I would have been willing to pay largely for the privilege of undertaking an important case by myself, in which it would depend upon me whether or not I should call in a consulting brother. So far, in the cases I had undertaken, a consulting brother had always called himself in--that is, I had practised in hospitals or with my uncle. Perhaps it might be found necessary, notwithstanding all that had been said against me, that I should go up to take charge of this case. I wished I had not forgotten to ask the old man how he had found the tongue and pulse.
In less than a quarter of an hour Uncle Beamish returned.
"Well," said I, quickly, "what are the symptoms?""I'll give them to you," said he, taking his seat. "I'm not in such a hurry now, because I told the old woman I would like to wait a little and see how that fust medicine acted. The patient spoke to me this time. When I took the thermometer out of her mouth she says, `You are comin' up ag'in, doctor?' speakin' low and quickish, as if she wanted nobody but me to hear.""But how about the symptoms?" said I, impatiently.
"Well," he answered, "in the fust place her temperature is ninety-eight and a half, and that's about nat'ral, I take it.""Yes," I said, "but you didn't tell me about her tongue and pulse.""There wasn't nothin' remarkable about them," said he.
"All of which means," I remarked, "that there is no fever. But that is not at all a necessary accompaniment of brain derangements. How about the dilatation of her pupils?""There isn't none," said Uncle Beamish; "they are ruther squinched up, if anything. And as to delirium, I couldn't see no signs of it, and when I asked the old lady about the numbness, she said she didn't believe there had been any.""No tendency to shiver, no disposition to stretch?""No," said the old man, "no chance for quinine.""The trouble is," said I, standing before the stove and fixing my mind upon the case with earnest intensity, "that there are so few symptoms in brain derangement. If I could only get hold of something tangible--""If I was you," interrupted Uncle Beamish, "I wouldn't try to get hold of nothin'. I would just give her somethin' to keep her where she is till mornin'. If you can do that, I'll guarantee that any good doctor can take her up and go on with her to-morrow."
Without noticing the implication contained in these remarks, Icontinued my consideration of the case.
"If I could get a drop of her blood," said I.
"No, no!" exclaimed Uncle Beamish, "I'm not goin' to do anything of that sort. What in the name of common sense would you do with her blood?""I would examine it microscopically," I said. "I might find out all I want to know."Uncle Beamish did not sympathize with this method of diagnosis.
"If you did find out there was the wrong kind of germs, you couldn't do anything with them to-night, and it would just worry you," said the old man. "I believe that nature will get along fust-rate without any help, at least till mornin'. But you've got to give her some medicine--not so much for her good as for our good. If she's not treated we're bounced. Can't you give her somethin' that would do anybody good, no matter what's the matter with 'em? If it was the spring of the year I would say sarsaparilla. If you could mix her up somethin' and put into it some of them benevolent microbes the doctors talk about, it would be a good deed to do to anybody.""The benign bacilli," said I. "Unfortunately I haven't any of them with me.""And if you had," he remarked, "I'd be in favor of givin' 'em to the old woman. I take it they would do, her more good than anybody else. Come along now, doctor; it is about time for me to go up-stairs and see how the other stuff acted--not on the patient, I don't mean, but on the old woman. The fact is, you know, it's her we're dosin'.""Not at all," said I, speaking a little severely. "I am trying to do my very best for the patient, but I fear I cannot do it without seeing her. Don't you think that if you told the old lady how absolutely necessary--""Don't say anything more about that!" exclaimed Uncle Beamish.
"I hoped I wouldn't have to mention it, but she told me ag'in that she would never have one of those unfledged medical students, just out of the egg-shell, experimentin' on any of her family, and from what she said about you in particular, I should say she considered you as a medical chick without even down on you.""What can she know of me?" I asked indignantly.
"Give it up," said he. "Can't guess it. But that ain't the p'int. The p'int is, what are you goin' to give her? When I was young the doctors used to say, When you are in doubt, give calomel--as if you were playin' trumps.""Nonsense, nonsense," said I, my eyes earnestly fixed upon my open medical case.
"I suppose a mustard-plaster on the back of her neck--""Wouldn't do at all," I interrupted. "Wait a minute, now--yes--I know what I will do: I will give her sodium bromide--ten grains.""`Which will hit if it's a deer and miss if it's a calf' as the hunter said?" inquired Uncle Beamish.
"It will certainly not injure her," said I, "and I am quite sure it will be a positive advantage. If there has been cerebral disturbance, which has subsided temporarily, it will assist her to tide over the interim before its recurrence.""All right," said Uncle Beamish, "give it to me, and I'll be off. It's time I showed up ag'in."He did not stay up-stairs very long this time.
