience the young medical man must perforce bury at least some of his mistakes. Referring to this, an undertaker in an eastern city, when asked his profession, replied that he “followed the medical profession!”

It will not be of interest to describe the routine work of a general hospital; suffice it to say that during the following twelve months I had a most varied and complete experience of all classes of medical, surgical, and special work, under the observant tutelage of a splendid group of well-trained medical men. My observations will therefore be limited to the mention of a few interesting contacts with staff or patients recalled because of some uncommon circumstance or peculiarity in connection with them. The regular medical and surgical staff was, as all staffs are, made up of some who were anxious to assist the house surgeon by permitting him to carry out a good deal of work himself, and of others who desired to retain for themselves all the work that came in. Naturally, those staff men who gave us a free hand under their direction were popular with us, and helped us to a greater extent than did the others.

In addition to a splendid all-round professional training in this hospital, one had the opportunity of associating with an outstanding group of physicians and surgeons, and profited by the mellowing influence that generally comes through contact with a patient, gentle group of women such as the Sisters in charge of the hospital. The conclusion came to me during my year in their hospital that they were about the happiest people in the world. It is true that they had given up the ordinary associations with the world; they renounced marriage and the joys of motherhood; but they obtained in return a peace of mind which is achieved probably by no other vocation. They were harassed by none of the worries of the ordinary housewife, their clothes and food being assured; they enjoyed regular hours of work and recreation; they had the peaceful minds of those who commit no sin. As a result they possessed a serenity of temper which was ideal indeed. As the dining-room in which we house surgeons ate our dinner, sometimes late in the evening, was not far from the recreation-room of the Sisters, there rang in our ears the gay, happy laughter of these women while they sat in groups about their simple room, chaffing each other, telling innocent stories, listening to the strains of a gramophone, or doing other harmless little things to while away their social hour. Even then one sometimes envied them their peace of mind, and more often since. Never have I heard more hearty or pleasing laughter in my life, except when in the midst of a roomful of children whose gay mirth is the sweetest sound in the world.

The memory of one of these Sisters comes back to my mind. On my arrival at the hospital one of the out-going house surgeons, who had been in college with me, was introducing me about, when we saw coming down one of the corridors a tall, somewhat severe-looking Sister of perhaps fifty.

“Now, Manion,” he whispered to me, “I am going to introduce you to the sternest woman in the hospital. She is hard-boiled and difficult to get along with, so keep your eyes open when you are dealing with her.”

Naturally, with such an introduction, I looked forward to difficulties with this “second-in-command,” instead of which I have rarely met a woman of more generous instincts. On one occasion when, in a spirit of youthful effervescence, I had returned to the hospital late at night, after having looked too long but not too wisely upon the wine when it was red, and had thrown myself of a cold evening upon my bed half undressed and in danger of a chill, she not only came and tucked me in as my mother might have done, but hushed the incident in order to protect my standing. On another occasion a young and very attractive American girl had come to the hospital to become a nun, and as this girl was an accomplished linguist she was frequently instructed to translate for me the medical history of some of the foreign patients, this during her probation period as to her fitness for the sisterhood. She gradually realized that her decision to enter this unworldly institution was a mistake. Our conversations became less and less professional, until one day a hawk-eyed Sister reported our dallyings to the second-in-command. Always believing in the offensive as the best defensive, and fearing that the attractive young novice might be harshly dealt with, I went directly to the supervising Sister. She at first flatly denied any report, but on my insistence admitted it, telling me that the hawk-eyed one had been told to attend to her own affairs.

“To think,” she added, “that a boy like you with a face like an open book should be reported for such a silly matter.”

I hope I blushed!

A few months later the young American gave up her intention of becoming one of the Congregation, perhaps her decision being inspired by the Sisterhood. And may I add in extenuation of my actions that these incidents occurred when I was barely twenty-two!

Two or three years later, in the early practice of my profession, I was the regular attending physician to another group of Sisters of Charity, who also were doing splendid work in looking after homeless children, while another branch of the same Order capably managed an excellent hospital near by. They were not of the same Sisterhood as those above mentioned, but they were of the same fine character, practising charity in its noblest sense, in the full realization that “prayer without good works is dead,” thus following the example of the Great Physician. Naturally one never charged them for the attention—they hardly could have paid had one done so—and as I had a good professional reputation in the neighbourhood, they good-naturedly listened to my often too frankly expressed opinions. Indeed, they usually laughed gaily at some of my ideas. I was young, a little garrulous, and probably sometimes shocked them with my unorthodox ideas. For instance, during some desultory talk I expressed the view to two of them, that my wife and other women like her who encounter the difficulties, temptations and tragedies of the world, really had a harder lot to bear than the Sisters—an opinion which in no way belittles the splendid charitable and religious works carried on by these devoted women. This was probably a new thought to them, especially coming from one of their own religion, but it seemed only to amuse, for they felt (no doubt, with some justification) that I was merely a youthful irresponsible.

On another professional visit I found that one of them had a very severe attack of appendicitis, and urged immediate operation, which proposal is the only proper one in early appendicitis, providing good surgery is within reach. But operations were not so common then as now, and they informed me that, before consenting, they were going to offer up some mass-prayers to St. Joseph.

“Well,” I replied smilingly, and all too confidently, “with all due respect to St. Joseph, he is going to have to call in a surgeon to help him out this time.”

The patient was immediately placed on a starvation diet, and given the so-called medical treatment for appendicitis which is carried out when for some reason surgery is impossible. At that time we kept the patient in bed, starved, and applied an ice bag. A little to my professional chagrin, the Sister rapidly recovered from her attack, and they indulged in some good-natured raillery at my expense, telling me that St. Joseph after all was not such a bad surgeon, to which my reply was that I did not deny this, but that St. Joseph had been working through me.

For many years of my active practice we were very good friends, and one trusts they still sometimes offer up some of the prayers which they used so kindly to utter in those days as a reward for my attentions; for surely no prayers can be more acceptable than those of good women and innocent children. Those who deny the efficacy of prayer would take from millions of human beings a consolation that can be given by nothing else. Sitting by the bedside of the dying, I have at times marvelled at the joy of the patient and his loved ones when they had made their last appeal and resigned themselves to the mercy of the Supreme Being. To those who have faith no consolation equals that obtained by supplication to the Most High, whether the prayer be for some loved one here below, or for the repose of the soul of one departed.

The memory of one of the most interesting patients met in those hospital days still brings a smile to my lips. A fairly prominent business man, he was one of those who could not take a drink of liquor of any kind without going off on a protracted spree—a disease which can be controlled in only one way, namely, the absolute refusal of the afflicted one ever to take a taste of alcohol in any form. The fact that these individuals can resist the temptation for weeks or months is proof that most of them can resist it for all time if they but so determine. This business man was afflicted with his uncontrollable desire about every three or four months, and after his spree had lasted for two or three weeks his nervous system was so undermined that only by going into some form of institution could he get back to normal. Thus he became a regular visitor to the hospital; and, as everyone was aware of his condition, and knew the necessary treatment, no outside physician was called in, but he was put in the hands of myself or one of the other internes. He had a dread of being shut off too suddenly from the alcoholic stimulant in which he had been indulging so freely, but his method of approach was always original.

“Doctor,” he said on my first visit to him, “did I ever tell you the story of the man who fell off the house? No? Well, it was not the fall that hurt him; it was the sudden stop. Do you get the point?” Which, of course, one got very quickly, and promised that we would not shut off his supplies too suddenly.

On one occasion, after he had been nearly cured of his condition and was almost at the stage where he could be deprived of alcohol altogether, I was called hurriedly by one of the Sisters who told me that Mr. Brown insisted on leaving the hospital as he had “important business to attend to down street”—this being the old story told by men who are anxious to get back to the flesh-pots. Going up and quite frankly telling him that he was only bluffing, I suggested that what he really wanted was a little increase in his alcoholic allowance. He admitted it frankly. Going out to the ante-room of the private ward which he was occupying, I whispered to the Sister that she could give him an extra half-ounce of whiskey, but instructed her to put a half-ounce of water in it to make it look like a larger drink. He heard the whispering and called me back.

“Doctor,” he said, “did I ever tell you the story of the woman who sent her little boy for a pint of milk, but sent him with two vessels? The milkman asked him why he brought two vessels, to which he replied that his mamma said that the milkman could put the milk in one and the water in the other, and she would mix them herself. Do you get the point?”

The Mother Superior of the hospital and all the others who knew Mr. Brown liked him very much, because he was not only a very witty chap, but, outside of his occasional lapses, was a very good citizen. They were always sorry to see him coming in, though he was one of the patients who paid his way and paid it well. The Superior in her motherly fashion once approached him with the intention of offering him some maternal advice.

“Mr. Brown,” she said, “when you go on these sprees of yours, what do you drink?”

“Usually whiskey and soda,” he replied.

“But, Mr. Brown,” the Mother replied, “when you have had enough whiskey and soda, why don’t you ask for ginger ale?”

“But, Mother dear,” he answered, “when I have had enough whiskey and soda I cannot ask for ginger ale.”

The Mother smiled in her kindly way, and for that time at least gave up her hope of his reformation.