Part 12 (1/2)
”So far, all is right,” said I, cheerfully.
The mother looked at me with an anxious face. I arose, and we retired from the room together. Before leaving, I spoke encouragingly to my patient, and promised to see her early in the morning.
”My daughter is very sick, Doctor. What is the disease?” The mother spoke calmly and firmly. ”I am not one towards whom any concealments need be practised; and it is meet that I should know the worst, that I may do the best.”
”The disease, madam,” I replied, ”has not yet put on all of its distinctive signs. A fever--we call it the fever of incubation--is the forerunner of several very different ailments, and, at the beginning, the most accurate eye may fail to see what is beyond. In the present case, however, I think that typhoid fever is indicated.”
I spoke as evenly as possible, and with as little apparent concern as possible. But I saw the blood go instantly back from the mother's face.
”Typhoid fever!” she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, in a low voice, clasping her hands together. I learned afterwards that she had cause to dread this exhausting and often fatal disease. ”Oh, Doctor! do for her as if she were your own and only child.”
She grasped my arm, like one catching at a fleeting hope.
”As if she were my own and only child!” I repeated her words in promise and a.s.surance, adding--
”The first result of the medicine which I gave is just what I desired.
I will leave something more to be taken at intervals of two hours, until midnight. In the morning, I hope to find a very encouraging change.”
”But, Doctor,” she replied, ”if this is a case of typhoid fever, no hope of any quick change for the better can be entertained. I am no stranger to the fearful malady.”
”Attacks of all diseases,” I answered to this, ”are more or less severe, according to the nature of the predisposing and exciting causes. So far as your daughter is concerned, I should think, from the very slight opportunity I have had of forming an opinion in regard to her, that she is not readily susceptible of morbific intrusions. Under an unusual exposure to exciting causes, the balance of health has been overcome.
If my presumption is correct, we have the steady effort of nature, in co-operation with remedial agencies, working towards a cure.”
”Do you think the attack light, or severe?” the mother asked, speaking more calmly.
”Neither light nor severe; but of a character, judging from the first impression made upon it, entirely controllable by medicines.”
This opinion gave her confidence. As I had spoken without any apparent concealment, she evidently believed the case to stand exactly as I had stated it. After leaving medicine to be taken, every two hours, for the first part of the night, I went away.
In the morning, I found my patient in that comatose state, the usual attendant upon typhoid fever. She aroused herself on my entrance, and answered all questions clearly. She had no pain in the head, nor any distressing symptoms. Her skin was soft and moist. All things looked favorable. I gave, now, only gentle diaph.o.r.etics, and let the case progress, watching it with the closest attention. In this, I followed my usual course of treatment as to giving medicines. If I could produce a reaction, or remove some obstruction, and give nature a chance, I did not think it wise to keep on with drugs, which, from their general poisonous qualities, make even well people sick--regarding the struggle of life with disease as hazardous enough, without increasing the risk by adding a new cause of disturbance, unless the need of its presence were unmistakably indicated.
The course of this fever is always slow and exhausting. My patient sunk steadily, day by day, while I continued to watch the case with more than common anxiety. At the end of a week, she was feeble as an infant, and lay, for the most part, in a state of coma. I visited her two or three times every day, and had the thought of her almost constantly in my mind. Her mother, nerved for the occasion, was calm, patient, and untiring. The excitement which appeared on the occasion of my first visits, when there was doubt as to the character of the disease, pa.s.sed away, and never showed itself again during her daughter's illness. I saw, daily, deeper into her character, which more and more impressed me with its simple grandeur, if I may use the word in this connection.
There was nothing trifling, mean, or unwomanly about her. Her mind seemed to rest with a profoundly rational, and at the same time child-like trust, in Providence. Fear did not unnerve her, nor anxiety stay her hands in any thing. She met me, at every visit, with dignified self-possession, and received my report of the case, each time, without visible emotion. I had not attempted to deceive her in any thing from the beginning; she had seen this, and the fact gave her confidence in all my statements touching her daughter's condition.
At the end of a week, I commenced giving stimulants, selecting, as the chief article, sound old Maderia wine. The effect was soon apparent, in a firmer pulse and a quickened vitality. The lethargic condition in which she had lain for most of the time since the commencement of the attack, began to give way, and in a much shorter period than is usually the case, in this disease, we had the unmistakable signs of convalescence.
”Thank G.o.d, who, by means of your skill, has given me back my precious child!” said the mother to me, one day, after Blanche was able to sit up in bed. She took my hand and grasped it tightly. I saw that she was deeply moved. I merely answered:
”With Him are the issues of life.”
”And I have tried to leave all with Him,” she said. ”To be willing to suffer even that loss, the bare thought of which makes me shudder. But I am not equal to the trial, and in mercy He has spared me.”
”He is full of compa.s.sion, and gracious. He knows our strength, and will not test it beyond the limits of endurance.”
”Doctor,” she said, a light coming into her face, ”I have much to say to you, but not now. I think you can understand me.”
I merely bowed.
”There is one thing,” she went on, ”that I have liked in you from the beginning. I am to you a total stranger, and my presence in this house is a fact that must awaken many questions in your mind. Yet you have shown no restless curiosity, have plied me with no leading questions, have left me free to speak, or keep silence. There is a manly courtesy about this that accords with my feelings.”