The Funny Side of Physic Part 96

"Well, that was all it was worth," remarked Mr. Choate, quietly.

Another of these free advice fellows detained the author at the post-office last week, and very patronizingly asked,--

"What would you take for a code id de ed, docdor?"

"Take? take two pocket handkerchiefs," was the cheap prescription for a cheap patient.

INGRATES.

"What, then! doth Charity fail?

Is Faith of no avail?

Is Hope blown out like a light By a gust of wind in the night?

The clas.h.i.+ng of creeds, and the strife Of the many beliefs, that in vain Perplex man's heart and brain, Are nought but the rustle of leaves, When the breath of G.o.d upheaves The boughs of the Tree of Life, And they subside again!

And I remember still The words, and from whom they came, Not he that repeateth the name, But he that doeth the will!"

"Of all men, the physician is most likely to discover the leading traits of character in his fellow-beings; on no other condition than that of sickness do they present themselves without those guards upon the countenance and tongue that an artificial mode of life has rendered almost indispensable to their existence; in city life, more especially."

"The confiding patient often hangs, as it were, with an oppressive weight upon the conscientious physician, and if he be afflicted with a generous, sympathizing soul, farewell to his happiness. His heart will bleed for distress, both bodily and pecuniary, that he cannot alleviate, and he gives up in despair a profession which will so severely tax his nervous system as to render the best medical talent comparatively useless....

"Those who speak of the grat.i.tude of the low Catholic Irish in this (New York) city, or any other city, as they present their true characters to the young pract.i.tioner, will find but one opinion,--a more improvident, heartless, and dishonest cla.s.s of people never defiled the fair face of the earth. They are indeed a bitter curse to the young and humane physician."

And this from the pen of one of the most n.o.ble and humane physicians of the great metropolis, whose generosity forbids him ever to refuse a visit, day or night, to the distressed, even amongst the lowest of the cla.s.s he so bitterly condemns. The above is the experience of other physicians besides Dr. Dixon, and in other cities besides New York.

During my days of extreme poverty in H., an Irish woman, whose child, suffering with cholera infantum, I s.n.a.t.c.hed from the very jaws of death, cheated me out of my fees, when I afterwards learned that she owned two tenements, and had money in the Savings Bank.

While I was practising in H., one cold winter's night, an Irishman came for me to go to Front Street, as a man had fallen down stairs, and was "kilt intirely."

"Then it is Mr. Roberts, the undertaker, whom you want," I replied.

"O, no, he isn't kilt intirely, but broke his arrum, doctor."

Therefore I drew on my boots, took my hat and case, and was soon at the designated number. A drunken row, as usual. It was near midnight, Sat.u.r.day night. A big, burly fellow lay on the bed in a large front room, surrounded by a dozen men and women, nearly all drunk, except the patient.

His arm was dislocated at the shoulder downward. I drew off my coat, jumped upon the bed, set the man up, raised the limb, clapped my knee under the limb, raised the arm, and using it for a lever, the bone snapped into the socket as quickly as I am telling the story.

"Ah, that gives me aise; ah, G.o.d bless you, docther. How mooch is the damage? Get the wallet, woman, and let me pay the good docther," said the grateful patient. "How mooch? Say it asy, noo."

"Two dollars." A very modest fee for such a job at midnight.

"O, the divil!" cried the woman. "And is it two dollars for the snap of a job likes to that, noo, ye'll be axin' a poor man?"

I made no reply. The man asked for the money.

"Will yeze be axin' that much?" asked a six and a half foot Irishman who stood by the opposite side of the bed.

"Do you have to pay the bill, sir?" I demanded.

"Noo," he replied.

"Then mind your own business," I exclaimed, with a clincher, and a flash of the eyes that somehow caused him to cower like the miserable drunken coward he was, amid the laughs and jeers of the bystanders.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MY FRONT STREET PATIENT.]

"There, take the money," said the woman (boarding mistress). "Dr. B. would come ferninst the railroad over for half of it, he would," she added.

"Woman," said I, "when next any of your kind want a doctor, do you go ferninst the railroad for Dr. B." (I knew she lied), "and get him for a dollar. As for me, _I never, for love or money, will come to your call again_."

I never heard of money enough to induce me to visit Front or Charles Street after that night, and I have seen some anxious faces looking about for a doctor, in case of emergency, in that locality.

"SAVING AT THE SPIGOT, AND WASTING AT THE BUNG."

Again, there is a cla.s.s in every city who, to avoid a physician's fee, go to an apothecary, briefly and imperfectly state their case, perhaps to a green clerk, or a proprietor who is as ignorant of the pathology of the disease as the miserable applicant; and who ever knew of a druggist too ignorant to prescribe for a case over the counter? The result is often the administration of harsh remedies, which aggravate the present, or produce some other disease worse than the original, and in the end the patient is obliged to seek the advice of a physician.

Now the patient is ashamed to tell the whole truth, the doctor has yet to learn what drugs are rankling in the system, and the disease is often protracted thereby ten times as long as it need have been, had the man at the outset sought the advice of a respectable physician. This is an every-day occurrence. I knew a young man who recently went into consumption from having a comparatively simple case prolonged by this apotheco-medical interference.

SHOPPING PATIENTS.

"A queer kind of patients!" you exclaim.

Yes, very queer. One cla.s.s of them go round from office to office, to "just inquire about a friend" (themselves), "if they could be cured," how long it would require, and, ten to one, even ask what medicines "you would give for such a case."

Such persons, if females, usually come into the city for the double purpose of seeing a doctor, or a dozen, and shopping,--doing the shopping first; tramping from one end of the city to the other, visiting the doctor last, with bundles and boxes by the score, "in a great hurry; must catch a certain train; all tired out;" making the opportunity for diagnosis an unfavorable one, and not unusually asking the doctor--a stranger, perhaps--to trust them till they come again.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A SHOPPING PATIENT.]

Whoever "O. SHAW" may be, he knows a thing or two. Hear him.

AN AFFECTIONATE WIFE.

A poor mechanic, three weeks after marriage, was addressed by his wife thus:--

"Harry, don't you think a new silk dress would become my beauty?"

He answered affirmatively, of course, and promised that when his present job was completed, which would be in about a fortnight, the necessary stamps would be forthcoming, and that she might then array her loveliness in the wished-for dress. The affectionate wife kissed him, and thus rewarded his generosity. Three days afterwards the man met with an accident, and was brought home on a shutter, and it was evident that for weeks he would be confined to his bed. On beholding him, his wife gave vent to repeated outbursts of agony, as an affectionate woman should, considering the cause. This touched the unfortunate man, and he said, consolingly,--

"Dry your tears, dear Nettie; I'll be all right again in a few weeks."

"Perhaps you may," she answered; "but all your earnings for a long time after you resume work will be required to pay your doctor's bill, and you won't be able to get me _that new silk dress_."--O. SHAW.

A SENSIBLE PRESCRIPTION.

A doctor up town recently gave the following prescription for a lady: "A new bonnet, a cashmere shawl, and a new pair of gaiter boots." The lady, it is needless to say, has entirely recovered.