Literary Lapses Read Online Free PDF Page B

What I want to speak about is the progress of medicine. There, if you like, is something wonderful. Any lover of humanity (or of either sex of it) who looks back on the achievements of medical science must feel his heart glow and his right ventricle expand with the pericardiac stimulus of a permissible pride.
    Just think of it. A hundred years ago there were no bacilli, no ptomaine poisoning, no diphtheria, and no appendicitis. Rabies was but little known, and only imperfectly developed. All of these things we owe to medical science. Even such things as psoriasis and parotitis and trypanosomiasis, which are nowhousehold names, were known only to the few, and were quite beyond the reach of the great mass of the people.
    Or consider the advance of the science on its practical side. A hundred years ago it used to be supposed that fever could be cured by the letting of blood; now we know positively that it cannot. Even seventy years ago it was thought that fever was curable by the administration of sedative drugs; now we know that it isn’t. For the matter of that, as recently as thirty years ago, doctors thought that they could heal a fever by means of low diet and the application of ice; now they are absolutely certain that they cannot. This instance shows the steady progress made in the treatment of fever. But there has been the same cheering advance all along the line. Take rheumatism. A few generations ago people with rheumatism used to have to carry round potatoes in their pockets as a means of cure. Now the doctors allow them to carry absolutely anything they like. They may go round with their pockets full of water-melons if they wish to. It makes no difference. Or take the treatment of epilepsy. It used to be supposed that the first thing to do in sudden attacks of this kind was to unfasten the patient’s collar and let him breathe; at present, on the contrary, many doctors consider it better to button up the patient’s collar and let him choke.
    In only one respect has there been a decided lack of progress in the domain of medicine, that is in the time it takes to become a qualified practitioner. In the good old days a man was turned out thoroughly equipped after putting in two winter sessions at a college and spending his summers in running logs for a sawmill. Some of the students were turned out even sooner. Nowadays it takes anywhere from five to eight years to become a doctor. Of course, one is willing to grant that our young men are growing stupider and lazierevery year. This fact will be corroborated at once by any man over fifty years of age. But even when this is said it seems odd that a man should study eight years now to learn what he used to acquire in eight months.
    However, let that go. The point I want to develop is that the modern doctor’s business is an extremely simple one, which could be acquired in about two weeks. This is the way it is done.
    The patient enters the consulting-room. “Doctor,” he says, “I have a bad pain.” “Where is it?” “Here.” “Stand up,” says the doctor, “and put your arms up above your head.” Then the doctor goes behind the patient and strikes him a powerful blow in the back. “Do you feel that,” he says. “I do,” says the patient. Then the doctor turns suddenly and lets him have a left hook under the heart. “Can you feel that?” he says viciously, as the patient falls over on the sofa in a heap. “Get up,” says the doctor, and counts ten. The patient rises. The doctor looks him over very carefully without speaking, and then suddenly fetches him a blow in the stomach that doubles him up speechless. The doctor walks over to the window and reads the morning papers for a while. Presently he turns and begins to mutter more to himself than to the patient. “Hum!” he says, “there’s a slight anæsthesia of the tympanum.” “Is that so?” says the