“I see your standing in anatomy is 100 plus 1—ahem!—ah—just explain to me, won’t you, what this means? Does it mean that you know one more thing than Dr. Matson knows about anatomy—or one more thing than there is to know?”
I snickered at this, but quickly sobered and explained about the plus marks in quizzes counting on our final marks; and, his eyes twinkling, he professed his curiosity satisfied. Then some of the others put their queries, and finally they let me go.
In the adjoining room we three sat in suspense while they talked us over, each of us dreading yet hoping to be the lucky one. Presently Dr. C—— came to us, no pleasantry now; he looked really uncomfortable; fidgeting at his collar and cuffs, and glancing from one to the other of us, he said apologetically that they were sorry there were not three positions vacant, so as to give us all a chance to demonstrate our ability, but—hm! hm!—since there was only one, they had decided in favour of—ah—Miss Arnold.
I felt almost guilty at being chosen, but the other girls were very comforting, and the welcome the house-staff gave me, when I went downstairs, was cheering indeed. It was a great load off my mind—no more board to pay, to say nothing of other advantages. While the house-staff were questioning me as to the “grilling” I had received, the faculty meeting having dispersed, some of the professors dropped in the office. Dr. S——, in a charmingly facetious way, told the house officers why he voted for “Dr.” Arnold (with a low bow to me as he said that the title I was to earn next June was now mine by courtesy)—he had voted for her, he said, because she once brought him a “novel” patient from a prominent old school physician—no less a person than Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes! Another spoke in a more serious vein—my work in the Post Office he thought ought to have helped me to learn adaptability; but the irrepressible little Dr. C—— said he had chosen me because even Dr. Matson was willing to concede that I was more than perfect in anatomy.
Valuable as was the year in the hospital, I got all too little out of it, considering what it offered. The daily association with trained physicians and surgeons, and familiarity with illness, with hospital methods, with surgical technique, were among the unquestioned benefits.
The three of us who were undergraduates had to work particularly hard, as there was the college work to keep up, as well as the exacting demands of ward and operating-room work.
Though on the medical side for the first six months, I had the anesthetizing to do for a time. It was disagreeable work. Often all would go well and, interest centring on the operation, no one would notice the humble etherizer. Again, though I was seemingly just as painstaking, the patient would become cyanotic, and I would have to remove the cone, pull out the tongue, and perhaps resort to other measures to reëstablish respiration. If the operator noticed this, I would get very nervous, especially if it happened when a certain irascible surgeon was operating; for, impatient of the slightest delay, he would scold before the whole class. If I anesthetized so lightly that the patient moved, or—horror of horrors!—if he began retching, how mortified I was! And if I made the opposite mistake of pushing the ether too far—the agony I suffered, even after he was out of danger! to think how near he came to death through my incompetency! It all came easier after a while, but I was distinctly relieved when, after three months, I was graduated from the ether-cone, and promoted to “running instruments,” though there were trials even here.
So many surgeons, each with his different methods—it was no easy task for a beginner who knew little about the technique of operations, and had no special aptitude for anticipating just what instruments were needed and when. I think I never made a specially good assistant. I was not mechanical enough myself; but it was a pleasure to attend some of the surgeons—those who were cool and collected; who remembered our inexperience; who explained ahead their probable procedures, and called out clearly the name of the instrument they wished, if we did not anticipate them.
One of the operators, though skilled, was so nervous he would fairly jump up and down if one handed him a pair of forceps when he was not ready for them, or gave him the wrong retractor, or if the cat-gut broke when tying off arteries. Original in his methods, still he expected one to know what he wanted, no matter what, in his confusion, he said. He would throw a knife across the room if it was not sharp enough, or was not just to his fancy; and how he would scold and abuse us at times!—seldom at private operations when just the house-staff was present, but on clinic days when the entire student-body was assembled and also visiting physicians—at such times he was especially nervous and would make the fur fly.
“Can’t you tell what I want before I want it?—never did see such stupid assistants.” “Who sharpened these knives?” “Who prepared this cat-gut?” “Can’t you keep your patient under ether—have I got to operate and etherize, too?”