Читать книгу Life is an Adventure - R. J. Manion - Страница 15

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I spent some time on this European trip in London and Paris attending the clinics there, and also spent a short time at the famous Rotunda Hospital in Dublin. An old college friend of mine was attending the London clinics, and, since neither of us was intent on taking any of the examinations, we found it easy to combine our clinical work at the hospitals with a rather delightful life spent in seeing the sights of London and indulging our early affection for that wonderful old city. We visited the Tower, Westminster Abbey, the National Gallery, the Tate Gallery, Fleet Street, the Zoo, St. Paul’s, Dr. Johnson’s Cheshire Cheese, and the other intensely interesting spots that a tourist may visit. One came to know certain portions of the city very well indeed, and it is doubtful if any visit since has given the pleasurable emotions of this first one in the full flush of youth.

Like New York, London has changed a good deal in thirty years. No longer does nearly everyone—as was the custom for even young chaps like us—wear silk “toppers” on their daily and nightly rounds; and one must now utilize the hurrying, scurrying, skidding taxicabs, instead of those comfortable and dignified hansoms with the driver sitting up behind. Other institutions have also passed, such as the Empire Music Hall; the then famous Continental Café; the old Cecil, and some others that we came to know on that trip. But London still has her courteous “bobbies,” her quaint winding streets; her busses from which to view them; her many historic buildings and institutions; her charm and her fogs!

The clinics we greatly enjoyed on our morning visits. The medical work was about on a par with that of Edinburgh, but one thought the surgery better, an opinion shared by most visiting doctors. London had, and has yet, a world-wide reputation as a clinical centre. Among those whose splendid work I saw then, and have witnessed many times on succeeding visits, were Sir Arbuthnot Lane and Bland Sutton—the former a brilliant operator and lecturer, though a little inclined to go to extremes, but both their names household words in medical circles.

Though my health has always been above the average, thank God, I had two illnesses during this year abroad—one, repeated tonsillitis. Sir Blankety-Blank, a great Scottish throat surgeon, decided to remove my tonsils. No doubt to save expense (for him), he used no form of anaesthesia, but picked the tonsils out piecemeal, giving me a most uncomfortable half-hour, and later the necessity of having them out properly.

The other illness appeared more serious, as, due to severe spasmodic pains in the back, it was diagnosed stone in the kidney, and an operation to remove the stone was proposed. The scientific instruments of to-day were not known, and students had a saying that, when operating for kidney stone, it was wise to carry a stone in your pocket! An old physician, Dr. James, saved me from the knife—may he rest in peace, if he is dead, as I expect he is! He diagnosed my condition as irregular hours, and too great an indulgence in coffee—my favourite of all beverages—and his diagnosis was confirmed by my complete recovery upon correction of my habits.

It is well to remember that many people there are who have idiosyncrasies of this kind. To some it may be coffee, to others strawberries; to some oysters, to others onions; but the fact to remember is that no two constitutions are entirely alike—perhaps expressed better by the saying that “no two stomachs are alike,” or that “one man’s meat is another man’s poison.”

Since one is speaking of such personal matters, my only other illness may also be useful to someone so unfortunate as to suffer in like manner. During the two years before the War I was working very intensely for long hours each day; eating hurriedly and heartily, and getting no exercise to burn up the fuel consumed. This combination of habits and constitution brought upon me all the symptoms of ulcer of the duodenum—that is the part of the intestine just beyond the stomach. The particular symptom which gave me distress—and severe distress it was—consisted of an agonizing, burning pain some hours after eating. The War breaking out, I left for the front. This completely changed my mode of life, so that instead of continuous mental work, heavy eating and no exercise, plus a good deal of worry over my cases, one got plenty of exercise, had almost no worry, and more or less relaxation between the occasional spurts of work. It was a complete change, and in a few months my painful “heart-burn” attacks were gone, and have never troubled me since that time. So many business men suffer from this condition, due to the same causes, that the story is worth the telling, since the remedy for the condition is in just such a complete change as that described. At least it is worth trying before submitting to operative measures.

An authentic story is told of the famous John Hunter, one of the greatest English physicians a century and a half ago, who left the Hunter Museum which I visited in those student days in London. A rich business man came to him complaining of much the same symptoms as mine, telling about the same story as to confinement at work, lack of exercise, and so on.

“My dear man,” said Hunter to him after examining him very carefully, “I regret to tell you that you are very likely to die from this complaint; but there is one chance of saving your life. You are suffering from a very rare and dangerous disease, and there is only one man in the world who can cure you. He is a physician practising up in Aberdeen, Scotland. His name is Simon Levinsky. If you wish to live, your only hope is to go to him forthwith and have him attend to you.”

The business man, thoroughly frightened, decided he would go; but as there were in those days no coaches or trains upon which he could make the journey, much of the distance had to be made on foot. About three months later he came fuming into John Hunter’s office.

“What the devil do you mean,” he blurted at Hunter, “by sending me off to see a physician named Simon Levinsky, when Aberdeen has never had a physician with any such name or nationality?”

“How is your stomach?” asked Hunter.

“My stomach is all right,” he replied, “but I should like to have an explanation of your conduct.”

It did not take Hunter long to explain his conduct, and the man realized the service that Hunter had performed for him in forcing upon him the exercise and fresh air of the past three months.