The lecturer on electro-therapeutics was a pleasing, gentle person; the one on diseases of children a trig, dapper little man; and there were other branches—medical chemistry, skin diseases, diseases of eye and ear, and so on—assuredly a busy year.
When, the latter half of the year, we were allowed to take cases, they were assigned us in alphabetical order. Each student before receiving his degree must have himself managed at least thirty medical, five surgical, and three obstetrical cases; although he was at liberty when necessary to ask a senior to accompany him, and, in grave cases, to call on the Faculty.
All that we knew of our cases till visiting them in their homes was the name and address furnished by the house-physician at the Dispensary. How exciting those first calls—wondering what we should find! I well remember the first visit I started out alone to make with my new little medicine-case under my arm: “Lynch, 846 Albany Street” was the legend supplied at the Dispensary.
The place was in a somewhat better locality than many I had visited in company with seniors. Mounting the stairs, I knocked in some trepidation as I realized I was about to undertake alone my first patient. What would it be? Should I be able, after examining her, to know what ailed her? and what to do for her? A strapping big Irish woman came to the door.
“Does Mrs. Lynch live here?” I asked in as professional a tone as I could summon, to which she grudgingly admitted that she did.
“I am the doctor from the Dispensary, I would like to see her.”
“I am Mrs. Lynch,” she said, without opening the door further, “but I’ll have you understand my son is pretty sick—it is no time to fool around; I sent for a doctor, not for a little girl.”
I can see myself as I stood there; can feel just how taken aback and indignant I was; how helpless I felt; but it was only momentary. Pocketing my anger, I said quietly but firmly, “I am the doctor who has been sent to you; if your son is very ill, you must let me see him at once.” She hesitated, but I added that if, after I prescribed for him, she preferred to have a man doctor, in the morning, I would send one instead. I chose to relinquish the case, if need be, on the ground of sex rather than youth, thus seeming to preserve my dignity.
She wavered as though not intending to let me in, but I looked at her compellingly, and, with an ungracious snort, she led the way to the sick-room.
There lay a young coal-driver of twenty-five, with high fever, pains in head and limbs and around his heart, and the fear that he was going to die—a case of rheumatic fever. He looked disappointed as I came in, but was civil; he was too apprehensive to reject even my feeble help. After listening to the history of the onset, I took his pulse and temperature, asked my questions, which at first the mother refused to answer, but her son answered them; and, as the examination progressed, she herself vouchsafed bits of information, showing some lessening of hostility. Prescribing, and giving strict and explicit directions about medicine and diet, on leaving, I said, “I will come early in the morning to see how he is; if you then wish a male physician, I will have one sent for the next visit.” She was less uncivil as she showed me out.